Night draped the city in velvet when Andy and Nia stepped out of the guild. Lanterns swayed on iron hooks, their light shivering over rain-dark cobblestones and shuttered stalls. Beyond the rooftops, the moon hung low and white, a polished coin over a sleeping world.
They didn't speak at first. The Shared Dream still clung to them like perfume—too intimate, too fragile to name. Every few steps their shoulders brushed, and the contact felt like stepping into warm water. Andy wanted to say something—anything—but words kept snagging on the edges of his ribs.
Nia's fingers toyed with the hem of her robe. Twice she drew a breath to speak, twice she let it go. Her cheeks were faintly pink in the lantern glow. She was never more the noble heir than when she tried to hide how human she felt.
"About earlier—" Andy began.
A low chant slithered through the alley to their right, soft as a knife being unsheathed.
Shadows detached from shadows. Cloaked figures stepped into view, masks etched with jagged runes, green torches coughing up sickly light that turned the street into a fever dream.
Nia's breath hitched. "The Cult."
Andy's blades were already in his hands. "Figures they wouldn't let us have five quiet minutes."
The leader came forward, his mask split by a vertical gash that looked like an eye. His voice rasped, dry as a tomb. "The Bonded Pair. The System's mistake. Deliver the dragon's vessel and the star-born priestess. Our Lord claims what is owed."
"Over my dead body," Andy said.
"That can be arranged."
They surged like a tide.
The first cultist slashed from the left; steel screamed against Andy's blade. A spear of shadow lanced in from the right; his second sword flicked, parried, twisted, sent the dark weapon skittering into brick. A third came low, and he vaulted, boots striking a knee, blade hilt cracking against a jaw.
Behind him, Nia's staff bloomed with starlight. A radiant dome burst outward, swallowing the first volley of onyx arrows; fragments of shadow hissed as they shattered on the cobbles. She pivoted, palm flicking, a sheet of light knocking a dagger off its lethal line toward Andy's spine.
"Right—two!" she called.
"I see them!" Andy planted, spun, crossed his blades in an X that trapped a curved knife and snapped it cleanly in half. The cultist stumbled; Andy's elbow found a throat, his boot a knee; another shadow fell.
For a moment they were a rhythm—his breath, her breath, his step, her step—moving like lines of the same melody.
But there were too many. Cloaks poured from the alleys, masks glinting like teeth. Each strike Andy turned opened a seam for three more; each barrier Nia raised cracked under weight like winter ice. Sweat slicked her brow; her mana burned hot and fast. She shifted her stance, spreading her feet to anchor light into the stones themselves.
A spear of shadow threaded a narrow gap, hungry and precise, arrowing toward Andy's heart.
He saw it just before it struck—and too late to stop it.
"Nia—!"
Nia threw herself forward. Her staff snapped up. The barrier manifested a breath before impact.
The spear hit like a bell being struck; the barrier exploded into glassy shards of light, and the recoil flung Nia backward. She skidded across the cobbles, a red smear blooming at the corner of her mouth.
Time stuttered.
"Nia!" Andy's shout tore his throat.
The cult leader lifted both hands, gathering darkness into a six-foot lance, its tip sucking light from the air. He leveled it at Nia's fallen body.
The System's voice fell like a gavel.
> [Engagement Trial: Task 2 Initiated]
Demonstrate willingness to sacrifice.
[Warning: Failure will result in Bond Collapse.]
Everything in Andy contracted to a single point. The sound of boots, the hiss of green flame, the ache of muscles—that all went away. There was only the lance, and Nia beneath it, hair fanned silver on the stone.
Not her, he thought. Not her. Never her.
He ran.
Steel kissed his back. An arrow cut his side. He didn't slow. Shadows opened like mouths, but he shouldered through them, shoving, kicking, ignoring the bloom of pain every time metal found skin. The world narrowed to three strides, two, one—
He flung himself over Nia.
The shadow lance struck him just below the collarbone.
Agony lanced through his chest, white and clean, and his legs tried to vanish. He refused. He locked his knees, bared his teeth, and held—his body the only wall between death and the girl beneath him.
"Andy—!" Nia's voice broke on his name.
He looked down. She was there—eyes wide, face wet, pupils huge with terror. He wanted to say something cool, something that would make the pain less for her.
He managed a grin that tasted like blood. "Told you," he rasped. "Not leaving you alone."
Her fear turned to fury so fast it left a wake. Nia's hand closed on her staff; light roared through her like a storm.
"Don't—" she said, the word cracking, "—touch him."
Starlight detonated.
It ran out of her in a tidal wave: chains of radiance lashing, sweeping cloaks off feet, searing the black out of blades. The leader reeled; hairline fractures veined his mask.
"Retreat!" someone screamed. "The priestess—!"
They scattered, dissolving into smoke and alleyways. The leader staggered once, twice, and vanished, his shadow torn thin by light.
Silence fell, huge and ringing.
Andy's swords fell from numb hands. His legs trembled. "We… won," he tried, and then the street tilted.
Nia caught him. She dragged him down gently, onto her lap, one hand bracing his shoulders, the other already pressing to the wound. Her palms burned with light; his breath hitched as pain gave way to heat that was almost relief.
"You idiot," she whispered, and the words were soaked with salt. "You absolute, reckless idiot."
He laughed. It hurt. He did it anyway. "You keep… saying that. I'm getting a complex."
