He slept for three days.
Elira never left his side.
The stranger's breaths came in shallow waves, his body radiating strange heat in pulses, like he was tethered to a sun no one else could see. At times he whispered names—some in a language she didn't know, others too ancient to be real. "Caeryn," "Solaneth," "Nythis," and always, Astrael.
Elira wrote them down in her old herb journal, next to pressed leaves and moonflower sketches. Something told her they mattered. Everything about him did.
On the second night, she noticed the mark on his chest.
A tattoo? No. It shimmered when the firelight hit it—an intricate rune shaped like an eye surrounded by wings, inked in silver and lined with stardust. She had seen that symbol once before—carved into the oldest stone in the village shrine. The Stone of the Veil.
Her hands trembled.
The next morning, the stranger awoke.
He sat up slowly, eyes alert, pupils narrow and glowing faintly. When they landed on her, a flicker of recognition sparked again—confused, almost reverent.
"You stayed," he said, voice like gravel.
"You nearly died on my table," she replied, arms crossed. "I'm not in the habit of letting people bleed out in my home."
He nodded, rubbing his forehead. "You have questions."
"Only every question in the world," she muttered. "Starting with who you are."
He looked at the fire, shadows dancing across his features. "Kael."
"That's your name?"
"It's the one I was given when I took the Oath."
"What oath?"
A pause.
"The Oath of the Veilguard. I am—was—a Guardian. Bound to protect the passage between realms. But the Veil was attacked. From the inside."
Elira blinked. "You expect me to believe that the stories are real? That you're one of the moon-warriors who fought gods and walked between worlds?"
Kael held out his arm, veins glowing faintly beneath the skin. "You've seen the mark. You feel it too, don't you? The pull."
She hated how much sense it made. How everything she'd felt—since the night he arrived—fit a puzzle she didn't know existed.
"I don't feel anything," she lied.
Kael tilted his head. "You were chosen for a reason, Elira."
Her name on his lips made her stomach flutter. She turned away.
"There was no reason," she said. "I'm just a healer. This cottage, this forest—it's all I've ever known."
"Not for much longer."
She turned sharply. "Excuse me?"
"The Veil is collapsing. The gods we once imprisoned stir again. You're not just caught in this—you're at the center of it."
She stared at him, heart drumming wildly. "Why me?"
Kael stood, a little unsteady. He moved toward her, stopping close—too close. The air between them vibrated with heat, with something unspoken.
"I don't know yet," he said. "But I swear this to you, Elira—if you come with me, I'll protect you. No matter what waits on the other side."
She should have said no.
She should have turned away.
But when he looked at her like that—like she was more than a girl in the woods, like she was someone that mattered—she couldn't breathe.
And somewhere, deep inside, something ancient stirred.
Something that remembered him.
He slept for three days.
Elira never left his side.
The stranger's breaths came in shallow waves, his body radiating strange heat in pulses, like he was tethered to a sun no one else could see. At times he whispered names—some in a language she didn't know, others too ancient to be real. "Caeryn," "Solaneth," "Nythis," and always, Astrael.
Elira wrote them down in her old herb journal, next to pressed leaves and moonflower sketches. Something told her they mattered. Everything about him did.
On the second night, she noticed the mark on his chest.
A tattoo? No. It shimmered when the firelight hit it—an intricate rune shaped like an eye surrounded by wings, inked in silver and lined with stardust. She had seen that symbol once before—carved into the oldest stone in the village shrine. The Stone of the Veil.
Her hands trembled.
The next morning, the stranger awoke.
He sat up slowly, eyes alert, pupils narrow and glowing faintly. When they landed on her, a flicker of recognition sparked again—confused, almost reverent.
"You stayed," he said, voice like gravel.
"You nearly died on my table," she replied, arms crossed. "I'm not in the habit of letting people bleed out in my home."
He nodded, rubbing his forehead. "You have questions."
"Only every question in the world," she muttered. "Starting with who you are."
He looked at the fire, shadows dancing across his features. "Kael."
"That's your name?"
"It's the one I was given when I took the Oath."
"What oath?"
A pause.
"The Oath of the Veilguard. I am—was—a Guardian. Bound to protect the passage between realms. But the Veil was attacked. From the inside."
Elira blinked. "You expect me to believe that the stories are real? That you're one of the moon-warriors who fought gods and walked between worlds?"
Kael held out his arm, veins glowing faintly beneath the skin. "You've seen the mark. You feel it too, don't you? The pull."
She hated how much sense it made. How everything she'd felt—since the night he arrived—fit a puzzle she didn't know existed.
"I don't feel anything," she lied.
Kael tilted his head. "You were chosen for a reason, Elira."
Her name on his lips made her stomach flutter. She turned away.
"There was no reason," she said. "I'm just a healer. This cottage, this forest—it's all I've ever known."
"Not for much longer."
She turned sharply. "Excuse me?"
"The Veil is collapsing. The gods we once imprisoned stir again. You're not just caught in this—you're at the center of it."
She stared at him, heart drumming wildly. "Why me?"
Kael stood, a little unsteady. He moved toward her, stopping close—too close. The air between them vibrated with heat, with something unspoken.
"I don't know yet," he said. "But I swear this to you, Elira—if you come with me, I'll protect you. No matter what waits on the other side."
She should have said no.
She should have turned away.
But when he looked at her like that—like she was more than a girl in the woods, like she was someone that mattered—she couldn't breathe.
And somewhere, deep inside, something ancient stirred.
Something that remembered him.