Therrin's POV
The sun had just begun its descent, painting the sky in washes of peach and violet, when I followed the narrow garden path behind the cottage. I didn't know what to expect. Ciaran hadn't said much—just that I should come outside when I was ready.
The scent of blooming night jasmine hit me first. Then I saw it.
A low wooden table sat in the center of the clearing, surrounded by tall wildgrass that danced with the breeze. Lanterns—some glass, some made of hand-carved metal—hung from the trees like floating stars. Their glow shimmered in soft gold, warming everything they touched. A blanket was spread beneath the table, and two cushions sat across from one another.
And there he was.
Ciaran stood beside the table, sleeves rolled to his elbows, barefoot in the grass. He looked up when he heard me, and that smile—quiet, easy, the one meant just for me—lit more than the lanterns ever could.
"You made this?" I asked, stepping closer, brushing my fingertips along the edge of the table. Everything here was simple, beautiful—intentional.
He nodded, his gaze flicking across my face. "I wanted to give you something… unburdened. No prophecy, no expectations. Just us. Just now."
My throat tightened. The world had never felt so loud and so silent all at once.
He pulled the cushion out for me with a soft, "Sit. You'll like what I made."
The food was nothing grand—fresh bread, roasted vegetables, a bowl of tart berries, and slices of honey-glazed rootfruit that still steamed gently—but it was the care in it that mattered. He poured a glass of plumwine for each of us, the kind he remembered I liked from long ago.
"You remembered," I said, taking a sip, the sweetness cutting the nerves in my stomach.
"I remember everything," he said, without hesitation.
We ate in silence for a while, and it wasn't uncomfortable. The kind of quiet that feels like breathing beside someone instead of trying to fill a space. Still, something in me stirred—questions left too long unasked.
"You said we knew each other before," I said softly. "Not just… in passing."
He set his glass down, folding his hands loosely on the table. "Yes. You were my friend before you became anything else. We trained together under the old trees of Silvaran, when the leaves still whispered the old songs. You were… stubborn. Brilliant. Always reaching for something just beyond your grasp."
I swallowed. "I was different, wasn't I?"
"You were you," he said. "But freer. You laughed often. You fought with everything you had, and loved the same way. And I—" He broke off, the words sticking in his throat. "I think I fell in love with you long before either of us understood what that meant."
My breath caught. The lantern light flickered in his eyes, amber and soft.
I leaned back slightly, letting the cool air kiss my skin. "And then I died."
A pause.
His voice was low, raw. "You were taken from me. Not lost. Stolen."
He didn't say how. He didn't need to. The ache in his voice said enough.
A long silence stretched between us. Ciaran reached for my hand but didn't take it, just let his fingers brush the edge of mine. A question. A promise. I turned mine over slowly, and our hands met, palms pressed, warmth shared.
"Do you still see her when you look at me?" I asked. "The old version of me?"
"No," he said, without delay. "I see you. Therrin. As you are now. The parts that remain, and the parts that have changed. I see the pain you've carried. The fire that hasn't gone out, even if you can't always feel it."
He paused, voice softer. "And I see someone who deserves to be loved, not because of what she used to be, but because of who she's becoming."
I blinked hard, warmth blooming in my chest.
The wind danced around us, rustling the trees. One of the lanterns swung low, casting light across his face. My eyes dropped to his mouth. My skin prickled.
He saw it. Felt it. But didn't move.
"I can stop," he said, barely above a whisper. "If you want space—"
"I don't," I breathed, surprising even myself.
The air shifted. His hand slid up my wrist slowly, his thumb tracing the path of a faint scar I didn't remember earning. He didn't ask. Just studied me like I was something precious—breakable, but not broken.
When he leaned forward, he didn't kiss me. Not yet. He let his forehead rest against mine, our breaths mingling, hearts beating in tandem.
"I'll wait as long as it takes," he murmured. "But if you want this… even a little… I'm here."
I closed my eyes, the wind pulling strands of hair from behind my ear. I leaned forward.
This time, I kissed him.
It wasn't fierce. It wasn't rushed. Just… full. Slow. Reverent. The kind of kiss that didn't ask for anything but gave everything in return. His hands slid to my waist, anchoring me gently. I curled my fingers into the fabric of his shirt.
And when we finally broke apart, we stayed close. Foreheads together. Breaths trembling.
"I don't know what I'm doing," I whispered.
"You don't have to," he replied, smiling. "You're doing it anyway."
We lay side by side beneath the trees, watching the lanterns swing above us, fingers twined. He traced patterns across my skin with slow, lingering touches, never demanding more. Just memorizing.
And for the first time in a long while… I felt safe.