The road leading toward Scion Hold shimmered with the golden hues of approaching dusk. Trees rustled along the ridge path, their leaves whispering in the late summer breeze.
Arasha, Kane, and Rewald moved with a steady pace, boots tapping stone and earth, the white walls of the Hold just barely visible in the distance like a promise half-kept.
But that promise was delayed.
From beyond the bend came the unmistakable sounds of clashing steel and panicked shouting.
Arasha halted, her eyes narrowing. "Trouble. Just up ahead."
Kane already had his blade unsheathed before she finished. Rewald muttered an incantation under his breath, light curling around his fingers.
They crested the hill and saw it clearly: a small caravan—three wagons, a handful of guards—under attack by a group of rugged bandits. The guards were clearly outnumbered, and one wagon had already been looted, crates scattered and broken.
"Let's end this quickly," Arasha said, her voice cold steel.
She charged first, her sword cutting a clean arc through the first bandit foolish enough to face her.
Kane flanked the others with graceful efficiency, his blade a blur, his magic flaring to disarm and disorient. Rewald stood back, casting spells of immobilization and illusion, scattering the bandits' cohesion.
Within moments, the would-be ambushers either fled or groaned on the ground in surrender.
The dust settled.
A young man rushed forward from the caravan, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude. "Commander Arasha?! I—By the light! I thought I was dreaming!"
Arasha blinked, recognition dawning. "Cassian?"
Cassian was older than when she last saw him, but still carried the same spirited energy in his eyes. He bowed with relief, brushing dust from his shoulder. "I can't believe it's really you. You've saved our caravan again."
Before Arasha could answer, Kane stepped forward—not aggressively, but close enough to stand beside Arasha with a deliberate ease.
He casually slung an arm around his sword's hilt and said, lightly but clearly, "She tends to do that. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with her."
Cassian blinked.
Arasha stared at Kane in amused disbelief at his bold proclamation.
"…Ah," he said slowly, glancing between Kane and Arasha, who stood with a slightly flustered smile. "I see."
Rewald choked on his own breath and quickly coughed into his hand, trying and failing to hide his amusement.
Kane offered a pleasant smile, but his eyes sparkled with territorial pride.
Cassian, after a brief pause, extended a hand to Kane. "Cassian. Caravan junior leader and apprentice appraiser. Thank you… for coming to our aid."
Kane shook it firmly. "Kane. Her partner."
"Yes. I—got that."
Arasha, oblivious or perhaps deliberately avoiding the awkwardness, glanced over the wagons. "Any injured?"
"Minor bruises. We were lucky," Cassian said, scratching the back of his neck. "If you hadn't come when you did…"
"We'll call the nearby patrol squad from the southern city outpost," she said, already unfurling a signal scroll from her satchel. "You'll be escorted the rest of the way safely."
Cassian nodded, lingering for just a moment longer in front of her. "Thank you, Commander. Truly."
Arasha smiled lightly. "It's my duty, so need for thanks, Cassian."
As the patrol arrived and Cassian's caravan resumed its journey, Kane subtly shifted his position so he stood between Arasha and the group of passing men, his expression just this side of neutral.
Rewald, walking a few steps behind, watched as a pair of city patrolmen offered Arasha a few questions—some about the incident, some thinly veiled attempts at flirtation—and watched Kane bristle ever so slightly, his grip tightening on his cloak.
Arasha answered the questions politely, calm and measured. She seemed either oblivious or unbothered.
Kane, on the other hand, was already stepping forward—
"You're twitching, Kane," Rewald called casually. "Try to at least pretend you're not staking a claim."
Kane muttered, "I'm not twitching."
"You were two seconds away from declaring a duel over flirtatious eye contact."
Kane crossed his arms, sulking slightly. "They were too friendly."
Rewald laughed openly this time, the sound deep and honest. "Oh, you're going to have your hands full traveling with her. She's been collecting admirers since she first held a sword."
Kane's lips twitched into a reluctant grin. "Then I suppose it's a good thing I'm not planning to let go of her hand anytime soon."
