The battlefield smelled of blood and ash. Screams tore through the air, the sound of dragons shrieking overhead rattling the ground beneath you. Your blade was heavy in your hand, arm trembling from exhaustion, but you kept swinging, kept standing, because beside you were your friends, and behind you was the future you swore to protect.
Then something hot and sharp tore across your side, stealing your breath. The world tilted. You staggered, trying to hold yourself upright, but the ground rushed to meet you. The last thing you remembered before darkness swallowed you was Garrickâs panicked shout, and Xaden. You searched for him, desperate for even a glance, but your eyes caught only one image before they closed:
Xaden kneeling beside Violet Sorrengailâs cot, shadows curling protectively around her. His hand brushing her hair back, his focus fixed entirely on her. Not once did he look up. Not once at you.
When you finally surfaced from the dark, your body felt like stone. Breathing was a battle in itself, every muscle screaming in protest. Light stung your eyes, but when your vision cleared, you werenât alone.
Bodhi sat slumped in a chair, chin against his chest, snoring softly. Imogen leaned against the wall, arms crossed but eyes closed, as though she had forced herself to stay upright until exhaustion claimed her. And Garrick, sweet, loyal Garrick, was asleep at your bedside, his hand lightly curled around yours as if heâd been holding it for days.
You tried to speak, but the sound was barely a whisper. Garrickâs head shot up instantly. âSheâs awake!â His voice cracked. Relief crashed over his face so hard you thought he might cry. Imogen stirred, her eyes snapping open, and Bodhi jerked upright, nearly falling out of his chair.
They surrounded you, each speaking at once, reassurances, questions, laughter through tears. You didnât understand everything, but you understood enough: they had been here. They had waited. They had carried you when you couldnât stand, watched over you when you couldnât fight for yourself.
Days later, when you were strong enough to sit up and sip broth, the truth reached him in the cruelest way.
General Sorrengail had stopped by your cot with a rare softness in her eyes. âItâs good to see you awake. The others said it was weeks. Youâre lucky to have friends who never left your side.â
And then, casually, she added, âXaden must be relieved to know you survived.â
Across the tent, you heard the sharp intake of breath, the scrape of boots on stone. Shadows rippled. You didnât even have to turn your head to know he was there.
âComa?â Xadenâs voice was strangled, as if the word itself cut him. He looked at Imogen, then Bodhi, then Garrick. âSheâs been in a coma?â
Imogenâs control snapped. She shoved herself off the wall and advanced, her words knives sharper than any blade.
âSheâs been here for weeks, Xaden. Weeks! While you sat at Violetâs bedside, holding her hand, making sure she was comfortable, she was in a coma. The same battle you were in, the same blood and fire, and not once did you ask about her. Not once did you wonder if she lived, if she breathed.â Her voice broke with fury. âDonât you dare act surprised.â
The silence after was deafening.
Xaden stood frozen, shadows writhing uselessly around him. His eyes, those dark, storm-laden eyes that once were your anchor, fell on you. But you couldnât meet them. Not when they burned with regret only after the truth had been shoved into his face.
You turned away, fixing your gaze instead on Garrickâs reassuring hand over yours. That hurt him more than any battle wound ever could.
When you were strong enough to leave the healerâs tent, your steps were fragile, body still betraying you with weakness. Bodhi, Garrick, and Imogen became your constant shadows, taking turns supporting you as you learned to walk again. Their laughter kept the heaviness at bay, their warmth replacing the icy absence that used to ache inside your chest.
And still, you felt him. Always behind you.
Xaden followed, but at a distance. Never close enough to touch, never close enough to be part of the circle you leaned on now. He would linger in the shadows at the edge of the courtyard, his eyes tracking every faltering step, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought it might crack.
The first time Bodhi offered you his arm, you took it with a shaky smile. Xadenâs expression twisted, but he said nothing.
The first time Garrick steadied you after a stumble, his hand gentle at your elbow, you leaned into him. Xadenâs shadows stirred violently, but still he said nothing.
The first time you laughed, really laughed, at something Imogen muttered under her breath, Xaden looked as though youâd driven a dagger straight into his heart.
And yet he stayed. Always at a distance. Watching. Regretting.
But you never looked back.
Because shadows, youâd learned, donât wait.
