"Auralia," I breathed, unsure if it was a memory or her name that left my lips. She didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched me, as if trying to decide whether she was seeing a ghost, or a stranger… or the boy she used to trust, And I didn't know which one I was anymore.
"Eiran" She replies, raising one of her eyebrows in a quizzical manner as if I was looking at her and she had sprouted horns and a tail.
Then—just like that—the tension broke.
She tilted her head, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. That same, mischievous grin I remembered from our youth, the one she wore whenever she was about to say something clever or foolish, often both.
"Well," she said, her voice light, teasing. "You still take too long to pack. I thought I'd grow old waiting for you."
She stepped forward, arms crossed loosely, eyes flicking to my satchel as if judging its contents.
"Let me guess—two shirts, your mother's locket, and that terrible sketch of a griffin you tried to draw when you were fifteen?"
I blinked, stunned—not by the accuracy, but by the way her words wrapped around the years like ivy reclaiming old stone.
"You remember that?" I asked.
She shrugged, grinning wider now. "Of course. It looked more like a chicken with a sword. I told you then, you should stick to swords."
A laugh escaped me—sharp and sudden, cutting through the grief like sunlight through storm clouds.
She moved closer still, eyes bright with that restless curiosity that had always lived in her. "You've changed," she said, eyes scanning my face like she was reading a story etched into my skin. "But you still make that same brooding face when you think no one's looking."
I tried to speak, but she was already circling me, like a wolf pretending to be a songbird. "And those tattoos—" Her fingers hovered near my arm, not touching, just watching the way the runes pulsed faintly beneath the surface. "Mage? Warrior? Or are you finally admitting you're too complicated for just one label?"
Her eyes met mine again, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed. Like we were still just two reckless kids hiding from the world, trying to outrun expectations, discovering who we were by challenging everything around us.
Except… everything had changed.
And I could tell, by the flicker of sadness in her gaze when her smile softened. Tilting her head slightly like a cat does when it finds something curious. She laughed, soft and musical, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear like she always used to when she was trying not to look shy. Auralia had always been sunlight bottled in a storm—radiant, wild, impossible to hold. And yet somehow, she'd always chosen to stay beside me.
Back then.
Now… she stepped closer, close enough for her scent—pine needles and summer wind—to stir memories I'd buried deep.
"You're quiet," she said, that smile still playing on her lips. "Unusual for you. Did the fatestone teach you to finally learn the value of listening?"
I almost smiled. Almost.
She reached for my hand, her fingers brushing against mine like she had every right to—because she did. We had shared a thousand little moments like this before. Sitting on the roof whispering about stars, sparring under the moonlight, sharing a single cloak during a storm. She had kissed me once, awkward and daring, when we were seventeen and certain the world would never touch us.
But now I knew what the world would do. What I would become. What she would suffer, if she walked this path beside me again.
Her hand curled into mine, fingers warm and familiar.
"I could come with you," she offered, as if reading my thoughts—or maybe just knowing me too well. "Wherever you're going, you don't have to go alone."
And gods, I wanted to say yes.
But I saw it—again. The chains. The betrayal. Her eyes filled with disbelief and pain as I bled out beneath her blade.
The memory was too fresh, too sharp, like a wound that hasn't stopped bleeding.
I pulled my hand from hers gently, forcing my gaze to the ground. "I can't ask that of you."
She frowned. "You didn't ask. I offered."
"You don't understand," I said, voice low. "If you come with me… things will happen. Things I can't stop."
Her brow furrowed, the teasing warmth giving way to concern. "Eiran… what are you talking about?"
I couldn't tell her the truth—not yet. Maybe not ever. The burden was mine to carry.
"I'm not who I was," I said. "Not entirely. And I can't be the reason you lose yourself."
She stared at me for a long moment, confusion, hurt, and love mingling in her eyes. But she didn't press further—not yet.
Instead, she stepped back, the distance between us suddenly feeling vast. "You sound like someone who's already said goodbye."
"I have," I whispered.
And her silence was heavier than any words she could have spoken.
The morning sun crept low over the trees as I took my final steps toward the edge of the village, boots crunching against the frost-laced path. My pack felt heavier than it should've—less from the weight of gear and more from the burden of everything left unsaid.
I hadn't looked back.
Couldn't.
But her voice caught up to me anyway.
"You always were an idiot when it came to goodbyes."
I froze.
Auralia stood in the middle of the path like she'd been waiting for this moment her whole life. Her travel cloak hung over one shoulder, the edges still damp from dew. A satchel was strapped across her back, a gleam of her rapier hilt catching the early light. She wasn't just following me—she was ready.
"Auralia…"
She raised an eyebrow. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice how you avoided saying anything real back there? I've known you since we were children, Eiran. I've seen every version of your silence."
Her boots crunched closer, deliberate, unyielding. "And I'm not letting you walk away from me. Not again."
"You don't understand what's waiting out there," I said, throat tight. "If you come with me, you'll suffer. You'll bleed. You'll lose things that you can't ever get back."
She stopped in front of me, eyes brighter than I remembered—brighter than they had been even when she'd killed me.
"I already did," she said. "The moment you left the first time."
I looked at her—really looked—and saw the fire beneath the playful smile. She wasn't just the curious, clever girl from our youth. She was a storm now, fierce and stubborn and unafraid of the ruin we might become.
I wanted to scream, to beg her not to do this. To protect her. To save her.
But she stepped forward and took my hand anyway.
"We both have scars, Eiran. You don't get to carry yours alone."
And just like that, the knot in my chest loosened—just a little.
Maybe I couldn't change what had happened. Maybe I couldn't stop what was coming.
But in this moment, with her beside me again, I didn't feel like I was walking into the dark alone.
And maybe… that would make all the difference.
I opened my mouth to speak—to explain, to warn her, to somehow make her understand. But she didn't give me the chance.
Auralia stepped in and kissed me.