The night was ink-dark and thick with sea mist, the kind that clung to Kael's skin like breath. The cove was restless—waves pulling in strange patterns, moonlight fractured across the surface like broken glass. He hadn't slept, couldn't, not after what he heard the sea whisper.
Aeren.
It wasn't just a name. It was a pulse. A thread woven too tightly into his veins.
Kael stepped barefoot out of the cabin, the floorboards cool under his skin, the sea wind curling around his bare chest. The tide called to him—not with words, but with something older. Something personal.
And he knew exactly who he was looking for.
She was there—perched on the tide-worn rocks, hair loose and streaming like black fire, skin glowing faintly in the moonlight. She didn't turn to look at him, though she knew he was there.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice low and oddly fragile.
"Neither should you," Kael replied.
A flicker of a smile touched her lips. "Go back, prince."
He took a step forward. "Tell me what you're not saying. About Aeren. About me."
Silence stretched between them. The waves hissed. The mist thickened.
Lyra finally stood, water sliding down the length of her bare legs, her tail having already shifted. Her feet touched the wet sand, and her hair plastered to her shoulders like ink spilled down porcelain.
She didn't move closer. "You dreamt him."
Kael nodded. "And I felt how much he loved you."
Her throat worked. "Then you should know how dangerous this is."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be."
He stepped into the tide, let it soak his trousers up to the knees. "Then prove it."
That did it. Her expression cracked like thunderclouds giving way. She crossed the distance between them in two sharp strides and grabbed his face with both hands—cold, trembling, furious—and crushed her lips to his.
The kiss wasn't sweet. It was desperation cloaked in salt and secrets, a clash of teeth and breath and the unspoken truth that neither of them had room to run anymore. Her hands moved through his hair like she was memorizing him—one last time, or maybe the first of many.
Kael responded with the same hunger, his hands locking around her waist and drawing her in, soaking them both as the tide surged higher. He kissed her like he'd known her before, in another life. And he had.
Their bodies collided in rhythm with the sea. He backed her into the stone wall of the cove, wet moss pressing into her back. Her gasp broke the kiss, and Kael caught the sound like it was holy.
"You think I can't break you?" she whispered, voice shaking as her hands slid beneath the hem of his shirt.
"I think you already have."
She pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it behind her. Her fingers ghosted over the ridges of his spine, trembling. He was warm, solid. Human. And still, something in him pulsed with the old magic she once loved and lost.
"You don't know what I am," she said, her mouth brushing his ear.
"Then show me."
Lyra pushed him back onto the rock, straddling him with a slow, practiced grace that made Kael's breath catch. Her thighs gripped his hips. Her fingers traced the scar beneath his ribs.
She kissed him again—softer this time. And deeper.
When her hands slid over his chest, there was no hesitation. Her body moved against him like water, smooth and seeking. He touched her like he had been waiting for her his whole life—like her skin would unlock the rest of him. And maybe it did.
They didn't speak. There was no room for words, only breath and motion, limbs tangling as clothes fell away, the sea around them folding like a witness.
His hands explored her like a map he knew and had forgotten—shoulders, spine, hips, her thigh trembling under his palm. Her mouth moved to his neck, and when her teeth grazed skin, he arched into her with a groan.
She whispered something—too soft for language. The sea answered with a swell.
Lyra gasped as Kael's hand slid between them, fingers learning the shape of her, coaxing out sounds that made her grip his shoulders and bury her face in his throat. Her breath stuttered. His name broke from her lips like a spell.
And when she took him in, slow and sure, their bodies finally fit into that sacred shape of ruin and redemption. She rode him like the tide—harder, slower, like she was dragging out every memory from his bones.
Kael's hands gripped her waist, guiding her, but his eyes stayed locked on hers. He wanted to remember this. Not just the shape of her body—but the way she looked at him, like it both killed and saved her.
The curse responded. Seafoam glowed around them. The mark on Kael's chest flared gold, and he gasped—because for a moment, he wasn't just Kael.
He was Aeren. Dying. Loving her. Choosing her.
Lyra felt it too. Her rhythm faltered. Her eyes widened.
"Kael—" she breathed, voice breaking.
"I remember," he said hoarsely. "I remember you."
Tears blurred her vision. She kissed him hard, desperate to silence the unraveling.
Their bodies surged toward the edge—his name on her lips, her magic rising like a wave cresting over them both.
And then—release. Blinding. Shuddering. Final.
They collapsed into the sand, tangled in seaweed and silence. The tide had pulled back, leaving the cove still and breathless.
Lyra lay against his chest, listening to his heart slow.
"I didn't mean for it to happen like this," she whispered.
"But it did."
She looked up, face streaked with salt and something more ancient than sorrow. "You remember Aeren. You're not just Kael anymore."
He nodded, brushing wet hair from her face. "I'm both. I choose to be."
That terrified her more than anything.
Far out, the sea shimmered with quiet dread.
And somewhere beneath it, something ancient stirred awake.