The days blurred into a slow rhythm of healing. Your legs were still weak, your ribs still ached if you breathed too deeply, but every day you pushed yourself forward. One step. One more breath. One more laugh, even if it was forced at first.
And they were always there.
Bodhiâs endless chatter, Imogenâs dry wit, Garrickâs steady presence, they filled the spaces Xaden used to. It was safer this way. Easier to let their loyalty stitch over the places where his absence had hollowed you out.
But no matter how hard you tried to pretend, you still felt him.
Always at the edges of your vision. Always lingering just far enough away that if you turned, you might miss him in the crowd. A shadow in truth.
And then, one night, he stepped too close.
You had just returned from a slow walk, Garrick at your side, Bodhi joking about how he should be knighted for his patience in walking at a âgrandmotherâs pace.â Imogen rolled her eyes and swatted him on the back of the head, making you laugh, weak, but real.
The moment you reached your door, the laughter stilled.
Xaden stood just beyond the threshold, dark eyes fixed on you with a look you couldnât name. Regret. Hunger. Desperation. His shadows flickered around him like restless smoke.
Bodhi bristled. âWhat the hell do you want, Xaden?â
âNot now, Bodhi,â Xaden said quietly, his voice too raw to be sharp. His gaze never left yours. âI need to talk to her.â
Imogen crossed her arms, stepping between you like a shield. âYou had weeks. Weeks where she lay unconscious, fighting to live. You donât get to just show up and demand her time now.â
Xadenâs jaw tightened. âI didnât know.â
âBecause you didnât ask!â Imogen snapped, voice cracking under the fury sheâd been holding back for far too long.
Silence fell heavy, broken only by the crackle of Xadenâs shadows against the wall. Garrick shifted closer, his hand brushing yours, not possessive, just protective. It made Xadenâs eyes darken, a flicker of pain crossing his face.
Finally, you spoke. âLet him.â
Three sets of eyes swung toward you, disbelief written across each face. But you were tired of the unspoken tension, tired of the weight that had been pressing on your chest since you first opened your eyes and found him not there.
âFive minutes,â you added, voice firm despite the tremor in your hands.
Imogenâs jaw clenched, but she nodded reluctantly. Bodhi muttered something about breaking Xadenâs nose if he upset you, and Garrick squeezed your hand before they filed out.
And then it was just you. And him.
For a long moment, Xaden didnât speak. He only looked at you, like he was memorizing the shape of you alive. His chest rose and fell, heavy as if the words inside him might suffocate him before they left.
Finally, he said, âI didnât know. If I had knownââ
âYou wouldâve what?â you cut in, sharper than you intended. âCome running? Sat by my bed like you did with hers?â
He flinched, shadows curling tighter. âIt wasnât like that.â
âWasnât it?â Your laugh was brittle, a blade disguised as sound. âI saw you, Xaden. While Garrick carried me into the healerâs tent, bleeding out in his arms, I saw you. Sitting next to her. Caressing her. Not once did you look up.â
His throat worked as if the words burned on their way out. âSheâs bonded to Tairn. To Sgaeylâs mate. You donât understand what that meansââ
âDonât you dare,â you whispered, fury and hurt lacing each syllable. âDonât you dare use that bond as an excuse for forgetting me.â
The silence after felt like a blade pressed to your throat.
Xadenâs voice dropped to a broken whisper. âYou think I forgot you? You think for one second you werenâtââ He stopped, swallowed hard. âYouâre the only thing thatâs ever mattered to me. And I failed you.â
Tears burned your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. âYou didnât just fail me, Xaden. You chose not to see me.â
His composure cracked then, just for a heartbeat. The mighty Xaden Riorson, who commanded shadows and defied generals, looked utterly undone.
âI donât know how to fix this,â he admitted, voice rough. âBut Iâll spend every day trying, if youâll let me.â
You shook your head slowly. âItâs not about whether you try now. Itâs about the fact that when it mattered most, you didnât.â
You turned from him, laying down on your cot though your chest ached like it was tearing apart. âYour five minutes are over.â
The scrape of his boots on the stone floor retreated. The air grew colder as his shadows pulled back. And still, he lingered at the door for a breath too long, as if waiting for you to call him back.
Because shadows donât wait.
The morning after Xadenâs visit, the air felt heavier. Not just your body, still weak from weeks of stillness, but the air itself. As if the confrontation had shaken something loose, shadows hung closer, silence stretched longer.
