Therrin's POV
The forest was drenched in the fading gold of twilight, shadows stretching like fingers across the damp earth. Therrin stood at the edge of the clearing where Ciaran waited for her, arms crossed, leaning against the moss-covered stone of a ruined pillar. The remains of a temple long forgotten by time.
His presence was magnetic. Dangerous. A pull she could no longer pretend she didn't feel. Even now, her heart beat too fast, betraying her nerves.
"You came," he said, voice low like velvet brushing against a blade.
"I said I would." But her voice lacked conviction.
"You never had to say anything. I would've known." His gaze trailed her as if studying every breath she took, every hesitation she couldn't hide.
"Why do you keep coming back to him?"
Ari's voice rose inside her head, sharp and hot, like acid on an open wound.
"Because he sees me, Ari. Not just the version of me that's afraid. Not just the broken pieces. He looks at the thorns and doesn't flinch."
"He's a predator, Therrin. You think he loves you? He wants to possess you."
"And you think Dion doesn't? You think he doesn't want to mold me into who he thinks I should be? At least Ciaran doesn't lie about who he is."
Ari recoiled in silence, her fury simmering beneath the surface.
Therrin stepped closer, brushing her fingertips over the black vine that coiled around the stone archway like a living sentinel. "What is this place?"
Ciaran smiled, a wicked little curve of his mouth. "A sanctuary. And a grave."
"For what?"
He tilted his head. "Old gods. Old truths."
His hand reached out, grazing the side of her neck. Just enough to make her shiver, just enough to remind her how close she stood to the fire.
"You feel it, don't you?" he murmured. "The crackle under your skin. The power. It sings for me."
"You don't belong to him, Therrin."
Ari again, desperate now.
"Maybe I don't belong to anyone."
"You belong to yourself. You belong to us."
"No. You mean I belong to you and Dion. You're just mad I'm choosing something else."
"No—I'm terrified you're choosing wrong."
"Maybe I'm finally choosing me."
Therrin stepped into Ciaran's arms.
The touch wasn't the hungry, chaotic thing it once was. There was restraint in it now. A learned tenderness. She leaned into the warmth of his chest, surprised by the quiet in his heartbeat, the steady calm of it. He wasn't devouring her anymore—he was holding her like something precious.
And for the first time… she didn't pull away.
"I don't want to fight anymore," she whispered into the space between them.
"You don't have to."
"Yes, she does."
Ari pushed again, harder this time. Images flooded her—Dion's smile, the steady warmth of his hands, the way he'd whispered her name like a vow. The way he had waited.
"Ciaran doesn't wait. He takes. He twists."
"Then maybe I'm tired of waiting. Maybe I want to be twisted into something stronger."
"You're quiet," Ciaran murmured, tapping lightly against her temple. "Still fighting her?"
"She doesn't understand."
"No. But I do."
He turned, guiding her toward the altar stone, where curling symbols glowed faintly with an otherworldly shimmer. He didn't speak for a long time.
"I was made for this," he said finally. "For shadows and thorns. And so were you."
"You weren't made for this," Ari snapped. "You were made for stars. You were born of moonlight. He would see you become darkness to serve his own hunger."
"I'm not becoming darkness. I am darkness. And you're the one who keeps pretending otherwise."
Ciaran's hand slid into hers, lacing their fingers together.
"I could show you," he whispered, "everything you're capable of. The magic. The fire in your blood. But you have to stop letting her hold you back."
Therrin hesitated.
"Don't listen to him!" Ari cried. "Please, Therrin, we need each other. Don't let him pull you from me—"
"I'm not leaving you."
"Then stop choosing him."
"I'm choosing me," Therrin said again, out loud this time.
Ciaran looked at her carefully. "And what do you want?"
She stared at him. The question hit like a spear.
"I want… to stop being afraid of who I really am."
Ciaran nodded, proud. "Then come. Let's make her scream."
But before she could respond, her knees buckled.
Ari was furious.
She surged forward, screaming in her head, grabbing at tendrils of control like a drowning soul reaching for air.
Therrin's body jerked—pain flashing behind her eyes.
"You're not taking her from me!" Ari bellowed.
But this time, Therrin shoved back.
"Stop acting like I'm yours."
Ari gasped.
For a moment, silence rang between them. A mutual horror. The fracture had begun.
"I'm sorry," Therrin whispered. "But I need this. I need him."
"I won't let you—"
"You can't stop me."
Ciaran's arms wrapped around her just as her body began to shake. Not with fear—but with clarity. With power.
With the beginning of something else.
Later, after Therrin had regained her breath and the arguing in her head had dulled to embers, she lay beside Ciaran in the old temple, staring at the ruins above them.
He said nothing for a while, just brushed his thumb along her palm in small, idle circles.
"You're stronger when you stop pretending to be light," he said.
"Maybe I'm both," she whispered. "Maybe I'm neither."
"Maybe you're just mine."
She didn't argue.
But far away in her soul, Ari curled in silence. Wounded. Waiting.
Waiting for the day when Therrin would remember who they used to be.
And wondering… how much longer that day would exist at all.