Page 215 of Elemental Becoming

Then I tell him about Lyra—how she charges through life as though it owes her something, how she speaks first and thinks later, and how she helped me survive those first difficult months at the outpost.

Lord Eryndor watches me the entire time. When I meet his golden-hazel eyes, they seem brighter than before, as though something inside him has stirred awake. Time drifts aroundus, marked only by the shifting sunlight spilling through the windows and the soft rustle of the breeze.

Eventually, Thane glances toward the sunlit floor and gives a faint nod. The moment has come to an end. He leans forward first, pressing a gentle kiss to his father’s cheek.

“I’ll return soon,” he murmurs.

I follow, brushing my lips against Lord Eryndor’s other cheek. His skin is cool beneath mine, and I linger for a moment before pulling away. He doesn’t speak, but his eyes follow us as we rise. There’s focus in them now, a glimmer of presence that hadn’t been there before.

The door opens softly. Maris slips inside with practiced grace, the kind that never disturbs the peace of a room. She nods to us and crosses to Lord Eryndor without a word, gently adjusting the pillows behind his back as though stepping back into a role she knows by heart.

Thane and I move toward the door together. Our hands brush once, then again, before he threads his fingers through mine.

I glance back toward the chair. “Does he always do that? Move his fingers like that?”

Thane follows my gaze. “The grooves?” He shrugs. “As long as I can remember.”

As the doors close behind us, Thane lets out a breath.

“He seems better today,” Thane says quietly. He doesn’t look at me, but I hear the relief threaded through his voice.

I glance over at him. There’s something different about him this morning. Not lighter, exactly, but steadier. As though sitting with his father gave him something solid to hold on to, even if only for a little while.

“Yes,” I say softly. “He does.”

Thane squeezes my hand.

We continue down the corridor in comfortable silence, our footsteps echoing against the stone. The stronghold is moreawake now. Voices drift through the halls, mingling with the distant clatter of work resuming after the chaos of the night before. Yet this stretch of corridor remains mostly empty.

As we near the ballroom, the energy shifts. The air feels heavier here, as though the stone itself remembers what happened.

My steps falter. Then I stop.

The massive doors stand partially open, leaving just enough space to see inside.

Sunlight filters through the high windows, casting long slants of gold across the wreckage. Scorched banners hang in tatters. The once-polished floor is blackened in places, scarred by fire and blood. The scent of smoke still lingers, faint but stubborn.

Thane comes to a halt beside me when our joined hands pull taut between us. I don’t look at him. My eyes remain fixed on the room. On what we survived.

He follows my gaze, his jaw tightening as he takes it all in again.

Then, softly but with conviction, he says,

“It will be rebuilt.”

I nod, but my gaze remains fixed on the destruction. It doesn’t look like a ballroom anymore. It looks like a wound that hasn’t finished bleeding.

Morning light streams through shattered stained glass, scattering fractured color across the scorched floor. Chunks of the towering pillars are gone, leaving deep gouges in the stone. Tables lie overturned and splintered. Banners and garlands that once marked a celebration now hang in tatters, like remnants of a memory no one wants to revisit.

Bits of ash drift through the air, catching the sunlight as they fall.

Only the glass ceiling high above remains intact.

The room smells of smoke, steel, and ruin, as thoughsomething sacred was torn open and left exposed. Yet even through the devastation, the light finds its way in. The sun refuses to be shut out. It spills across the wreckage with the same warmth it always has, indifferent to the destruction below.

Thane must feel the sadness pulling at me through the bond because he squeezes my hand again.

“We’ll make it better,” he says quietly. “Stronger.”