Ahead of them, Arasha turned slightly, waiting for them to catch up.
Kane's posture softened. He hurried forward.
Rewald followed, quietly enjoying the unfolding drama of hearts stitched back together—both in laughter and in silence.
And in the distance, the gates of Scion Hold began to rise in welcome.
****
The outer gates of Scion Hold groaned open as the trio approached, bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon. Guards at the ramparts squinted before recognition lit their eyes.
"Commander Arasha returns!" someone shouted.
The call echoed, bouncing off stone towers and ringing through the inner walls like a bell of triumph. More voices joined, and soon the gates were thrown wide, welcoming Arasha, Kane, and Rewald home.
People lined the cobbled entry path—scouts, medics, apprentices, cooks, blacksmiths, messengers—all pausing their duties to greet their Commander.
Faces smiled, arms waved, and more than a few people clapped Rewald on the back for safely escorting her again.
But the warm welcome paused ever so slightly when Kane stepped through behind them, carrying their gear with easy strength and walking just a bit too comfortably close to Arasha.
Eyes flicked his way—curious, cautious, whispering.
Kane noticed the hesitation. He offered a polite smile, unsure how to act when the people that looked at him were, in another lifetime, so familiar… yet now strangers.
Someone asked Rewald discreetly, "Is he… new to the alliance?"
Rewald, as casual as ever, replied with a grin, "Oh, you'll get to know him soon enough. That's the Commander's husband candidate."
The staff member gasped, so loud it might've been a warhorn. Another one dropped a crate of fruit in shock.
From there, the wildfire spread.
Whispers traveled faster than the patrol hounds.
"The Commander has a suitor?!"
"Wait, wait, wait—he said husband?"
"He looks too young."
"He's too handsome."
"He cooked on their last outing, I heard."
"No, no, I think he's just part of the rift investigation team."
"Did you see how he looks at her?"
"They held hands."
"Liar!"
"He kissed her. On the battlefield!"
That last whisper may have been exaggerated, but it certainly lit a firestorm in the inner courtyard. By nightfall, half the Hold had formed opinions.
Some rooted for the mysterious Kane with glowing approval. Others watched him with the suspicious vigilance reserved for enchanted artifacts.
Arasha, standing on the observation tower that overlooked the training fields, heard the chatter and soft laughter down below. She didn't mind.
The liveliness in the air was a sign of life, of hope blooming in the wake of near-catastrophe. Let them talk. It meant they had time to care about love and rumors again.
Meanwhile…
Kane, however, didn't have the luxury of peace just yet.
He was ushered—politely, yet with an unspoken wariness—into a high chamber once reserved for war councils and crisis negotiations. The air still carried the scent of old ink, dried blood, and battle-born urgency.
Rewald followed behind, carrying a cup of tea as if it were both a peace offering and a casual dare, a wry smile tugging at his lips as if he already knew how this was going to play out.
Inside, four figures awaited him.
Garran stood with his arms crossed, his polished armor catching the flickering torchlight like the gleam of judgment itself.
Leta was next to him, leaning slightly forward, sharp-eyed and unreadable, as though she could peel away Kane's soul layer by layer.
John lingered by the hearth, hands in his pockets but alert—his every breath measured, calculated.
And in the farthest corner, Roen lounged with lazy grace, appearing disinterested, but Kane could feel the pressure of the man's gaze like a knife poised at his back.
"Kane, was it?" Garran began, his tone cool, restrained, but not without weight. "We owe you thanks for aiding Commander Arasha and Rewald."
"But," Leta interjected smoothly, "you'll forgive us for needing to understand more about the man who walked beside her like he's been there since the beginning."
Kane straightened, neither defensive nor cowed. His voice was low, steady, but the ache behind it trembled like a thread pulled taut. "Of course. I understand."
Then came the questions—quick and precise, like the calculated strikes of trained interrogators.
Where was he from?
What were his intentions toward the Commander?
