Page 35 of Elemental Becoming

The space where Thane had been is empty. My fingers curl against the sheets, searching for warmth that isn’t there.

How long has he been gone?

But it’s not just his absence that pulled me from sleep. It’s the bond.

A weight deep in my chest, heavy and aching.Sadness.

Not mine.

I sit up, my heart still caught in the remnants of my dream. The woman’s voice, calling from the dark. Whispers just out of reach, slipping through my fingers like smoke. I try to hold on, trying to piece them together, but they scatter the moment I grasp for them.

Then the bond tugs again, insistent.

Where is he?

I push the blankets aside and slip from bed, my feet meeting the cool floor. The air is still, but I feel the weight of his absence like a thread drawing me forward.

The sadness in the bond settles low in my stomach, the hollow feeling returning now that the dream has faded.

I’ve never felt him like this before.

And I know I won’t sleep until I find him.

I pull on my robe. When I open the door, the hallway is quiet. It’s late and the castle rests.

I step into the corridor, closing the heavy door behind me.

My fingers trail along the cold stone as I walk, the hem of my robe brushing against the polished floor.

The torches burn low, their golden light flickering across black stone walls, stretching shadows long and thin. The stronghold sleeps.

But the bond does not, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs only I could follow.

Autumn is near, and the nights have begun to cool. Yet inside the Ember Throne, the warmth of the day lingers in the stone, clinging to the last remnants of summer.

I turn down another corridor, my bare feet silent against the stone.

The bond knows the way before I do.

And then I see him.

Or rather, I see the firelight outlining his broad frame, flickering against the dark.

Thane stands at the edge of a grand balcony overlooking the city, arms braced against the stone railing, his gaze fixed on something far in the distance.

The doors to the balcony are cracked open, letting in a cool night breeze. The wind stirs his dark hair, pushing loose strands across his forehead. He doesn’t brush them away. He doesn’t move at all.

I pause in the shadows, watching him. My heart stutters—caught between ache and awe.

Even now, without his armor, he’s all warrior. The way his body holds its strength, the quiet power coiled beneath his skin. His bare back is all sharp, defined lines, muscles shifting as he braces his arms against the railing. The moonlight catches on the scars scattered across his skin—faint reminders of past battles fought and won.

His sleeping trousers hang loose, but nothing about him is relaxed. Half-dressed in the cool night air, Thane looks like he belongs in the heart of battle.

He looks like he was carved from the same dark stone as the keep. Strong. Immovable.

But I feel the storm inside him—heavy and restless. Like a sky on the verge of breaking, holding its deluge for just a moment longer.

I wonder how long he’s been standing here. How often he comes to this place, alone, staring into the night like it holds something only he can see.