Distance did not bring peace.
It created stories.
In Nyvoria, rumors moved faster than messengers. Soldiers whispered that Lunara had argued with the king. Others said she had protected Vaelis for too long. Some claimed the spirits favored her. Some claimed they feared her.
None of them asked her.
Lunara felt it in the way conversations stopped when she entered a room. Respect was still there—but now it carried caution. Expectations pressed closer, heavier than armor.
The engagement was announced quietly two days later.
No celebration. No public joy. Just words sealed in ink and passed from hall to hall.
When Lunara heard, she said nothing.
That night, she stood alone on the wall longer than usual, watching the land beyond the border. The forest looked unchanged. That almost hurt more.
She wondered if the man she had met there still stood watch.
She hated herself for wondering at all.
In Aethros, Kael learned what it meant to be moved aside.
His reassignment kept him far from the border, buried in drills and inspections that led nowhere. Soldiers treated him carefully now. Too carefully.
"You're lucky," one said. "The king could've done worse."
Kael did not answer.
He trained. He listened. He waited.
And he heard things.
Rhaegor's name was everywhere. His victories were exaggerated. His brutality praised. Each retelling painted Kael smaller, quieter, less useful.
One night, Kael overheard two officers speaking in low voices.
"The prince hesitates," one said. "That's dangerous."
"Dangerous men don't live long here," the other replied.
Kael understood then.
Distance was not safety.
It was isolation.
Between the two lands, the border remained tense.
No major attacks. No peace either.
Just watchfires burning through the night, soldiers staring across the dark, waiting for something to break.
Sometimes, at the same hour, Kael and Lunara both found themselves awake—thinking of the same stretch of land, the same forest, the same moment when things might have gone differently.
They did not know it.
But the distance between them was no longer empty.
It was filled with expectation.