They took shelter in the old temple at the edge of the ruined village.
The roof was half-collapsed. Ash curled beneath a shattered altar, ears flicking but calm. Rain tapped softly against the stones outside—cooling the scorched scent of blood and magic.
Kael sat on the steps, wrapped in his cloak, shivering.
Not from cold.
From what he'd done.
The red Binder's death hadn't just been violent. It had been personal. Too easy. He hadn't fought with clarity. He'd fought with instinct. Rage. Hunger.
Riven stood nearby, watching him silently.
Then she moved.
No sound. No warning.
She crouched beside him, took his hand—and laced her fingers between his.
Kael looked down at their hands.
"I'm not like him," he said softly. "I won't become that."
"I know," she said. "But it scared you anyway."
He didn't deny it.
She tugged his hand gently.
"Lie down."
"I'm fine—"
"Kael." Her voice was quiet, but firm. "You've been bleeding from your nose for half a day. Your arms are covered in spell-burn. And your eyes haven't stopped shaking."
He hesitated. Then laid back.
Riven folded her cloak into a makeshift pillow and slipped it beneath his head. Then she knelt beside him and dipped her fingers into a shallow pool of rainwater, pressing them gently to his temples.
He flinched.
"You don't trust people touching you, do you?" she murmured.
"I trusted the wrong ones."
"Same."
She cleaned the dried blood from his skin. Slowly. Tenderly. Like someone afraid he'd disappear if she moved too fast.
Kael's voice cracked. "They laughed at me, you know. After the ceremony."
"Who?"
"Lyra. My… childhood love. And Arden. My closest friend. They waited until the night after the Awakening to show me what I really was to them."
Riven froze. Her hand stopped mid-motion.
"Kael—"
"I saw them together. In my bed. The one I built with my own hands. She looked at me like I was interrupting. Like I'd earned it."
Riven's jaw clenched.
She set down the cloth.
Then, very deliberately, she lay beside him.
Their shoulders touched.
Their legs brushed.
He didn't move away.
"You don't deserve that kind of pain," she said quietly.
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "You don't either."
She turned her head.
Their eyes met.
No fire. No game. Just… two people lying in the aftermath of violence and betrayal.
Two people who stayed.
Riven raised her hand again—this time not to wipe blood, but to touch his face. Not carefully. Not shyly.
Intimately.
He leaned into it.
Their breaths synced.
Their lips hovered.
And for one long, aching heartbeat…
They didn't kiss.
Not yet.
But it was there.
Close.
Inevitable.
That night, Kael didn't dream of Lyra.
He dreamed of silver hair brushing his shoulder.
Of quiet hands pulling him close.
Of a body beside his, willing to remain.