Page 392 of Elemental Becoming

“Is it okay now for me to sleep?”I ask, my thoughts slow and unsteady.

I remember his earlier command to stay awake. I remember Rowena slapping my face hard enough to keep me from slipping away.

Before he answers, I feel it through the bond.

Relief.

Love.

The gradual easing of a fear he has been carrying since the moment I fell.

Then his voice reaches me, low and warm.

“Yes, my little zephyr. You can sleep.”

I close my eyes and sink into the warmth of him around me.

“I love you,”I whisper.

And before he can answer, darkness folds around me, soft as velvet.

This time, I let it take me.

And I sleep.

WHERE I LIVE NOW

FIFTY-FOUR

Even in the wild, no hunter runs the day after a shattered leg has mended. Strength returns gradually. So too does the spirit. Trauma leaves unseen marks, and these require their own season of healing. Time is not merely the passage between injury and recovery; it is often the medicine itself.

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

Ispend a week in bed, resting. The healers say I’m healed, but recovery isn’t just about mended skin and stitched wounds. The dark magics that coursed through my veins left a mark, even if it’s not outwardly visible. My body needs timeto purge what it endured. Time to remember how to be whole.

They told me that if I hadn’t healed myself when I did, I would’ve died.

So I don’t argue with the healers or push myself to do more than they say is allowed. I let the silence settle over me like a balm. Despite everything—the pain, the fear, the lingering aftershocks—I’m grateful for this time of quiet.

For stillness. For the simple gift of being alive.

Instead of working in his study or the war room, Thane spends most of his time at the desk in our quarters. I know it’s intentional. He won’t say it aloud, but I can feel it: that quiet, stubborn need to stay close. To keep watch. He doesn’t listen when I say I’m fine, that it’s okay to go. He simply brushes a kiss across my forehead and returns to his work as though I never spoke.

While he’s bent over maps and reports, his brow furrowed in concentration, I lie nestled in bed with a book in my lap. For once, I’m not poring over ancient ledgers or combing through dragon lore. I’m not studying court politics or unraveling the histories of fallen clans.

I’m reading stories.

Simple tales of magics and mischief, of love and laughter. Stories that don’t demand anything from me but to feel. And gods, it’s a comfort I didn’t realize I needed.

I haven’t read like this since before all the Spiritborn business started. Before the prophecies and war councils. Before I knew what I was. Back when stories were simply stories, not warnings or histories, but escapes.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

Once the healers released me after a night in the infirmary, Thane and I talked through the battle—what happened, what nearly happened, and everything in between. There was so much I needed to say. Not just about the fight itself, but about thechoices I made, why I made them, and what they meant.

Thane had been sitting on the edge of the bed while I lay propped against the pillows, still weak and sore.