The mountain wind carried his scent before he reached her.
Lyra stood near the edge of the cliff, the sky above her streaked in crimson and violet. Her fire spirit, Sarek, lingered in the distance, watching the man who climbed steadily toward her.
Kael.
He was taller than memory. Or maybe it was the weight of the days between them. Of the silences. Of the choices made without permission.
His armor was scratched. His hands blistered from sword and claw. But his eyes—gods, his eyes—
Still hers.
Still burning.
She didn't turn around when she spoke. Her voice was even, but taut with restraint.
"You shouldn't have followed me."
"I had to," he said.
"No," she snapped. "You chose to. And you did it knowing I needed space."
Kael halted a few feet behind her, chest heaving. He didn't answer right away. Because it wasn't about space. It was never just space.
It was the distance between who they were and who they were becoming.