You tried to ignore it. Tried to focus on healing, on the quiet rhythm of Bodhiâs banter and Imogenâs dry commentary and Garrickâs steady patience. They made you laugh, they kept you moving, they reminded you that you werenât alone.
But the shadow never left.
Always a few steps back, always watching. Sometimes you caught Xadenâs gaze before you looked away, and each time his expression carried that same raw regret.
It hurt more than you wanted to admit.
That night, you were sitting by the fire with the others when he finally pushed too far.
Bodhi was sprawled across the ground, throwing sticks into the flames. Imogen sharpened her dagger, and Garrick sat close enough to you that his shoulder brushed yours, steady and grounding.
And then Xaden appeared out of the darkness.
The firelight caught the hard planes of his face, shadows curling at his heels like loyal dogs. He didnât ask permission this time, he just stepped forward, eyes fixed on you.
âEnough,â Garrick snapped, standing before you could. His voice was sharper than youâd ever heard it, his body bristling with tension. âShe doesnât want this.â
âI need to talk to her,â Xaden said, low and urgent.
âYou already did,â Imogen cut in coldly. âShe told you to leave. You donât get to keep circling like a vulture just because you finally realized what you lost.â
Xadenâs eyes flickered, shadows stirring violently. âYou think I donât know I failed her? You think I donât wake up every damn night replaying it? But sheâs mine.â
The word cracked the air like a whip.
Bodhi shot to his feet, fury blazing across his face. âYours? Sheâs not a sword or a shadow you get to claim, Xaden. While you were holding Violetâs hand, we were the ones keeping her alive. Donât you dare come here and talk about her like she belongs to you.â
The silence that followed was suffocating, broken only by the fireâs snap and your own racing heartbeat.
You stood then, legs trembling but resolve hard as steel.
âIâm not anyoneâs,â you said quietly, and all three of them turned toward you. Xaden froze, his expression unraveling. âNot yours. Not theirs. Not anymore. I decide who I let in â and who I donât.â
Xaden stepped forward, desperation breaking through his composure. âThen let me in. Just once more. Please.â
Before you could answer, Garrickâs hand closed around your wrist, steady and protective. He met Xadenâs gaze with a look so sharp it could have cut steel.
âYou donât deserve her.â
The words landed like a killing blow. For a moment, even the shadows recoiled.
Xadenâs jaw tightened, but he didnât lash out. He only looked at you, and the weight of that gaze pressed hard against your ribs, where once it had been your anchor.
But you stayed silent. Because what could you say? That you loved him still, even when he hadnât been there? That you hated him for the same reason? That your heart didnât know whether to shatter or cling?
Instead, you turned away.
Imogen, Bodhi, and Garrick closed ranks around you, their silent wall of loyalty and protection. Xaden stood outside it, shadows writhing uselessly, a man cut off from the only light he had left.
And for the first time, he realized he wasnât fighting dragons or generals or the fate of his rebellion.
He was fighting the consequences of his own choices.
And he might already have lost.
Got it â no messy love triangle clichĂ©. đ
đ»ââïž
This will stay firmly in the lane of: Xaden wrestling with regret and jealousy vs. Garrickâs protective loyalty as a friend/brother-figure to you. The focus will stay on your healing and boundaries, not some tug-of-war for your affection. Garrick isnât in love with you â heâs furious that Xaden abandoned you, and heâs not going to let him slide back in without facing what heâs done.
The tension didnât dissolve after that night. If anything, it thickened, every shared space crackling with unspoken words and sharp glances.
You felt it whenever Xaden entered a room: Garrickâs body stiffening at your side, Imogenâs hand tightening around her dagger, Bodhi going oddly quiet. They didnât trust him near you anymore, not the way they once had. And you⊠you didnât know if you trusted yourself.
Because part of you still wanted to look at him. To fall into the familiar weight of his shadows, the safety of his voice. But the other part, the part that remembered lying broken while he never asked, wanted to turn your back forever.
It was easier not to decide at all.
It happened two nights later.
You had finally fallen asleep without pain clawing at your ribs when raised voices dragged you awake.
ââŠdonât you dare act like you have any rightââ Garrickâs voice, sharp and furious.
âI have every right,â Xadenâs growl cut back, low and dangerous. Shadows scraped along the walls like restless serpents.
You pushed yourself up, heart pounding. The argument was just outside your room.
