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¤whatâs the one choice they regret (not) making ?
The rain was soft when he returned, as if the sky hadnât yet decided whether to weep or not. Zorya stood beneath the awning of the old courtyard wall, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her cloak damp and clinging to her knees. She hadnât meant to be here. Not really. Sheâd wandered the edges of the citadel grounds all afternoon, a hundred excuses turning circles in her head. And yet, when the quiet rustle of boots on stone reached her ears, her breath caught like a thread pulled taut.
Elian. He looked thinner. Paler. A fine scar traced the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his tunic. His once-sure stride had become cautious, as though he didnât fully trust the ground to hold him.
Zorya stepped forward before she could think better of it. âI heard they brought you back through the southern gate,â she said, voice low, steady. âI waited there. Then the western. Thenâhere.â He didnât smile. Not really. Just a soft curl of the mouth, tired at the edges. âI thought you might.â
She stared at him, searching for the boy she knew in the shape of the man he had become. âThey said you almost didnât make it.â
He exhaled, eyes flicking toward the low stone arch behind her, where ivy curled like sleeping snakes. âThere were Veythari. Not just straysâorganized. And something worse. Something⌠old. It wasnât supposed to be like that.â Silence stretched between them, taut and heavy.
âI should have said something,â Zorya murmured. âBefore you left. I feltâsomething.â
âYou didnât need to,â he said quietly. âI went anyway.â There was no accusation in his tone. Just weariness. And something elseâgrief, maybe. Or loss.
âIâm not going back to the Sentinels,â he said after a moment. âI requested reassignment. Luminara accepted.â
Zorya blinked. âYou? A Luminara?â
âThey want me to help train the younger ones in protective wards. Iâm better with barriers now.â He gave her a sidelong glance, the words sharp with quiet meaning. She looked away, heart heavy with questions she couldnât name.
âYouâre different,â she said finally.
âI am.â He didnât deny it. And still, something of him lingeredâthe weight of memory in his gaze, the soft clench of his jaw when she reached out and touched his sleeve. âIâm glad you came back,â she whispered.
âI almost didnât,â he admitted, and then paused. âBut youâyouâre part of why I did.â They stood there, beneath the gray sky, the rain starting to fall in earnest around them. Not quite touching. Not quite apart. And though nothing was said, something old and aching settled between them. Not forgiveness. Not yet. But understanding.