Kael did not wake.
Not when Elira screamed his name.
Not when the fortress shook in panic.
Not when she poured every shred of controlled starlight she had left into his bleeding body.
The wound would not close.
Celestial poison threaded through his veins — white-hot and wrong — devouring shadow, devouring flesh, devouring time.
"He's dying," someone whispered behind her.
Elira turned on them with eyes still glowing faintly from remembered divinity.
"Leave," she said.
No one argued.
She was alone with him when the serpent finally spoke clearly.
Not in hunger.
Not in temptation.
In truth.
> If he dies, I die.
Elira froze.
Her hands stilled over Kael's chest, feeling the faltering beat of his heart — too slow now. Too weak.
"You lied to me," she said quietly.
The serpent uncoiled.
Not from Kael's body.
From beneath it.
The chamber darkened as shadow peeled away from flesh and bone, forming a vast silhouette — not a beast, but a shape made of intention, of ancient design.
> I omitted.
Elira's jaw clenched. "Tell me what you are."
For the first time…
The serpent bowed.
> I was never a parasite.
I was a failsafe.
Memory slammed into her like a broken star.
—
Aurelion Astraea standing before the Firmament.
Holding a living constellation forged into form.
Binding it not to destroy… but to preserve.
> Mortals cannot carry this much shadow, the gods had warned.
He will burn.
> Then make him something that won't, she had replied.
—
Elira gasped.
"You were meant to keep him alive," she whispered.
> I was meant to make him survive heaven's mistakes.
I was meant to give him a shape strong enough to bear your bond.
Her knees trembled.
"Then why does it feel like you're consuming him?"
The serpent's golden eyes softened — impossibly old.
> Because you were taken away.
And he chose rage over grief.
Kael convulsed.
Blood frothed at his lips.
Elira sobbed, clutching him tighter.
"Fix this," she demanded. "You said you were bound to him."
> I am.
But I cannot purge divine poison alone.
"Then tell me what to do."
Silence stretched — heavy, deliberate.
> Bind fully.
Not as anchor.
As equal.
Her breath hitched.
"That will—"
> Cost you.
She looked down at Kael's face — scarred, fierce even in stillness, the man who had chosen her every time it mattered.
"Do it," she whispered.
The serpent did not hesitate.
---
Shadow and starlight erupted together — not violently, but intimately.
Runes etched themselves into the air, into flesh, into fate.
Elira gasped as the bond deepened — not heat this time, but weight. Responsibility. Vulnerability.
She felt his pain.
Felt his rage.
Felt the echo of every battle he'd ever survived because hatred had been easier than hope.
Kael's back arched as the poison burned away, eaten by shadow rewritten into purpose. The serpent sank back into him — no longer consuming.
Guarding.
Elira cried out as something tore free inside her — not power.
Isolation.
Her light dimmed slightly… and became human enough to stay.
Kael screamed once.
Then inhaled sharply.
"Elira—"
Her hands shook as she pressed her forehead to his.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I didn't leave this time."
His eyes fluttered open — unfocused, then locking onto her.
"You—" His voice broke. "You feel different."
"So do you," she breathed.
He pulled her against him weakly, hand fisting in her clothes like he was afraid she might vanish.
"Don't ever do that again," he said roughly.
She laughed through tears. "You don't get to die. That's the rule."
The serpent stirred — satisfied.
> Then it is done.
Two broken things made whole enough to endure.
Outside, the sky darkened.
Not with storm.
With fear.
Because heaven had just learned something unforgivable:
They could no longer separate the warlord from the star.