âShe almost died,â Garrick spat. âAnd you werenât there. You never even asked. Do you have any idea what that did to her? What it did to us, watching her fight while you played protector to someone else?â
Silence stretched, then Xadenâs voice broke through, rough as gravel. âDonât you think I know that? Donât you think it kills me every time I see her and realize I wasnât there?â His tone cracked. âYou think I donât replay it every damn night? I failed her. I know that. But donât you stand there and tell me to stop trying to make it right.â
Garrickâs answer was sharp as steel. âItâs not about you making it right, Riorson. Itâs about her deciding if she even wants you back. And until then? You keep your distance. Because Iâll be damned if I let you hurt her again.â
The weight of his words hit the air like a hammer. For a long moment, there was only the sound of your own ragged breathing.
Then, Xadenâs voice, quiet. âShe was mine before she was ever yours to protect.â
That was enough to push you out the door.
Both men froze when you appeared. Garrickâs fury dimmed instantly, concern flickering across his face as he moved toward you, steadying your elbow when you wavered. Xadenâs expression, however, was raw, like you had caught him without his armor, all that storming regret laid bare.
âYou donât get to say that,â you said softly, though your voice shook with the weight of it. âI was never yours to claim. Not then. Not now.â
Xadenâs jaw clenched, but he didnât speak.
You turned to Garrick, squeezing his arm. âAnd I donât need you to fight for me, either. I can speak for myself.â
His shoulders eased, and he nodded once, backing off without protest.
Your gaze finally settled on Xaden. Shadows writhed around him, restless, hungry, but he stood utterly still, as if waiting for a sentence to fall.
âGarrickâs right,â you whispered. âThis isnât about you making it right. This is about me. And right now, what I need is space.â
For a heartbeat, something shattered in his expression â hope breaking against the stone wall of your words. But then he dipped his head once, sharply, like the soldier he was.
âIf space is what you need,â his voice rasped, âIâll give it. But Iâm not walking away.â
You turned back inside before your resolve could falter, Garrick steady behind you. Xaden didnât follow, but you felt him outside, a storm contained by your choice alone.
And for the first time, you wondered if maybe that was the cruelest punishment of all:
That he could no longer step into your world unless you let him..
The days that followed were quieter. Not peaceful, never that, but quieter in the way a storm sometimes settles before it builds again.
You healed slowly, still needing Garrickâs arm or Bodhiâs jokes or Imogenâs sharp tongue to keep you steady. They never complained, never faltered. They became your tether to the world outside the battlefield, your proof that loyalty could exist without condition.
And always, the shadow lingered.
Xaden no longer tried to push his way close. He kept his word: distance. But you felt him. Every time you left your room, every time you took a shaky walk across the courtyard, he was there, at the far edge, his gaze heavy across the space between you.
At first, you refused to look. Refused to give him the smallest piece of yourself after he had already left you behind once. But some nights, when you thought no one noticed, your eyes betrayed you.
It was Bodhi who broke the unspoken tension first.
One evening, as you leaned against the wall catching your breath, he tossed a pebble in Xadenâs direction and muttered under his breath, âIf he stares any harder, his damn eyeballs are gonna fall out.â
You choked on a laugh, shaking your head. âDonât.â
Bodhiâs grin was sly, but his eyes softened. âIâm not saying forgive him. Iâm just saying⊠maybe donât keep holding your breath every time heâs near. Youâll run out of air.â
You didnât answer. Because maybe he was right. But maybe breathing around Xaden meant suffocating all over again.
The real crack came the night you fell.
You had been determined, stubborn, some would say, to climb the small set of steps leading into the watchtower on your own. Garrick warned you to take it slow. Imogen gave you her unimpressed scowl. But you needed to prove to yourself that you could.
Halfway up, your legs trembled violently. The world tilted.
You didnât hit the ground.
Strong arms caught you before the stone could. Shadows steadied your fall, cool against your burning skin.
For a heartbeat, you were pressed against his chest, the rhythm of his heart thundering against your ear. For a heartbeat, you remembered what it had been like to trust that sound.
Then Garrick was there, pulling you gently away, glaring daggers at Xaden. âShe doesnât need you.â
Xaden didnât fight him. He only stepped back, hands clenched at his sides, eyes locked on you like he was silently begging.
