Chapter Eight – We Do Not Forget
Part Three – The Firelight Between Them
The flame took a long time to start.
The wood was half-rotted, and the night had grown damp, the way it did near old Veil fractures—too quiet, too still, too full of things that once tried to echo and failed. But Selka knew how to build a fire from dead breath. She had learned from Solara.
She didn't hum as she worked. Didn't cast to spark it. She let her hands move slow, deliberate—like if she moved too quickly, the moment would vanish.
Zephryn lay a few paces away, propped up against the curve of the rootwall. His cloak had been folded beneath him. His eyes were still closed, but his breathing had evened out. His hands no longer shook.
The warmth began to reach them both.
Not enough to save.
Just enough to stay.
Selka didn't speak until the fire had caught.
"You don't get to disappear twice and expect me not to be angry."
The crackle of the flames didn't answer. But a breath did.
Zephryn stirred. Eyes opened—this time, fully. Not dazed. Just tired.
He blinked slowly, turning toward her.
Selka didn't look away.
"We thought you were dead."
"I was."
"No," she snapped. "You ran."
His mouth opened. But nothing came out.
Selka stared into the flame. Her hands tightened.
"We buried Solara. We buried what was left of her. Kaelen wouldn't eat for days. Yolti carved her name into a tree and burned it down when she couldn't finish. I trained until my hands bled."
"And you were alive."
He looked down. At his hands. At the flicker of light dancing across the scars.
"I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't have to," Selka said. "You just had to leave."
Silence.
Zephryn's voice, when it came, was quieter than the wind.
"I came back."
Selka's head turned slightly.
He didn't look up.
"Three months ago. Maybe four."
"I made it to the Lyceum's outer wall. Saw Kaelen training in the courtyard. Yolti laughing with the second squad. You were sparring. Your stance was off."
Selka didn't speak.
"I reached the gate."
"But I didn't walk through it."
She turned now, fully.
"Why?"
His jaw tightened. The fire flickered.
"Because you were alive."
"Because I thought… maybe the world had moved on."
Selka didn't answer at first.
"You thought we'd be better without you."
He nodded, slowly.
"I didn't want to break what was still standing."
Her hand twitched near her side. Not from anger now. From grief.
"You think we stood? You think we made it?"
He looked at her.
"We shattered, Zephryn. We just learned how to hold the pieces."
The fire snapped once, breaking the silence between them.
She stood suddenly and walked a few paces into the trees, then back again. Hands in her hair. Frustration pulsing behind every breath.
"You came all that way. You saw us. You could've spoken. You could've let us know."
"I couldn't."
"Why?"
His eyes lifted now. No longer dim.
Burning—not with power. With pain.
"Because the moment I reached the gate… I felt them."
"The Choir?"
He nodded.
"One of their agents. Whispered my name through the grass. I don't know if it was a pulsecast or a veilmark breach—but they knew I was there."
"So I turned around."
Selka's throat clenched.
"You walked away… to protect us."
"I didn't want to bring the war to your door."
"You are the war," she said, voice cracking. "And we never stopped fighting. Not for a single day."
Zephryn looked at her then.
Not as someone returning.
As someone begging to be allowed back.
"I didn't think you'd forgive me."
Selka stepped toward him.
One slow, deliberate step.
Then another.
And another.
Until she knelt before him and took his hand again. The same one she held beneath the tree.
"I never got the chance to try."
He didn't pull away.
And the fire between them flickered low—but steady.