The green fire at the Cairn's heart still hissed and spat when the group fled south into the Dead Marches proper. Star rode slumped against Elandor's chest, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached, every jolt of the horse sending fresh spikes through the raw hole Cassian had left behind. The memory of choosing death for love was gone, and in its place sat a cold, factual knowledge: he had once stepped in front of an arrow. Why? The emotion that had made the act feel inevitable, radiant, necessary, had been carved out. He could remember the event like reading a history scroll, but the fierce, shining certainty was missing. His love for Elandor remained, stubborn and real, yet strangely thin without that anchor.
They pushed the horses until foam flecked their mouths, then dismounted in a shallow basin ringed by twisted willows. Duchess Calera took first watch without a word. Lila busied herself with bedrolls, shooting worried glances at Star every few seconds. Thorne vanished into the mist to scout, leaving only the four of them in the weak moonlight. Elandor guided Star to sit on a fallen log, knelt in front of him, and pressed both palms to Star's face.
"Talk to me," Elandor said quietly.
Star tried to smile. It came out crooked. "I know I love you. I know I'd do it again. I just… can't feel why it mattered so much."
Elandor's thumbs brushed Star's cheekbones. His green eyes were steady, but the skin around them looked bruised with exhaustion. "Then we start smaller. We rebuild from the beginning. One piece at a time."
Star exhaled shakily. "I don't even know where to start anymore."
Elandor leaned their foreheads together. "We start with laughter. The very first time we ever laughed together. Before arrows, before crowns, before any of this."
Star closed his eyes. The hollow in his chest pulsed, hungry. "Tell me."
Elandor's voice dropped into the soft, storytelling cadence he used only when they were alone. "We were barely more than children. I'd escaped my tutors again, running through the royal orchards like a thief in my own kingdom. You were already there, perched in the biggest oak, stuffing your pockets with the reddest apples. You saw me and froze. Then you grinned, wicked little grin, and said, 'Fancy boots don't climb trees, princeling.'"
A faint warmth stirred in Star's ribs, distant but real.
"I tried to look dignified," Elandor continued, a small, self-mocking smile tugging his mouth. "Told you thieves should be punished. You laughed, threw an apple straight at my head. I ducked. It smashed against the trunk behind me, juice everywhere. We stared at each other, waiting for anger. Instead we both cracked up. Fell out of the tree laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. You had twigs in your hair. I had apple mush down my shirt. We rolled on the grass until our sides hurt, and for once I wasn't a prince and you weren't a farmer's son. We were just two idiots who found the funniest thing in the world at the same moment."
Star's lips parted. A tiny, surprised huff escaped him, almost a laugh.
Elandor seized it. "There. That sound. That's the one. You threw your head back and howled, and a whole flock of starlings burst out of the branches above us like they were laughing too. I thought my chest would split open from how good it felt."
He leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to the corner of Star's mouth, then another to his jaw, then one more right on his lips, gentle and deliberate. When he pulled back, his eyes were bright. "Do it again. Laugh for me."
Star tried. The sound came out rusty, uncertain. Elandor mimicked the old giggle, high and ridiculous, the way a ten-year-old prince might have sounded before the crown taught him restraint. Star's shoulders shook. Another huff. Then a real chuckle, small but honest. Elandor's face lit up like sunrise.
"Keep going," he urged.
They kept at it, Elandor retelling every ridiculous detail—the way Star's apple-throwing arm had terrible aim, the way Elandor's fancy boots had slipped in the grass, the way they'd both ended up muddy and breathless and happier than either had ever been. Each retelling coaxed a little more laughter out of Star until the sound grew stronger, warmer, closer to the original wild joy. The hollow didn't close completely, but it stopped bleeding quite so badly.
Lila crept closer, sitting cross-legged nearby. "You two are ridiculous," she said, but her voice was thick and her eyes shone. "Keep being ridiculous. It's working."
Duchess Calera, still on watch, gave a rare, quiet snort that might have been approval.
Star finally leaned against Elandor, exhausted but steadier. "I can feel it again. Not all of it, but… enough."
Elandor wrapped both arms around him, chin resting on Star's head. "Then we keep going. Every night. Every memory he tries to take, we remake louder. Brighter. Until he chokes on how much light we carry."
Star nodded against Elandor's shoulder. The birthmark on his chest gave a slow, answering throb, not pain this time but recognition.
Dawn crept in gray and damp. The mist thinned enough to reveal a line of cracked stone steps descending into the earth about fifty paces away. Runes glowed faintly along the arch at the top. Thorne reappeared from the fog, silent as ever, and pointed once toward the ruin.
Lila stood first, brushing dirt from her knees. "Looks like our thief left us a breadcrumb. Or a trap. Probably both."
Star rose with Elandor's help, legs shaky but holding. He looked at the distant temple, then back at the king whose steady heartbeat he could feel against his own.
"Let's go steal something back," Star said.
Elandor's answering grin was sharp and full of love. "After you, little star-thief."
They moved toward the ruin together, laughter still echoing softly in Star's chest, fragile but growing roots. Behind them the green fire at the Cairn had dimmed to embers. Ahead the runes flared brighter, as if the old stones recognized shared light when they saw it.
And somewhere in the mist, Cassian's patient smile faltered for the very first time.