You forced your voice steady. âThank you. But I didnât ask for your help.â
His face flickered, hurt flashing and gone, replaced by a slow nod. âI know.â He stepped back further, letting Garrick guide you the rest of the way. But as you glanced over your shoulder, you saw him still standing there, watching as though heâd carved himself into the shadows just to make sure you stayed upright.
The cracks widened after that.
A few words exchanged when no one else was near. A single look that lasted a second too long. His hand brushing a glass of water toward you when you were too weak to reach. Small, quiet things, nothing close to what you once shared.
And yet⊠they lingered.
Every time you caught yourself softening, you remembered the image burned into you like a scar: Garrick carrying you into the healerâs tent, and Xaden sitting at Violetâs side, not once looking up.
That memory bled into everything. Into the way you turned away from him when your chest clenched. Into the way you leaned on your friends instead, choosing their steadfast presence over his shadows.
Xaden felt it. Every day, he felt it. The storm in him raged for forgiveness, but the guilt chained him silent.
He could watch. He could wait. He could bleed for it.
But whether you ever let him back in, that was no longer his choice.
The breaking point came without warning.
Youâd been strong enough to join the others in the war-room, though you mostly listened while Garrick kept one hand hovering near your chair, ready to steady you. Bodhi sprawled across the map table like he owned it, Imogen scowled at every suggestion made, and Violet sat quietly, her eyes darting from person to person, listening more than she spoke.
Xaden stood in his usual place: back straight, shadows curling, the unmovable commander. For weeks, heâd stayed quiet in these meetings whenever you were present, his words clipped, his gaze averted.
But tonight something cracked.
It started small. Bodhi had made some snide comment under his breath about how at least some leaders didnât abandon their own, and Xaden froze. His jaw tightened, shadows sparking.
Then Garrick added, âYeah, well, actions speak louder than words. And some actions canât be undone.â
Silence fell like a hammer.
Xadenâs gaze snapped to you. Not Garrick. Not Bodhi. You.
And for the first time, he broke.
âI failed her,â he said, voice low but carrying through the entire room. Shadows curled inward like smoke choking on itself. âI failed the one person who trusted me most. While she bled, while she fought for her life, I wasnât there. I didnât ask. I didnât see her. And Iâll regret it until the day I die.â
The room stilled. Even Violetâs breath caught.
Xaden stepped forward, every line of him rigid with restraint, but his eyes, his eyes were nothing but raw storm.
âYou want to hate me?â he said, turning to Garrick, to Bodhi, to Imogen. âFine. I deserve it. You want to keep me away from her? Then drag me from this room and cut me down if you must. But donât you dare think for a second that I donât know what Iâve done. Or that Iâll stop trying to make it right.â
Imogenâs lips parted, fury faltering in the face of his confession. Bodhi shifted uncomfortably, for once without a retort. Garrickâs jaw tightened, protective instinct warring with the truth of Xadenâs pain.
But Xaden wasnât looking at them anymore. His focus was entirely, devastatingly, on you.
âYou donât owe me forgiveness,â he said, voice breaking. âHell, you donât owe me anything at all. But youâre the only thing thatâs ever mattered to me. And if all Iâm allowed now is to stand in the shadows and watch you live, then Iâll do it. Because at least youâll be alive. At least youâll be here.â
The silence that followed was suffocating. Everyone was watching, waiting for your answer.
Your chest ached, torn between the memory of betrayal and the truth bleeding out of him now.
Part of you wanted to scream, to tell him it wasnât enough, that words couldnât erase the nights youâd lain unconscious while he sat at someone elseâs bedside.
But another part, the part that still remembered what it felt like to be caught by his arms before you fell, the part that remembered warmth in his shadows, not cold, whispered that maybe, just maybe, there was something left to salvage.
Your voice came out quiet, but it cut through the room all the same.
âI donât know if I can forgive you,â you admitted, each word like glass in your throat. âBut⊠Iâm tired of hating you.â
Xadenâs chest rose sharply, as though youâd just given him air after drowning.
You stood slowly, Garrickâs hand twitching toward you before he forced himself still. You met Xadenâs eyes across the room, not stepping closer, but not turning away either.
âThis doesnât mean I trust you,â you whispered. âIt means Iâm willing to see if I ever can again.â
For a heartbeat, the storm in him went utterly still.
And then, without a word, he bowed his head, not as a commander, not as a rebel, but as a man stripped bare, willing to wait in the shadows for as long as it took.