What did he know about the rift anomalies?
Was he working with any factions?
And—most pointed of all—why had Arasha looked at him with a familiarity deeper than years could explain?
He answered as truthfully as he could. He spoke of being from a timeline where Arasha died to save the world.
Of a force beyond logic drawing him to Arasha—like a forgotten vow etched into the marrow of his bones.
Of his love that echoed and resonated throughout different timelines. Of loyalty so rooted in him, it felt older than his own name.
But there were things he left unsaid. Things he didn't yet understand. The raw truth of how he'd crossed into this world, how he stood here breathing in a life—it defied explanation.
Rewald, still calm and sipping his tea in the corner, finally set down his cup with a clink. "I'll vouch for him, I saw the moment he suddenly appeared after the statue in the Hollow Valley cracked and shattered. Saw Arasha and him connecting the moment they laid eyes on each other," he said simply.
"He protected Arasha like a man who had nothing left to lose. Like she was his entire world. He's no threat to us—unless you count making half the Hold gossip to death." Rewald added with a teasing tone.
Kane shot him a dry look. "Appreciate that."
Leta's lips twitched into a brief smirk. "You've earned your place at her side. For now."
Garran gave a curt nod. "We'll be watching. But if your strength is true, then let it serve her well."
John and Roen didn't speak. They didn't need to. The curt nods they gave him were enough—he was no longer an unknown. He was tolerated. Not trusted. But allowed.
Kane exhaled only once the door shut behind him.
****
He found her in a corner of the hold most had forgotten.
The training arena—once echoing with the clash of blades and barked commands—had been transformed. Rows of herbs and vegetables now flourished under makeshift skylights, their green scent fresh and grounding.
A quiet oasis in a fortress that had seen too much war.
She was already there, tending to a row of mint and thyme, her back turned to him. But she had known the moment he'd stepped into the space.
She always had.
Arasha did not speak as he approached, nor did she turn around. Her silence wasn't cold—it was steady. Waiting.
Kane walked up beside her, his movements quiet but full of weight. His heart trembled in his chest like a wounded animal sensing warmth for the first time in years.
"So… this time, the workaholic Arasha finally learns how to be idle, huh?"
Arasha smiled softly, still not looking at him. "Idle is a strong word. But maybe I've learned to let things grow without trying to control everything."
Kane chuckled, but it broke somewhere in his throat.
He looked at her—really looked—and something in him cracked open.
The image of her lying cold in his arms all those lifetimes ago still lived inside him, carved into the deepest part of his being.
That final moment when her breathing stopped. When her eyes, once so full of fire and defiance, dimmed into stillness. Arasha turned into shimmering fragments blown by the wind.
But now—now she stood here. Her skin was warm with life. Her presence tangible and whole.
And she remembered.
Tentatively, he reached for her hand.
"I'm so glad you found me," he whispered, his voice hoarse with a thousand unspoken things. "That you remembered. I was ready to start all over again… to win your heart with everything I have."
His words trembled, and so did his hands.
"I'm glad I found you too, Kane," Arasha said, finally turning to face him. Her eyes shimmered with a tenderness that threatened to undo him completely. "I don't remember everything. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But I remember enough. I remember how I felt when I was with you."
With her free hand, she cradled his cheek. "And I love you, Kane. I know that. I don't need anything more to be sure."
Kane's lips trembled as tears slipped freely down his cheeks. He bowed his head, pressing a reverent kiss into her palm like a man worshipping a second chance he never thought he'd be given.
Then she pulled him into her arms, and he folded into her embrace like a man coming home from war.
She was alive.
He clung to her with a desperation that frightened him, as if holding her tightly enough would erase the memory of her dying breath, the cold weight of her body against his.
As if this moment could overwrite the agony that had chased him across time.
And Arasha, warm and alive and whole, held him just as fiercely.
They didn't speak again for a long while. They simply stood there in the quiet garden, hearts beating in sync, souls reconnecting through pain, memory, and love that defied the laws of gods and time.