"She's not light, somebody grab her already," Kaine snapped, stepping forward. His hands slid under Mae's arms, ready to haul her up like cargo. "We don't have all day for her to wake up out here."
"No!" Riven's shout cracked across the air like a whip. His boots scuffed as he lunged forward, hands half-raised like Kaine might actually be holding a bomb instead of a passed-out girl.
"No. It's got to be Ashar." His voice was sharp, panicked in a way Riven never sounded. "Put her down. Now." Kaine's eyes snapped wide. "The hell it does." His grip tightened. "She's unconscious, not royalty."
"Kaine." Riven's tone shifted, lower, dangerous. His silver eyes weren't joking, not even close. "Trust me. If anyone's carrying her, it's him." He jerked his chin toward Ashar, who stood still, silent, watching, unreadable as always. Lucien crossed his arms, tension knotting his jaw. "I hate it when Riven's serious. Means something's actually wrong."
Sethis muttered under his breath, "Yeah. Bad wrong." Kaine growled, but slowly, reluctantly, set Mae back down onto the softened grass. His hands flexed like they hated letting go. "Fine. But someone better explain why the hell." He gestured wildly to the now-healed landscape, then to her limp body. "Why this." Ashar moved.
No words. No hesitation. He stepped forward, crouched smoothly, and scooped Mae into his arms. Effortless. Careful. His hands curled beneath her knees and shoulders as if she was made of glass, not fragile, but important. Sacred. The glow under her skin had faded, but faint lines still shimmered where her pulse touched her veins, traces of something not fully gone. Ashar's expression didn't change. But his grip tightened, just slightly. Protective. Claiming.
His.
Without another word, he turned back toward the castle, boots silent against the now-stable earth. The others followed, some reluctantly, some cautiously, all quiet.
For once, no one argued. The interior of the castle was different now. Where jagged walls and warped floors had once bent reality, straight lines had returned. Clean angles. Light flooded in where it hadn't existed for centuries.
But the tension inside hadn't changed. Mae was laid gently on a long, cushioned lounge, her head turned to the side, breathing shallow but steady. The five circled around, pacing, bristling, waiting. Kaine was the first to snap. "Alright. No more silence. No more half-truths." His arms crossed tight over his chest. "Ashar. You're going to talk. And you're going to do it now." Ashar stood at the edge of the room, arms folded, crystalline eyes locked on Mae like the rest of the world didn't exist. For a second, it looked like he wouldn't answer.
Like he didn't even hear him. But before Ashar could speak, Riven slid in between them. "Nope." His hands went up, palms out. "Not his job." Kaine snarled, "the hell it isn't-"
"It's not." Riven's voice hit sharp. "This isn't just history, Kaine. It's sacred. It's his role. His burden." His gaze flicked toward Ashar, then back. "If he speaks it wrong, if it's said without the right, the right intent." He snapped his fingers. "It could go sideways. Fast." Lucien scowled. "Sideways like what? The universe implodes? Reality hiccups? Or sideways like, her?" His eyes drifted toward Mae's still body. Riven's smirk was humorless. "Yes."
Silence followed. Heavy. Thick. Kaine ran a hand over his face, dragging it down. "Void, fine. But if she wakes up and reality does this again." His jaw clenched. "I'm out."
"No you're not," Sethis muttered. "We're all in this now. Like it or not." Lucien let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. She just stitched a dead planet back together. There's no walking away from that." Riven's grin softened, just a little. "Smartest thing you've said all day."
Ashar still hadn't moved. His gaze never left Mae. Silent. Watching. As if waiting for something none of them could see, but he could feel. If she wakes. When. Not if.
Because something in him knew. She's not done. Not yet. Ashar stood perfectly still.
Stone. Steel. Ice. At least, that's how it looked. How it always looked. But inside?
Cracks. Small ones. Hairline fractures. But spreading. Riven's voice was a low hum in the background, words he never thought he'd hear spoken aloud. Not outside whispers. Not outside the dead language of broken lore.
"The Divine Fracture wasn't just a tear in space. It was a reaction. A consequence."
"A reset, almost. Something born from the moment the galaxy nearly ended itself."
Ashar's crystalline eyes stayed locked on Mae. Her chest rose and fell, shallow, but steady. Skin pale, but the faintest flickers of energy still shimmered beneath it, like cracks in porcelain filled with molten gold. It's real. She's real. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening.
It shouldn't be real. This was myth. A lie told to comfort the dying. A bedtime story for the last generation of Veydrin before the fracture consumed them. A lie I never believed... until now. His gaze didn't shift, didn't dare. If he looked away, even for a second, it might all unravel. No. Not unravel. Become real. Riven's voice continued, filling the air like the hum of the fracture itself before it healed.
"The lore said, the fracture wasn't just a wound. It was a prison. A cocoon. Something... waiting."
"Waiting for the one thing that could rewrite the laws that broke it." Kaine muttered something sharp. "This is insane." Lucien paced, hands locked behind his head. Sethis didn't even bother hiding the way his leg bounced restlessly. But none of it touched Ashar. Because for him, it wasn't insane. It was worse. It was true.
His people, the Veydrin, had carried the lore in fragments. In broken carvings. In songs no one sang anymore.
"When the stars fracture, when time folds, when the echo of the end becomes flesh, the Divine will take form once more. Not god. Not mortal. Something between."
"And to that form, one Veydrin will be bound. Singular. Eternal. Fated. The tether between the undone and the remade."
Ashar's hands flexed. Fingertips trembled, small. Barely noticeable. But it was there.
His curse. His burden. His inevitability. Because it wasn't just the fracture that responded to her. It was him. The lore was never about the fracture alone. It was about me. His chest tightened, breath coming shallower than he wanted to admit. His pulse was steady, but heavy. Too heavy. She's the catalyst. And I am the lock. The key. The bond that holds her from tearing this universe apart, or stitching it back together.
And she didn't know. Not yet. Didn't know what it meant. What it would mean. For her. For him. For all of them. She didn't choose this. Neither did he. But fate never cared about choice. Not for the Veydrin. Not for the Divine Fracture. Not for them.
Riven's words hit the end of the line, voice softer now, but no less heavy. "What it means, is that this world? This broken thing we live in?" His gaze swept the others. "It's not just hers to break anymore. It's hers to rebuild. Or burn. Or bend. And Ash." His eyes slid sideways. "That means you are bound to her whether you like it or not."
Silence. Thick. Absolute. Ashar didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't breathe, at least not like a normal man. Because the weight of that truth wasn't something you breathe through. It was something you either survive. Or it consumes you whole. And as his gaze drifted lower, to the fragile, terrifying, impossible girl in his arms, he realized.
This is only the beginning.