The pendant lay cold in Rion's hand.
Split, silent, powerless.
A symbol of everything he had survived.
And yet… something in him couldn't throw it away again.
He tucked it into his satchel and walked back to the inn, the early mist curling around his boots like ghostly fingers. He didn't know what haunted him more—
That she was truly gone.
Or that he didn't want her to be.
---
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Spring melted into summer.
The village held a harvest fair, and Rion laughed with children, shared stories with farmers, drank honey-wine until his face was warm and his mind was hazy.
He was rebuilding a life.
A real one.
But even in laughter, there was a shadow behind his smile.
A pair of lavender eyes.
A question that wouldn't die:
Can obsession die if love once lived beneath it?
---
One night, as fireflies blinked in the tall grass, Rion dreamed again.
He stood in a ruined cathedral, moonlight bleeding through broken stained glass.
And she stood at the altar.
Not in white.
Not in blood.
But in a simple black dress, hands folded, eyes quiet.
"I promised I'd stop chasing," Lira said.
Rion didn't speak.
"I meant it. But there's one vow I never said aloud."
He watched her. Waiting.
Her voice cracked. "That if you ever forgave me, I'd never ask you to stay. Just… let me walk beside you. Even a little while."
Wind howled through the dream, scattering petals like ash.
"I don't hate you," he said softly.
Her eyes welled. "Then say goodbye properly."
He reached for her.
But woke up with tears drying on his cheeks.
---
He needed answers.
Not from books.
Not from dreams.
But from the one who had warned him from the start.
The Mage of the Pale Peaks.
He journeyed north again, through bitter hills and cragged stone, until he reached the frost-worn spire where she dwelled.
The mage was waiting.
"I felt the chain snap," she said, without turning. "And yet… it echoes still."
Rion nodded. "She's different. Changed."
The mage chuckled bitterly. "A caged beast may learn to bow, but it still has teeth."
"She let me go."
"Did she?"
He hesitated.
"I saw her," he said. "In my dream. She asked nothing. No chains. No vows. Just… a walk."
The mage was silent.
Then: "There are two kinds of love, boy. The kind that lets you fly—and the kind that breaks your wings just to keep you close."
Rion clenched his fists.
"I want to believe she can be the first."
The mage looked at him—truly looked, though her eyes were white with blindness.
"Then go. Find her."
---
He didn't ask how.
He followed the wind. The stars. The fading tug in his chest that hadn't quite vanished.
It led him to the Weeping Coast, where cliffs met endless sea and the sky cried every morning in mists that clung to skin.
There, beneath a black-barked tree, sat Lira.
Alone.
Watching the waves.
She didn't turn when he approached.
"I dreamed of you," she murmured.
"Me too."
"Are you here to bind me again?"
He sat beside her.
"No. I'm here to ask if you still want to walk."
Her breath caught.
Slowly, she looked at him.
He saw no madness.
No flames.
Just… longing.
And pain.
"I want to walk beside you," she whispered. "But I won't hold your hand unless you offer it."
He offered it.
And for the first time, in any life, she took it gently.
No chains.
No blood.
Only skin to skin.
---
They didn't speak for a long time.
The ocean spoke for them.
A vow unspoken, but understood:
This time, no cages.
This time, if love lived, it would live cleanly.
And if not—
They would part.
But this time…
Together.