(Rowan's POV)
The grove is too quiet.
Not peaceful.
Not calm.
Not resting.
Quiet the way the air gets before a storm breaks open the sky.
Elior stands between Aeris and Sylas, his breath trembling, his light flickering faintly beneath his skin. Elias is still on his knees, hands shaking as he tries to steady the visions tearing through him. Noctis stands apart, shadows coiled tight around him like a second spine.
And me?
I can't stop staring at the place where the grief‑born Guardian vanished.
My fire hasn't dimmed.
My pulse hasn't slowed.
My heart hasn't settled.
Because I know what I saw.
I know what I felt.
And I know what Elior felt.
He was afraid.
Not of the grief‑born Guardian.
Not of the danger.
Not of the voice.
He was afraid of remembering.
I step toward him, and the others instinctively shift to make space. Sylas's shadows loosen. Aeris's breath‑magic softens. Noctis's gaze flicks toward me, sharp and unreadable.
Elior looks up at me.
And gods, he looks so young in this moment.
So human.
So breakable.
"Rowan," he whispers, voice thin. "I'm okay."
He's not.
I know he's not.
His heart is beating too fast.
His magic is flickering.
His breath is shallow.
His hands are shaking.
I cup his face gently. "You don't have to be okay."
His eyes close, and he leans into my touch like he's been waiting for permission to fall apart.
Aeris steps closer, voice soft. "He didn't touch you. He didn't reach you. We stopped him."
Elior swallows. "He wasn't trying to hurt me."
Sylas's resonance spikes sharply. He would have taken you.
Elior flinches.
I glare at Sylas, and the resonance softens. Not because he disagrees — but because he knows I'm right. Elior doesn't need sharp edges right now.
He needs us.
All of us.
Elias finally manages to stand, though he sways. "He's not whole," he murmurs. "He's not the First Guardian. He's what's left of him. The grief. The fear. The part that couldn't die."
Noctis's jaw tightens. "I know."
Elior looks at him, eyes wide. "You… you recognized him."
Noctis doesn't answer.
He doesn't have to.
The truth is written in the tension of his shoulders, the shadows coiling around his ankles, the way he hasn't looked away from the trees since the echo vanished.
Elior steps toward him. "Noctis…"
Noctis finally turns.
And the look on his face is something I've never seen before.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Not grief.
Guilt.
"He thinks I failed you," Noctis says quietly. "He thinks I let you die."
Elior's breath catches. "You didn't—"
"I did." Noctis's voice is soft, but it cuts like a blade. "I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't enough."
Elior reaches for him, but Noctis steps back.
And something inside me snaps.
"Noctis," I say sharply. "Stop."
He looks at me, eyes dark. "You don't understand."
"I understand more than you think," I say. "You're not the only one who's afraid of losing him."
The words hang in the air.
Aeris's breath stutters.
Sylas's resonance trembles.
Elias closes his eyes.
Elior looks at me like I've said something sacred.
Noctis's expression shifts — not softer, but less closed.
I step closer to Elior, placing a hand over his heart.
His magic flares beneath my palm, warm and trembling.
"You're not alone," I tell him. "Not in this. Not ever."
He exhales shakily, leaning into me.
Aeris moves to his other side, breath‑magic soothing the tremor in Elior's lungs. Sylas wraps resonance around his ribs like a second heartbeat. Elias steadies the threads around him. Noctis's shadow curls around Elior's ankle, a silent vow.
We form a circle around him.
A constellation.
Elior looks at each of us, eyes shining. "I'm scared."
I brush my thumb across his cheek. "Good. Fear means you want to live."
Sylas hums agreement. And we want you to.
Aeris nods. "We'll protect you."
Elias whispers, "We'll guide you."
Noctis's voice is low. "We'll fight for you."
I meet Elior's gaze. "We'll fight with you."
His breath catches.
His magic steadies.
His heart slows.
And for the first time since the whisper, he looks like he believes us.
But the moment doesn't last.
The wind shifts.
The trees shiver.
And Elias gasps, clutching his head as visions slam into him.
"Not again," Aeris whispers.
Elior grabs Elias's arm. "What do you see?"
Elias's voice trembles. "He's coming back."
"When?" I demand.
Elias looks up, eyes glowing white.
"Now."
The grove explodes with sound.
Branches snap.
Shadows surge.
The air cracks open.
And the grief‑born Guardian steps into the clearing.
Not whispering.
Not begging.
Not broken.
But furious.
His eyes lock on Elior.
And he screams.