Distance meant nothing when the one who'd carved these marks into his soul decided it was time to remind him what he was. Who he belonged to. What duties waited for him back in Nevareth.
Soren looked at the glowing lines covering his arms, his chest, visible through the dim light filtering into the alcove.
He sighed.
"She never gives up, does she?"
The question was rhetorical. Directed at no one. But he knew the answer anyway because he'd spent more than a decade learning exactly how persistent Vetra could be when she wanted something, when she decided someone belonged to her, when she refused to accept that people could leave, could choose differently, could prioritize something besides her carefully laid plans.
Movement beside him caught his attention.
Eris.
Shifting in sleep. Not waking but restless. Her brow furrowed slightly, lips pressing together, one hand curling into a fist against the furs beneath them.
Like she could sense something wrong.
