First-Person: Nyra
The world returns in fragments. Sound first, then light.
The faint crackle of dying flames. The steady rhythm of rain on stone.
A voice breaks through the haze, rough and familiar. "Nyra. Breathe."
My body obeys before my mind catches up. Air floods in, sharp and cold. I blink until the world steadies.
We're still in the valley, though it barely looks like one anymore. The trees are scorched, the ground split open like the earth itself had fractured.
Kael kneels beside me. Blood streaks his cheek, soot marks the sharp lines of his jaw. His hand rests on my ribs, over the mark.
It's glowing. So is his.
Chapter Ten – The Aftermath"What happened?" My voice sounds distant, raw.
He doesn't answer right away. His thumb brushes the edge of the mark, as if testing whether I'm real. Heat spirals through me, too sudden, too alive.
"You burned through half the valley," he says quietly. "And pulled me with you."
I stare at him, disbelieving. "I… what?"
Then I see it — faint red threads connecting us, pulsing softly like veins of light beneath the skin.
"What is that?"
"A bond," he says. His voice is steady, but his eyes aren't.
The word lands heavy.
"It shouldn't be possible," he continues, almost to himself. "Two marked sharing power. That's something out of myth."
"But it's real."
He meets my gaze. "Because of you."
The silence stretches between us, thick with smoke and something more dangerous. I can feel his pulse through the thread — steady, deliberate, but not calm.
"What does it mean?" I ask quietly.
"It means I can feel everything you feel."
The world tilts.
He doesn't look away. Just watches me, letting the truth settle between us.
"And you," I whisper. "You can feel—?"
"Yes."
My heartbeat stumbles. I don't have to ask what that includes. Every flicker of emotion, every pull of heat — he feels it all.
His voice drops lower, rougher. "You should rest. The bond will take time to stabilize."
I shake my head. "You're lying."
"About what?"
"About what it's doing to you."
Something flashes in his eyes, not anger or fear, but something rawer. "You don't want to know what it's doing to me."
He stands, breaking the contact. The red threads flicker and fade like dying embers. "Get some sleep," he says, his tone too calm to be real.
But as he turns away, I see his hand shake. Just once.
And I feel it echo through me.
Whatever this bond is, it's not just power anymore.
It's hunger.
It's connection.
It's beginning.