The Hollow Grove was older than memory.
Trees rose like cathedral pillars, gnarled and gray, their trunks hollowed by age and rot. No birds sang here. No beasts wandered. Even the wind didn't dare breathe between the dead branches.
Kael hadn't spoken in hours. Neither had Riven.
Her limp was worsening. She tried to hide it, but he saw the strain in her jaw, the shallow hitch in every step.
The moss poultice had slowed the bleeding. But the wound had begun to fester.
Kael couldn't ignore it anymore.
"Sit," he said gently.
"I'm fine," she muttered.
"You're not. Sit."
She hesitated. But her legs betrayed her before pride could answer. She sank to her knees beside a fallen log, sweat beading at her brow.
Kael knelt before her.
Riven watched him, wary. "Don't try anything."
"I'm not."
"Then why are you bleeding?" Her eyes flicked to his hand — where he'd already drawn a thin cut across his palm.
Kael inhaled slowly. "Because I'm going to try something. Something that might… fix you."
Riven stiffened. "No."
"You'll die if we don't."
"I've survived worse."
He reached forward, not touching her yet. "Then let me help you survive this too."
She held his gaze. Tension flickered across her face — not fear, but… resignation. The look of someone who'd stopped hoping long ago.
"Do it," she said.
Kael pressed his bloody palm to her side, just above the wound. She flinched — not from pain, but from the intimacy of the touch.
He closed his eyes.
Reached inward.
And called to the roots of the Hollow Grove.
The Lifebinding surged.
It came like a storm.
Vines rose from the earth, slow and deliberate — not the wild thorns of battle, but soft green tendrils tipped with glowing spores. They wrapped around Kael's forearm, coiling over his wrist, then toward Riven's body.
She gasped — not from pain, but from the cold touch as the vines crept under her clothes and circled the gash. The mosslight pulsed. Her blood sizzled.
Kael poured more of himself into the bond.
He could feel her heartbeat.
Feel her pain.
And—faintly—her memories.
A burning tent. Screams. A blade against her throat. A child's sob. Chains. A knife hidden in her boot. Blood. Hers. Not hers. Running. Always running.
Kael's breath hitched.
He almost pulled back.
But her voice—hoarse, quiet—stopped him.
"…Don't look," she whispered.
He opened his eyes.
Her own were brimming with something she didn't let fall. Not quite tears.
"I didn't mean to see," he said gently.
"Doesn't matter." Her voice trembled. "It's not your pain to carry."
Kael leaned closer, hand still over her ribs, the vines pulsing between them.
"It is," he said. "Because I care whether you live."
She blinked at him.
And then—finally—looked away.
But she didn't pull back.
The healing finished with a deep pulse. The vines receded. Kael fell back, panting, dizzy.
Blood streamed from his nose again. His arms felt hollow.
But Riven sat straighter. Her skin no longer burned. The wound had sealed — not with a scar, but with a faint shimmer of green.
Ash watched from the shadows, silent but alert.
Kael wiped his face with a shaking hand.
"Still think you're fine?" he managed, grinning weakly.
Riven stared at him a long time.
Then did something he didn't expect.
She leaned forward… and kissed his forehead.
Just once.
Soft.
Grateful.
Not romantic. Not yet.
But real.
"You're a fool," she murmured.
"I've been told."
She lay down beside the fallen log, pulling her cloak over herself.
"You ever try that again without warning," she added, "I'll stab you in the ribs."
Kael smiled.
But it didn't reach his eyes.
Because part of him had seen too much of her pain… and wanted to ease it again.
Not with magic.
But with presence.