The stars had gone silent.
Selene stood at the crest of the hill, the wind tearing through her cloak, watching the horizon bleed red. Smoke curled in the distance. The Circle of Dust had arrived.
Below, the villagers gathered—no longer simply farmers and smiths, but warriors clad in thorns and steel, spells humming at their fingertips. The roses had spread through the valley like a promise, a warning. The golden bloom they had planted pulsed in the center of the glade, magic coiled within its petals.
Callan walked up behind her. "They're almost here."
"I know." Her voice was steady, but her heart thundered.
He touched her wrist. "We don't have to face them alone."
"I don't intend to." She turned to him, brushing a lock of wind-blown hair from his cheek. "This is our war. Our vow. Our end, if it must be."
"Not an end." He leaned in, pressing his brow to hers. "A beginning we fight for."
Their bond sparked between them—threads of gold and thorn, starlight and root, binding them tighter than ever. It filled the air around them, visible now to even the most unseeing eyes.
The moment shattered with the toll of a distant horn.
Callan straightened. "They've come."
The Circle marched with elegance and cruelty. Elandra walked at the front, her raven-feather cloak trailing behind her like spilled ink. Behind her, five more—each cloaked in elements older than language. The Circle of Dust, guardians of dead traditions, enemies of the living bond.
They didn't stop at the gates. They passed through the wards like whispers, the air wilting in their wake.
Selene stepped forward.
Elandra raised a hand. "Let us not waste breath on threats."
Selene drew her sword. "Agreed."
The clash came swift. Spells lit the night like fallen stars. The villagers fought with raw courage, vines lashing out, the earth itself rising in defense. But the Circle wielded deeper magic—old, patient, honed to a killing edge.
Callan faced one of them—Thorne, a man whose touch turned bone to dust. The two danced across the field, sparks flying where sword met talon. Selene was locked with Elandra, thorns writhing against black feathers, the air warping with each strike.
"You should've let the bond die," Elandra hissed, casting a blade of ash.
Selene parried. "You fear it because you've never known love."
"I knew it once." Her eyes flickered—just for a second—with pain. "It turned to rot in my hands."
Selene growled. "Then you should've let it go. Not cursed everyone else to bleed for it."
Elandra laughed, sharp as shattered glass. "You'll fail, just like the others. Your love will turn. One of you will betray the other. The bond will decay. It always does."
"No," Selene whispered.
And then she struck—not with her sword, but with the bond.
She pulled it forward, into the world.
Light exploded from her chest, golden and fierce, wrapping around the battlefield. It surged to Callan—who met her gaze and understood.
Together, they opened their hearts.
The vow they'd made ignited, burning through the land like fire through frost.
The roses bloomed anew—thousands, millions. Each one tethered to the vow, to the strength of their love. The golden blossom at the center cracked open, revealing a heart of living starlight.
The Circle screamed.
Magic older than them roared back.
The battlefield became a storm of petals and ash.
When the light faded, silence reigned.
Elandra was on her knees. Her feathers had turned white. Her magic had fled.
"You…" she gasped. "You sealed it."
Callan stepped forward. "The bond chose us."
"And you chose it." Her head lowered. "So few ever do."
Selene knelt before her. "Let it end. Let this hatred die with the old curse."
For a long moment, Elandra was still.
Then she nodded.
The remaining members of the Circle vanished into mist, their war unwound.
The village rebuilt again—this time not from ruin, but with hope.
The roses had spread across the entire valley, blooming in every field, climbing every wall. The golden blossom in the glade never wilted, fed by love and magic and memory.
Selene and Callan became something more than leaders. More than myth.
They became home.
One year later, on the longest night of the year, Selene stood by the golden rose, her hand resting gently against its warm petals.
Callan came up behind her, lacing his fingers through hers.
"It's glowing brighter," he murmured.
She smiled. "It hears us. Feels us. It knows we're still choosing."
He kissed her shoulder. "Always."
They stood in silence a while, watching the stars shimmer.
Then Selene turned, cupping his face.
"You know what I remembered the other day?" she said.
He raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Our first life. I saw a glimpse. I was a healer. You were a thief. You stole a moonstone from the royal court and hid in my cottage."
He laughed. "Sounds like me."
"You were wounded. You hated letting me help."
"And yet I stayed."
"Because you fell for me."
He kissed her. "I fall for you every time."
She leaned into him, and the bond pulsed again, warm and golden and endlessly alive.
And far away, beyond mortal realms, the spirit of the first bonded watched through the veil.
She smiled.
The curse was broken. The cycle was healed.
And the bond of thorns and starlight would endure.
Forever.