Trust didnât come back overnight.
His confession had cracked something open, yes. but cracks didnât mean healing. They only meant the walls werenât impenetrable anymore.
The next day, he didnât press you. He didnât linger at your side or try to speak again. Instead, he kept his word: he remained at a distance, but his presence shifted
Less a shadow haunting. More⊠a guard post.
When you stumbled during a walk, Garrick caught you, but you noticed the way Xadenâs shadows flinched at the same moment, ready to steady you if needed. When Bodhi brought you food and made you laugh until your ribs ached, Xaden stood silently in the corner, eyes soft rather than storming. When Imogen guided you through light training, his gaze tracked every movement, not critical, but quietly protective.
It was infuriating. And comforting. Both at once.
The first time you truly spoke again wasnât planned.
It was late, the courtyard nearly empty. Youâd slipped outside for air, leaning against the stone wall when your strength gave out. And then you heard him behind you.
âIâm not here to talk,â Xaden said quietly. âJust⊠to make sure you donât fall.â
You almost laughed. âThatâs new. You sitting in silence.â
He moved closer, not touching, but near enough that you felt his warmth against the night air. âSometimes silence says more than words.â
You didnât answer, but you didnât walk away either. And for both of you, that was enough.
But healing wasnât a straight path.
Days later, when you caught him speaking quietly with Violet after a strategy session, their heads bent close, shadows curling around both of them, the image gutted you. It dragged you back to the memory of that night, Garrick carrying you into the healerâs tent while Xaden sat at Violetâs side.
You froze. Your chest tightened until you could hardly breathe. And when Xaden noticed you and stepped toward you, you flinched back.
âI wasnâtââ he began, but you cut him off, shaking your head.
âDonât,â you whispered. âJust⊠donât.â
You turned and left, Imogen appearing at your side within seconds, her eyes burning holes into his back as she followed you out.
That night, you cried into your pillow where no one could hear, hating yourself for still hurting, hating him for being the reason.
And still⊠the next morning, he was there.
Not pushing. Not begging. Just there. Carrying a water jug heavier than your arms could manage. Taking first watch on the wall so you could sleep without worry. Wordlessly placing a cloak around your shoulders when the night air grew cold.
Small things. Quiet things.
You never asked for them. He never asked for thanks.
But they piled up, brick by brick, until you couldnât help but see them. Couldnât help but feel that maybe, maybe, he was trying to rebuild not just your trust, but himself.
One evening, as you sat with Garrick, Bodhi, and Imogen by the fire, Bodhi cracked another joke at Xadenâs expense. Usually, you laughed. But this time⊠you found yourself saying softly, âHeâs trying.â
Three heads turned toward you in surprise. Imogen raised a brow, Bodhi blinked, and Garrickâs jaw tightened like he wanted to argue, but didnât.
Because it wasnât forgiveness. Not yet.
But it was the first stone set back in place.
And Xaden, sitting just at the edge of the firelight, heard it. His shoulders loosened, his eyes closed for a brief second, as though youâd given him more than he deserved.
But maybe that was the point.
The war didnât pause for healing hearts.
Youâd barely begun regaining your strength when another skirmish threatened the outpost. Not a full battle, but enough that dragons filled the skies, enough that you all had to move.
You werenât ready. You knew it. Garrick knew it. But the fight came anyway.
The chaos of wings and steel blurred together. You stayed back with Bodhi and Imogen, fighting from the rear lines, heart hammering as shadows and fire painted the night.
A venin broke through, blade raised, charging straight toward you before you had time to lift your weapon.
But the blade never reached you.
Shadows exploded across the ground, dragging the rider backward, pinning him to the earth. And there was Xaden, fury in his eyes, blood on his cheek, moving faster than youâd ever seen him.
His sword clashed against the riderâs with brutal precision. Every strike was sharp, efficient, not because of the enemy, but because of the space you occupied just behind him.
He didnât let the venin get within ten feet of you. Not once.
By the time the threat was gone, your chest was heaving, adrenaline burning through your veins. Xaden turned to you, shadows coiling back into his skin, his eyes frantic.
You shook your head, breathless. âIâm fine.â
The relief that washed over him nearly brought him to his knees. For a heartbeat, he looked like he might collapse right there, just from the weight of knowing you were alive.
And something inside you cracked wider.
