"You think the realm is asking for perfection?" she said, turning to him. "It's asking for someone who bled for it."
He exhaled sharply. "You sound like Lucas."
"I'm worse." She whispered, leaning in. "Because I know the man underneath all of it. The one who still sleeps like a soldier and kisses like he's afraid he won't get another chance."
He stilled.
"You're the only person who ever made me want something more," she said.
His lips brushed hers- soft, tentative at first.
But then her hand slid underneath his shirt pressing against the scars on his chest. Her touch was warm. Claiming. Calming.
He deepened the kiss, pulling her into his lap, their breaths heavy and mingling. The bond between them thrummed with restraint, heat pooling beneath skin, beneath longing too long denied.
His hand gripped her thigh as her mouth found his neck.
Still, he paused.
"We shouldn't" he murmured.
From his voice, she could see- he wanted her. Badly. But he was a man of honor, and he would take her honorably.
"Then don't start something you can't finish," she whispered against his jaw, and the wicked smile that followed undid him.
She let him take his time. Her lips moved with his, like water learning the shape of fire- never forced. Never rushed. Just right.
When he lifted her into his arms, carrying her into the temple shadows where stone met starlight, she whispered "You're already their king Jedrek, let me help you see it." But a lot of doubt ran through his mind. Imperfections. Strengths. Weaknesses. "Not now Eleanor…" and he silenced her with a kiss.
-Embers That do not Die
Jedrek stood at the edge of the garden where dawn had just begun to reach across the sky, painting the ruins in shades of pink and copper. The bond hummed beneath his skin like a steady drumbeat, tethered now to Eleanor- who was still asleep in the room beyond the moss covered pillars, the soft rise of her breath- the only sound he trusted in a world that had too often lied.
His hand pressed against the stone wall.
It was warm.
Alive.
Solryn lived again.
Later that morning, messengers arrived.
From the North: Alpha Torik Skyfang reported that the snow trails had cleared, and their forge halls were operational. Children who had never seen their homeland were now training beneath banners long though lost.
From the East: Alpha Raeven's people were planting again. Fields once salted in war now sprouted with wild barely and grain. The eastern lands would eat again before the next frost.
From the West: Commander Lucas had sent word- less formal than the others. A torn parchment with only three words: "Walls won't stop us." A sketch of a growing watchtower marked the corner.
And from the South…
Silence.
Until just before dusk.
A rider- wounded and bleeding, barely breathing- was brought to the ruins. His arm with a glyph not seen in generations. An old Vale seal, faded and cracked, etched in bruises and blood.
Eleanor knelt beside him, pressing her hand to his brow. "Where did you find this?"
His eyes fluttered open. "The trees…they opened. There was light. A stone, glowing like fire and frost."
"A rift artifact," Jedrek said, stepping forward.
The rider gasped, his breath rattling. "Not rift… It spoke in your tongue…but it sang in hers."
Eleanor's blood ran cold. "Mine?" A shiver ran through her spine.
He nodded.
Then he died.
That night, Eleanor stood before the ruins of the southern temple. A storm gathered beyond the horizon, but no wind touched her. In her hands was the shard the rider had carried- a silver of crystal wrapped in cloth and memory.
It pulsed in her palm.
Jedrek joined her in silence.
"They're still out there," she said softly. "Whispers of the Vale… pieces of something that once kept the rift sealed."
"And now?"
"Now they're waking up."
Jedrek's jaw tightened. "We'll find them. We'll seal it again."
She looked at him, searching. "And if it can't be sealed?"
His eyes held steady. "Then we fight until the stars fall."
She nodded slowly, then took his hand.
"For now," he said, "We build. We breathe. We prepare."
"And we burn," she added with a quiet smirk.
The wind picked up, stirring the banners across the walls of Solryn. The sigils of the East, West and North now hung united- but the center banner remained empty.
No crown.
No title.
Just sky and stones.
And the two who would soon decide whether they would lead a kingdom…or protect it from crumbling all over again.
The ruins no longer whispered of ghosts. They sang of hammers.
Everywhere, the sound of rebuilding echoed- stone being carved, timber hauled in from the outer forests, metal shaped under the heat of a dozen forges. Solryn was not just being rebuilt-it was been resurrected.
The central courtyard had become a living tapestry of wolves from every region- mountain- forged Skyfangs laying foundation stone, fire-scarred Ravenord warriors hoisting beams with clawed hands, and southern born mystics etching protective sigils into the arches. Every banner was different, every tongue carried a different lilt, but they all moved with a single purpose.
To rebuild a kingdom worthy of those who had bled for it.
The new castle would not only rise as a monument to war- but as a sanctuary.
Zaryn, overseeing the design, had drawn inspiration from the stars- hallways open to the night, towers with tips curved like crescent moons, inner gardens warmed by firestones enchanted even to bloom in winter. The east wing would house scholars and seers, the west wing would train warriors beneath skylight domes, and in the heart of the sanctuary- where the last blood was spilled- a great throne hall was taking shape.
And yet… no throne had been chosen.
The hall where the first court was held bore no crown sigil. Only a great wooden table, hand-carved from the remains of a fallen tree that once stood in the Vale temple.