First-Person: Kael
There are no words for what she's become.
Nyra stands at the heart of the cavern — the light bending toward her like worship, her silhouette drawn in flame and shadow. Every time she breathes, the realm moves. Every time she thinks, it listens.
I should be afraid.
I am afraid.
But it isn't the kind of fear I've ever known. Not the kind that makes you want to run — the kind that roots you in place, breathless, because you can't look away.
Her mark glows like molten gold, curling up her arm, her throat, her cheek. The symbols along her skin shift as if alive, rewriting her in real time. And in the stillness between one pulse and the next, I realize — she's no longer fighting it.
The realm obeys her because she's letting it.
And I can feel it through the bond.
The connection between us hums low, a second heartbeat. Every flicker of her power brushes against me — heat, light, pain, longing — and when she exhales, I swear I can taste the air she breathes.
It's too much.
It's everything.
I press a hand against my chest, against the mark that mirrors hers. It burns, but not with pain. It's hunger — a craving to draw closer, to share whatever current she's feeding. But beneath the pull, there's something else. A bleed of her emotion into me — exhaustion, fear, grief.
She doesn't even know it's happening.
The realm shifts again, and I catch her reflection in one of the crystal threads above. For a moment, I see not Nyra — but the woman she saw in the pool. The same eyes. The same mark. The same quiet, terrible power.
And I wonder if she's still in there, or if the magic has started hollowing her out.
I know what it's like to lose control of something ancient. I've seen it break men stronger than me. But this… this is different. She is the storm, and I am standing at its eye, praying it remembers my name.
"Nyra," I call softly.
She turns — slow, like she's moving through a dream. Her eyes aren't just hers anymore; they carry light that doesn't belong to this world.
"Kael." My name sounds strange on her lips, too many voices woven through it.
The realm brightens around her. Runes flare. And for the smallest heartbeat, I see them — her memories bleeding through the glow: a child stealing bread in the slums, a girl hiding from soldiers, a woman bound in chains, staring at the sky as if she could claw her way into it.
Her pain. Her hunger for freedom. Her loneliness.
And now she's found power enough to silence all of it — if she lets it consume her.
I step closer. "You need to stop."
Her gaze sharpens, distant and too bright. "You don't understand, Kael. It listens to me."
"That's exactly why you need to stop."
The realm ripples in response to her hesitation. I feel the tremor through the bond — the struggle between her will and the mark's. And gods help me, part of me doesn't want her to win.
Because watching her wield this — seeing her as more than mortal — it's like watching the birth of a god. And I've never believed in anything so completely.
The whisper that haunted her before comes again, faint but close enough for me to hear it too.
Feed us, and you shall be whole.
Nyra flinches. I do too. The mark between us flares, our pulses syncing — too close, too fast. My body reacts before I can think, reaching for her arm, grounding her in something human.
The light around her steadies. For a second, her eyes are just hers again.
"Kael," she whispers, voice trembling. "I don't know if I can control it."
"Then I'll help you."
"How?"
"I'll stay close enough to burn if you do."
Her expression falters — somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Then she nods. "Then don't let go."
I tighten my grip on her arm. "Never."
The realm exhales around us, the light dimming back to its calm, waiting pulse. And for the first time, I realize the bond might not have been forged to destroy us.
It might have been made to make sure neither of us faced this alone.