Later, when the skirmish was over and the fires died down, you found him alone, cleaning blood from his blade.
He looked up at you as though you were both a ghost and a prayer answered. âI meant what I said. If all Iâm allowed is to watch from the shadows, I will. But when it comes to keeping you alive,â His voice broke. âIâll burn every shadow I have.â
The old you might have melted at the words. The you standing here now didnât. Youâd learned too much about the weight of words without actions.
But you remembered the way his body had moved between you and the venin. The way his shadows had answered your fear before you even cried out
It wasnât words. It was proof.
And maybe, ust maybe, proof was enough to take another step.
That night, as you sat by the fire with Garrick, Imogen, and Bodhi, you noticed Xaden hovering on the outskirts as always. Watching, waiting.
You swallowed hard, then shifted slightly on the bench. Not much. Just enough that there was space beside you.
For a long moment, he didnât move.
Then, carefully, cautiously, like he didnât believe it was real, Xaden stepped forward and lowered himself onto the edge of the bench. He didnât touch you. He didnât speak. He just sat there, shadows quiet for the first time in weeks.
And for the first time, you didnât push him away.
It wasnât forgiveness. Not yet.
The shadows didnât wait. But maybe⊠maybe they could learn to walk beside the light again.
The camp was quieter than usual. Smoke from dying fires curled into the night air, carrying the copper sting of blood and the acrid tang of steel. You sat on the low stone wall just beyond the healerâs tent, legs trembling from the battleâs aftermath, ribs aching where scar tissue still pulled too tight.
You hated the tent. The way it smelled of poultices and loss. The way it whispered memories youâd never quite scrape free of your skin.
So youâd slipped away, breathing the open air, letting the stars press down against your shoulders.
You didnât hear him approach. You never did.
Shadows moved first, crawling over the ground like spilled ink. Then his boots, then his frame, broad, steady, too familiar. He stopped a few feet away, as though the distance between you had been carved into stone.
âThought youâd be with Garrick,â Xaden said, voice low.
âHeâs exhausted.â You didnât turn your head, just watched the wavering line of torches on the horizon. âThey all are.â
The unspoken words lingered in the air: because theyâve been carrying me. You wondered if heâd catch them. He always had, once.
Silence stretched, broken only by the pop of firewood and the distant murmur of healers inside the tent.
Finally, you asked, âWhy are you here?â
His shadows hesitated, then curled tighter around his boots, as though tethering him in place. âBecause you are.â
A bitter laugh escaped before you could stop it. You shook your head, staring down at your hands; scarred, trembling, never quite steady anymore. âThatâs not an answer.â
âItâs the only one I have.â
Something in his tone, weary, unguarded, made your throat ache. You wanted to scream at him. You wanted to lean into him. Both desires tore in opposite directions, leaving you stranded in the middle, raw and hollow.
âYou werenât there,â you whispered. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, sharp with the wound that never healed. âWhen I was bleeding out, when Garrick was carrying me, when I was slipping underâŠâ Your voice broke. You pressed your palms hard against your knees. âYou werenât there.â
He flinched as though youâd struck him. For once, the shadows didnât try to hide it.
âI know.â His reply was ragged, his breath uneven. âAnd thereâs nothing I can say to make it less true.â
You finally looked at him. He was a mess, hair damp with sweat, shirt torn, a cut running along his jaw. And those eyes. Haunted. Always haunted.
He wasnât asking for forgiveness. You realized that, finally. He hadnât been for some time.
âYouâre still here,â you said, softer now, almost resigned.
âIâll always be here.â His gaze didnât waver. Shadows stilled, waiting, as though even they knew this moment was something fragile, dangerous.
You swallowed hard, your voice a whisper of broken glass. âNot the way I needed.â
He shut his eyes for the briefest second. When he opened them again, they gleamed with something sharp, something ruined. âNo. Not the way you needed.â
The air between you was heavy, not cruel but not gentle. Just real.
You sat there for a long while, neither moving. You watching the stars, him watching you. At some point, the silence stopped being suffocating. It just was.
And maybe that was all it would ever be.
Not lovers. Not strangers. Something in between. Two people bound by shadows and scars, walking parallel paths that had once intertwined, now forever separate.
Later, when you rose and turned back toward camp, you didnât look to see if he followed. But you knew, without needing to check, that he would be there.
Not beside you. Not behind you. But near enough. Always near enough.