Page 178 of Elemental Becoming

The cuts. The bruises already forming.

And still, he stands like iron.

“Take her to rest,” Thane says. “She needs it.”

I bristle. “I’m fine—”

Thane’s gaze snaps to mine. “You’re not. Remember what Valen said.”

The words land like a stone in my chest, quiet but absolute. I can’t even argue.

His eyes linger on me a moment too long.

Then he turns away, already shifting back into the Warlord, already preparing for the endless hours of council meetings, damage control, and leadership the realm will demand from him before the night is over.

“It’s going to take hours,” he mutters under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

And just like that, he’s gone, striding toward the shattered remains of the council as responsibility closes around him once again.

Garrick nudges my shoulder.

“What does Calryx call you? Virelya? ‘Little Flame, right?’” Garrick chuckles softly. “Come on, Little Storm. Let’s get you somewhere warm before you collapse in the middle of the ballroom.”

I want to argue. But exhaustion is creeping in, pressing down on me like a weighted cloak. And Thane was right. My body is barely holding together. For the first time since the battle started, I let myself feel just how much has already been taken from me.

Garrick guides me out of the ruined ballroom, his arm firm around my waist. We pass shattered chandeliers, scorched marble, and the remnants of a battle that never should have touched a place meant for celebration.

I lean into him as we move through the wreckage.

A sudden chill cuts through my exhaustion.

Kieran.

I jerk my head toward Garrick, my breath catching. “Kieran—he’s—”

“Alive,” Garrick cuts in before I can finish.

Relief slams into me hard enough to make my knees buckle. Garrick’s grip tightens around me before I can fold to the floor.

“He took a bad hit, but the healers are with him. He’ll be fine,” Garrick continues. Then his lips twitch into a smirk. “Very alive. And very pissed off.”

My brows rise. “Pissed off?”

“Oh yeah,” Garrick says, crossing his arms. “Apparently, he didn’t appreciate getting knocked out of the fight. Something about ‘not needing a godsdamn rescue’ while bleeding all over the floor.”

I exhale sharply, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, pressing a hand to my forehead. “That sounds like him.”

“That’s what I said,” Garrick chuckles. “So naturally, he told me to go fuck myself.”

I let out a real laugh this time, shaky but genuine. “That definitely sounds like him.” I draw in a breath. “And Lyra? I saw her helping some of the wounded.”

“She’s a spitfire, that one. As fiery as the red in her hair,” Garrick muses, a rare softness in his voice. Then his expression pinches slightly. “Wouldn’t listen to me for a second when I told her to get to the dais with the other guests. She wouldn’t leave my side.”

“The woman nearly died only days ago, and tonight she’s fighting Fellborn.” He shakes his head, the memory clearly still rattling him. “Nearly gave me a heart attack when she lunged at a group of Fellborn on her own.”

“That’s Lyra,” I murmur, exhaustion dragging at my bones.

Realization hits hard, and I turn to Garrick, my brows furrowing. “Are your parents . . . ”