"Good," she snapped, and then her voice softened to threads. "Don't ever do that again. You hear me? Don't you dare."
The System chimed, clinical amid the ruin of her composure.
> [Task 2 Complete: Sacrifice Demonstrated]
Bond Progression: 78% → 82%
[Temporary Feature: Restoration Sync – Partial]
Partner's mana may accelerate stabilization of fatal wounds for 120 seconds.
Warmth flooded the link between them. Nia felt it as pressure under her skin, a hum in her bones, the ring of their joined pulse. She poured light into him, weaving it through torn flesh, tightening it around blood vessels like silk sutures. Her hands shook despite her control. Tears fell onto his tunic and vanished in the glow.
"Hey," Andy murmured. The world had receded to her face—close enough that he could count the pale fan of lashes, the constellation of tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose. "You're… crying again."
"Shut up." She sniffed, breath hitching. "Of course I am. You—" The rest knotted in her throat. She set her jaw and pressed harder, channeling. "Just hold still. Please."
He did. For once, he did.
Minutes unspooled. The green torches guttered to embers, then to smoke. The only sound was their breathing, the trickle of a distant fountain, the soft hiss of light knitting flesh.
When the worst of the bleeding stopped, Nia shifted him, propping his back against the base of a shuttered shop. She tore a strip from her sleeve with her teeth and wrapped it tight, fingers deft even as they trembled.
"Sorry about your robe," Andy said.
"I'll send you the bill."
"Think I can pay with… hero points?"
"Idiot." The word was a whisper now, almost fond. Her hand rose before she could stop it, brushing sweat-damp hair from his brow. Her knuckles grazed his cheekbone; her touch lingered, as if testing whether he was real.
He caught her wrist, gentle. The pulse there was quick and wild. "Nia."
Her eyes lifted to his. Whatever she'd been holding back in the Dream—she wasn't hiding it now. It was there, open and raw, reflected in him.
"I was so afraid," she said, the honesty tearing free. "When that lance—Andy, I thought—" She swallowed. "They've told me all my life that I don't get to choose. But in that moment, all I could think was that I'd lose you before I even had the right to say—"
She stopped, breath shaking.
"The right to say what?" he asked softly.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth, then returned to his eyes. The air between them felt thin, brittle with possibility.
"That you matter," she said. "More than titles. More than rules. More than every promise I was forced to make."
His laugh was small, broken around the edges. "Careful, princess. People will talk."
"Let them," she breathed.
He leaned in before he knew he was moving. She met him halfway, as if pulled by the same tide. The world shrank to the space between them, to the brush of her exhale on his lips, to the soft tremor in her hand still caught in his.
Hooves struck stone down the main road. A horn cut the night, clear and commanding.
They froze.
Lanternlight wavered over polished steel as riders turned into the street—the Everhart crest flashing on their tabards, silver hawk bright as frost. A voice, crisp and practiced, rang out:
"In the name of House Everhart—"
Nia flinched as if a cold hand had closed on her spine. The cage of marble halls rose like a ghost behind her eyes.
Andy exhaled, slow. He let her wrist go, but his hand didn't retreat far. It settled over her fingers where they lay against his chest, steadying both of them.
"We're not finished," he said, quiet but certain.
Her mouth curved—not a smile, not quite; something braver. "No," she said. "We're not."
She stood first and helped him up. He swayed; she anchored him with an arm around his waist. When he tried to shrug it off, she tightened her hold with a glare that brooked no argument.
"Don't even think about it."
"Yes, ma'am."
They faced the riders together.
Everhart livery filled the street, silver hawks glinting like cold stars. The man at their head sat straight as a lance, helm tucked beneath his arm, jaw set in lines that promised trouble.
"Lady Nia," he called, "you will come with us at once. Your presence is required at court."
Nia drew herself up, starlight still flickering along the edge of her staff. The night wind snatched a strand of her hair and set it dancing. Andy felt her arm tighten around him, the smallest tremor skating through her muscles.
He leaned a fraction closer, not enough for the riders to see, enough for her to feel. "You choose," he murmured. "Not them."
Her breath steadied. The fear didn't vanish; it sharpened into something like resolve.
She lifted her chin. "We'll come," she said. "Both of us."
The captain's gaze flicked to Andy, taking in the torn tunic, the improvised bandage, the stubborn way he stood despite the blood on his boots. The man's mouth thinned.
"This matter concerns House Everhart."
"This matter concerns me," Nia answered, and light—not magic, but something older—moved under the words. "He comes."
Silence stretched. Somewhere, a hound barked. A lantern hissed as it burned down to its last inch of wick.
The captain inclined his head by the width of a blade. "As you wish, my lady."
He wheeled his horse. The riders formed around them like parentheses, enclosing but not touching. Andy and Nia stepped forward together, pace matched, breath matched, hearts still thudding in the same stubborn rhythm.
Behind them, on the stone where they had knelt, a smear of blood gleamed black in the last of the torchlight. It would dry by morning and wash away in rain. But what had been written there would not.
The Trial had demanded a sacrifice. They had given it—and found, in the space left behind, something no System could codify.
Not a task.
A promise.
> [Bond Level Updated: 82%]
[Next Task Pending: Public Trust]
Destination: Royal Court.
They walked into the horn-bright night. And if their hands brushed once more in the dark before the riders noticed—well, that was between them and the stars.