Page 40 of Elemental Becoming

A soft laugh slips from me. “That was the point.”

He pulls me close, his hold tightening—like he can’t quite trust himself to let go. I fit beneath his chin, my cheek against his solid chest. His hand slides to the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, holding me there.

His breath brushes my temple, uneven.

“How did you get here?” he asks, voice low, rough with emotion.

He exhales, his grip tightening.

Then, softer—almost a whisper against my skin: “What did I do to deserve you?”

I tighten my arms around him in answer.

Beneath my palms, his back shifts—muscle and warmth and something that feels like home—as he pulls me closer in return.

We stay like this, wrapped in each other, breathing in the cool night air.

Beyond the balcony, Volcaris hums quietly. Far below, muffled voices drift from the last stragglers leaving taverns, followed by the occasional clang of a door shutting, and footsteps fading into the labyrinth of stone streets.

A breeze stirs through the keep, rustling banners along the walls. The scent of embers and aged wood lingers, a reminder of the forge fires that smolder even in sleep.

But up here, there is only us.

THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE

SIX

The word curse carries weight—more than we often acknowledge. Especially when it comes to generational curses, which require immense magical power. Yet even then, belief itself can act as a fuel, strengthening the curse’s effects. What makes a curse a curse, rather than a blessing? Is it the outcome—or merely the perception of it? One person’s punishment may be another’s salvation.

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

The night presses in, still and heavy. The warmth between us lingers, but beneath it I feel the thing he has not named yet: his father, waiting somewhere inside thesilence.

I hesitate, my fingers tracing idle circles against his back.

Maybe I shouldn’t ask. Maybe this moment should remain untouched by the past. But I feel the sadness that still lingers in the bond, softer now, but there.

“Can you tell me more about your father?” I ask gently.

Thane stills. He pulls back just enough to look at me, the space between us feeling colder than the air.

I hesitate. “Sorry. I’m pushing. You don’t have to answer.”

His eyes meet mine, something raw flickering behind them.

“No,” he says softly. “I want to tell you.”

He drags a hand through his hair, gaze drifting toward the city, searching for something not there.

“He watched the woman he loved die long before she ever threw herself from that tower.” His voice turns ragged. “And when she did, he never came back from it.”

The words gut me. I swallow, forcing the grief down.

“He was never the same. I don’t know if he even wanted to be.”

Something unguarded flickers across his face. Hollow. Heavy with years of silence.