The smoke receded.
The darkness faded.
And the world returned.
Koda blinked, his vision swimming, the dim torchlight of the record hall cutting through the haze like a knife.
The chill of the underground chamber pressed against his skin, grounding him back into reality with the slow, grinding pressure of existence.
The scroll still lay beneath his hands.
Rough parchment.
The faint smell of old ink.
Cool to the touch.
As if he had never moved.
As if nothing had changed.
He sucked in a slow, shuddering breath.
The weight of what he had seen—what he had felt—sat heavy behind his ribs, coiled and thrumming like a second heart.
His muscles ached as if he had fought a battle and lost.
He lifted his head stiffly.
Across the table, Varos Deyne—the head of the Callestan Branch of the Order—watched him silently.
No judgment.
No impatience.
Only a deep, understanding patience, as if he had known this would happen.
As if he had once stood exactly where Koda now sat.
"You should read it," Varos said quietly, nodding toward the scroll still resting under Koda's hands.
His voice was soft, but it carried the weight of command born not from authority, but from necessity.
Koda looked down at the scroll again.
The ancient ink.
The careful seals.
The centuries of knowledge captured within its folds.
But he already knew.
Every word.
Every truth.
Etched into his soul by the Guide himself.
He straightened slowly, feeling every bone and tendon protest.
"No need," Koda said, his voice hoarse.
He slid the scroll carefully across the table, back into Varos's waiting hands.
"The Guide showed me."
Varos's eyes narrowed slightly, the barest flicker of surprise crossing his weathered face.
But he said nothing.
Only nodded once, slow and solemn, accepting the unspoken truth between them.
Some things could not be taught by ink or word alone.
Some truths had to be lived.
Koda rose to his feet, the chair scraping quietly against the smooth stone floor.
His body felt heavier than it ever had before—but not with fatigue.
With purpose.
He met Varos's gaze, steady and unflinching.
"I need to rest," Koda said. "And prepare."
"For Greed."
Varos bowed his head in acknowledgment.
Without another word, Koda turned, his cloak whispering behind him as he strode from the great hall of records.
The silent Vowkeepers watched him pass, their hidden faces unreadable, their hands busy with
endless, silent work.
The doors closed behind him with a deep, final boom.
In the dim corridors of the Order's fortress, Koda walked alone.
The torches guttered softly against the stone walls.
His boots echoed in the empty silence.
Every step reverberated like the tolling of a distant, unseen bell.
Outside these walls, the world continued uneasily.
Unaware of the storm that now gathered at the edges of their lives.
Unaware that Greed was coming.
And Koda—
Koda would be ready.
He had to be.
Koda's boots thudded softly against the stone floors as he climbed the final set of stairs to the quarters the Order had provided.
Each step felt heavier than the last.
The words of the Guide still echoed through his mind.
The images of sins yet to come.
The weight of a future balanced on the edge of a blade.
He needed—
no,
he craved—
a moment of silence.
A moment of peace.
The heavy oak door to his room groaned softly as he pushed it open.
A faint draft stirred the simple linens folded neatly over the bed.
The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting a warm amber glow across the stone walls.
And there, curled beneath the thin covers—
Maia.
She had fallen asleep waiting for him..
Her hair was strewn across his pillow. One hand rested near her face, fingers lightly curled as if still half-reached for him even in sleep.
The steady rise and fall of her breath was the only sound in the room.
It hit Koda like a hammer.
The raw, aching tenderness of it.
He closed the door silently behind him.
Shrugged off his cloak and armor with careful, methodical movements.
As if making any sudden noise might shatter the fragile sanctuary this room had become.
When he finally slid into bed beside her, the mattress dipping gently under his weight, Maia stirred.
Her eyes fluttered open—still fogged with sleep, but clear enough to find him immediately.
A slow, soft smile curved her lips.
She said nothing at first.
Only looked at him.
As if seeing him was enough.
Koda shifted onto his side, lifting a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from her forehead.
Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips.
Alive.
Grounding.
"You're back," she whispered, voice hoarse with sleep.
It wasn't a question.
It was a prayer answered.
He nodded, his hand lingering against her cheek for a breath longer than necessary.
The silence between them was thick—but not heavy.
It was full.
Full of things that didn't need words.
Maia's hand found his under the covers, her fingers threading through his with a sleepy familiarity that made something deep in Koda's chest unclench.
She squeezed gently.
"What did they say?" she murmured, voice barely audible.
For a moment, Koda just looked at her.
At the woman who had stayed.
Who had fought beside him when the nights were darkest.
Who had believed in him even when he doubted himself.
He could have answered a thousand ways.
Could have spoken of dead gods and primal sins and a world teetering on the brink.
Instead, he let a slow, teasing smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
"Turns out," he said softly, "our patrons are married."
Maia blinked once.
Then she laughed.
A quiet, breathless sound that filled the room with warmth.
She shifted closer, resting her forehead against his.
"Well," she whispered, "I guess it's only fair. We're not doing much better at keeping it professional either."
Koda chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest.
He tilted his head just enough to capture her lips in a kiss—
soft, lingering, full of a hundred unspoken promises.
Maia leaned into it, her free hand sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm.
The kiss deepened for a moment—then softened again.
A dance of reassurance more than passion.
I'm here.
I'm with you.
We will face it together.
When they finally pulled apart, Maia's eyes had grown heavy again, her body relaxing into his side as if gravity itself had changed its pull.
Koda tucked the covers more securely around her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close.
Her head settled against his shoulder.
Their legs tangled beneath the covers in the easy, unconscious intimacy of two people who knew each other's rhythms by heart.
The fire popped softly in the hearth.
Outside, the faint howl of wind whispered against the stone walls, but it was distant.
Muted.
Nothing could reach them here.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Koda let himself drift.
Not into vigilance.
Not into restless half-sleep.
But into real, bone-deep rest.
The kind of rest you could only find in the arms of someone who understood your soul better than you did.
Hours passed.
Or maybe seconds.
Time didn't matter here.
It was a different kind of magic.
A world carved out between breaths and heartbeats, where the past and future couldn't claw at him, and only the now existed.
Only her.
Only this.
Before sleep claimed him fully, Koda whispered into the darkness, his voice so low he wasn't sure she would hear.
"We'll talk more… once everyone's together."
Maia stirred slightly against him, murmuring a sleepy agreement.
Then silence settled again, heavier this time.
Not with fear.
Not with sorrow.
But with the weight of trust.
Of love.
Of hope.