Nightfall settled over Ravencroft with an eerie silence. The fires at the ridge had been extinguished, and the wounded were being carried back to the infirmary. Smoke still lingered faintly in the wind, a reminder of the day's bloodshed.
Lucien stood on the stone balcony outside his chamber, watching the stars blink into existence one by one. His tunic was stained with dust and blood—most of it not his own—but he hadn't changed. He couldn't. Not yet.
He was still holding on to the moment they stood on that battlefield, shoulder to shoulder.
"You bleed like the rest of us," came a quiet voice behind him.
Lucien turned.
Eiran stood in the doorway, his right arm in a sling, face pale but eyes sharp. The bandage across his brow couldn't hide the exhaustion etched into him.
"I'm fine," Lucien said.
"No, you're not," Eiran replied, stepping closer. "Neither am I."
Lucien leaned back against the railing. "I didn't expect to see you tonight."
"I couldn't sleep." Eiran shrugged with his good arm. "And… I needed to see you."
Lucien didn't answer. The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the words they hadn't said.
Finally, Eiran broke it. "I thought I was going to die out there."
Lucien's gaze dropped. "I know."
"But then you came," Eiran continued. "And for a moment, I thought… maybe fate's not as cruel as I believed."
Lucien laughed, but it was bitter. "Or maybe fate just likes to tease us longer before it takes everything away."
Eiran moved closer. "You still think we're doomed?"
"I don't know what to think anymore," Lucien admitted. "I keep waiting for the story to catch up. For the villain to lose. For the hero to win alone. For the tragedy I read to repeat itself."
"But what if we rewrite it?" Eiran asked.
Lucien looked at him.
"I mean it," Eiran said. "You said once that you didn't want to be the villain. Maybe I don't want to be the hero either—not in the way they wrote me."
Lucien's breath caught.
Eiran continued, voice softer now. "We could be something else. Something not written. Something real."
Lucien stepped forward, his hand brushing Eiran's uninjured one. "Something... ours?"
Eiran nodded.
Lucien took a slow breath. "Then come inside."
They walked into the chamber, closing the balcony doors behind them.
Lucien poured water into a bowl and gently cleaned the blood from Eiran's temple.
"You should rest," Lucien murmured.
"So should you."
Eiran sat on the edge of the bed. "Stay. Just for tonight."
Lucien hesitated—but only for a second.
Then he sat beside him.
No kisses. No burning passion. Just quiet presence. Fingers brushing. Shoulders leaning.
The kind of closeness that meant everything after a day that almost ended it all.
Outside, the night deepened. But inside, something fragile and powerful settled between them.
Not love.
Not yet.
But something that could become it.
---
The next morning came with the scent of rain and a sky that threatened a storm.
Lucien stood before the mirror in his private chambers, adjusting the black velvet cloak across his shoulders. The fresh bruises on his neck and the fading scar beneath his jaw reminded him that yesterday's victory had come at a cost.
There was a knock at the door.
"Enter," Lucien called, expecting a servant.
But it was Eiran.
No armor. No sword. Just Eiran, in a loose shirt and travel boots, his expression unreadable.
"We need to talk," he said.
Lucien gestured to the settee. "Then sit. We've both earned a moment of peace."
Eiran didn't sit. He stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back.
"There's a message," he said quietly. "From my father."
Lucien's eyes darkened. "And what does the King of Aurellia want now?"
Eiran handed over the scroll. Lucien broke the seal and read.
His jaw clenched. "A summons."
"He wants to meet with you. Personally."
"In enemy territory?"
"No," Eiran said. "Neutral ground. The ruins at Veilmoor."
Lucien looked up sharply. "That's a trap."
"Maybe," Eiran agreed. "But it's also a chance."
Lucien tossed the scroll into the fire. "A chance to die, maybe."
Eiran finally sat, his voice quieter. "I wouldn't ask you to go if I thought that."
Lucien's voice softened. "You trust me that much?"
"I trust you more than I trust my own blood," Eiran whispered. "And that terrifies me."
Lucien turned toward the window. Rain had begun to fall.
"I've spent my whole second life trying to outrun the shadow of who I'm supposed to be," he said. "Maybe this meeting is my moment to stand still—and face it."
Eiran stood, stepping close. "Then let me go with you."
Lucien looked into his eyes. "No. If it's a trap, I need someone left to lead."
Eiran's throat tightened. "Then promise me you'll come back."
Lucien didn't answer right away.
Then he leaned in, lips brushing Eiran's forehead.
"I promise I'll try."
---
That night, Lucien prepared to leave. Alone.
But the moment he crossed the castle gate, a hooded figure joined him from the shadows.
"Didn't I say I'd try?" Eiran said softly.
Lucien stared at him. "You're insufferable."
"And yet, here I am."
Together, they rode into the storm.
Toward the ruins.
Toward the truth.
---
To be continued...