Page 298 of Elemental Becoming

Reflexively, I reach for the familiar thread of connection through our bond. The resistance is immediate. That wall of fire is up, shields firmly in place. It isn’t unusual. Thane has spent a lifetime guarding what lies beneath the surface. A Warlord’s instinct.

And yet . . .

I get the distinct impression that he is nervous. I push the thought aside.

His thumb moves in an unrushed path across my skin, but there is a hesitation in him now. A carefulness I don’t often see.

“ . . . Thane?”

He exhales, as though he is bracing himself.

“I have something for you,” he finally says.

He releases one of my hands and reaches into the pocket of his trousers. When he withdraws it, his fingers are curled around something small. I don’t see what it is until he turns his palm upward.

A ring.

It rests in his hand, simple yet striking. A band of dark metal, smooth and cool, its surface unmarred save for faint symbols etched along the inside. The markings are delicate, worn by time. At its center, a single onyx stone is set deep, its polishedsurface catching the fading light.

At first, it appears entirely dark. Then the angle shifts, and a faint glimmer stirs deep within the stone, like the last ember buried beneath ash.

I blink, my breath catching. The ring hums with a quiet power, old and watchful, as though it remembers things long forgotten.

“This is not a proposal,” Thane says, as though anticipating exactly where my mind went. His gaze never leaves mine.

“But it’s a promise.”

A small smile touches his lips. Quiet. Certain. Like this decision settled inside him long ago.

I see you. I choose you. I am yours.

I lift my eyes to his.

A promise.

“This was my mother’s ring,” he continues, his voice thoughtful. “It’s been passed down through my mother’s side of the family for generations. There’s old magics in it. A vow that holds even when words themselves are forgotten.”

My pulse quickens, my fingers tingling as I stare at the ring, at the weight of what he is offering.

Thane takes my hand. He carefully places the ring in my palm. It hums in response to my touch, as if recognizing me.

The ring seems to be its own source of heat. The onyx catches the light again, and for an instant I swear something stirs within its depths. The magics isn’t loud or demanding, but it is there, woven deep into the ring itself.

I stare at it resting against my skin. Generations of history carried in a single piece of metal. His mother’s ring. And he’s giving it to me.

I look back up at him, my brows drawing together.

“Wait.” A laugh escapes me. “Are you sure this isn’t a proposal?”

His lips twitch, but his expression remains serious.

“No, it’s not.”

I blink at him, then glance down at the ring again.

“But you’re giving me a ring.”

“A promise ring,” he corrects, his thumb tracing circles over my knuckles. “Not a formal proposal. Not yet.”