The soft golden rays of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room as Harahel moved around, her hands deftly packing her belongings for the journey ahead. The transition from her time with Antioch to her devotion to Soter felt like a delicate balancing act, one that she couldn’t avoid. It wasn’t that she didn’t love Antioch—no, that was never in question. But her role as a servant to Soter, dedicated to healing and care, called to her like the pull of an ancient melody.

As she packed, the bed behind her shifted, and a familiar voice broke the silence.

“Are you sure you have to go serve that bore of a god?”

Harahel paused mid-motion, her hand resting on the leather satchel as she glanced over her shoulder. There, sprawled across the bed in all his divine laziness, lay Antioch—his tousled hair a perfect mess, his eyes glinting with mischief. The sight of him, looking so effortless and content, was almost enough to make her reconsider. Almost.

His lips curled into that all-knowing smile, and with a sly look, he patted the space beside him. “You could always take a break... just for a few hours. Soter will forgive you; that’s sort of his thing.”

Harahel let out a soft, exasperated laugh as she turned to face him fully. She could feel his eyes on her, drinking in the sight of her readying herself for the next chapter in her divine duties. Her heart fluttered a little, not because she didn’t know what he was doing, but because it always worked—he always knew how to draw her back in.

“You’re impossible,” she said, her voice steady but not without affection.

Antioch tilted his head, an innocent look painted on his face. “I know," he sighed dramatically. "I just figured that in the last three months, I would have been able to talk you out of this silly little commitment to my other brothers.” He flashed her a teasing grin, his eyes glinting with that mischievous glimmer that always made her heart race.

Harahel raised an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest, resisting the urge to laugh. “And what if I did stay?” she asked, her tone playful yet firm. "How long before you feel the walls of commitment closing in and you run away like the scared little child you are?"

Antioch's expression shifted for a moment, his lips parting in mock offense. He sat up, placing a hand over his heart. 'You wound me, my dear,' he echoed, his voice dripping with feigned indignation."

Harahel's lips curled into a half-smile, knowing exactly what she was doing. "Oh, I’m sure you'll be fine," she said, packing a final item into her satchel. "And if you get lonely, I bet there’s a pretty rogue out there who’ll be eager to keep you company." Her tone was light, but the barb was there, sharp and intentional.

Antioch's smile faltered ever so slightly, but only for a fraction of a second. He knew Harahel was making a not-so-subtle reference to Selene, the rogue he had loved and lost. He raised a hand, feigning resignation. "Ah, yes, but it doesn’t have to be a rogue," he said. "I once had a passionate affair with a vampire, and then there was this fiery red-headed barbarian. We..."

"Antioch!" Harahel interrupted, her tone both amused and sharp. She met his gaze with a knowing look, her lips curving in playful disbelief. "Do you honestly think dredging up your ex-lovers is the way to convince me to stay?" Her voice was light, but the challenge in it was clear.

Antioch chuckled, but there was an edge to his laughter now. "Always a sharp one, aren’t you?" he said, his tone almost affectionate, despite the thinly veiled tension beneath it.

Harahel didn’t respond immediately, but her eyes remained steady on him, a quiet challenge in her gaze. She knew his games too well by now.

"You know," Harahel began, her voice cool but laced with certainty, "your true intention isn't to keep me here."
Antioch’s smile faltered slightly, but he quickly masked it with an exaggerated sigh. “What do you mean, my dear?” he asked, a little too innocently.

Harahel took a step closer, her posture strong and unwavering. "You just don’t want to give me what I asked for." Her eyes locked with his, unblinking.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths. Antioch's eyes flickered briefly, betraying the subtle tension that had shifted in the air. He knew she was right, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

Antioch’s playful facade dropped for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he reached into the folds of the sheets beside him. With a slow, reluctant motion, he produced a small envelope, its edges worn and faintly creased. Holding it up between them, he sighed, his voice soft yet laced with a trace of reluctant sincerity.

"Fine," he muttered, as if conceding some great loss. "Inside this, you’ll find the name of a ship, its captain, and the port it will be docked at. It will take you where you want to go."

He held the envelope out toward her, the motion deliberate, as though the very act of giving it to her was a burden. His eyes remained fixed on her, a touch of defiance still lingering, even in the act of giving her what she’d asked for.

Harahel took the envelope from his hand, her fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. She gave him a small, knowing nod. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice soft but sincere.

Antioch leaned back, folding his arms behind his head as he settled into the bed.

"You’re welcome," he said, his tone light but carrying an underlying warning. "But going to meet children you barely remember, who will want answers you cannot give? That’s not exactly a recipe for success, Harahel."

He glanced at her, his eyes steady and serious for the first time in their conversation. "You may think you’re ready, but I wouldn’t be so sure."

Harahel met his gaze directly, her green eyes unwavering. She folded the envelope in her hands, her fingers pressing into the edges as she took a moment to steady herself. “I can’t change the past, but I can face it. And if it means finally confronting the children I’ve failed... then I will."

Antioch's expression softened slightly, his wry smile giving way to something more genuine, almost tender. He shifted his weight, sitting up straighter as his playful facade fell away entirely. “You didn’t fail them, Harahel,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Sometimes, parents have to play the villain for their children’s own good. They don’t always understand it at the time, but it’s what’s necessary. And isn’t that what we did?”

Harahel’s grip on the envelope tightened, her knuckles pale against the worn paper. She let out a quiet breath, her gaze dropping momentarily before meeting his again. “That might work for you,” she said softly, her tone laced with both sorrow and defiance. “You’ve always been more comfortable being the villain than I have. You wear it like armor, as if it’s a role you relish.”

Antioch chuckled darkly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the headboard, his arms crossed over his chest. “And what’s wrong with armor, Harahel? It keeps you alive. It keeps you from breaking under the weight of all their expectations, their blame. You’re so quick to carry all of it, to let it crush you under guilt you don’t even deserve.”

Harahel took a step closer, her voice steady and unwavering. “Maybe I don’t deserve all of it. But that doesn’t mean I can ignore it. I have to face them, Antioch. Not just for them, but for myself. I can’t keep running from what we did, even if it was for their good. I won’t hide behind armor like you do.”

Antioch studied her with a mix of admiration and frustration. “You’re braver than you should be,” he said. “But you’re also a fool. You’ll walk into their anger, their resentment, and let them tear you apart, won’t you?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Harahel replied simply, her resolve unshaken. “Because at least then, they’ll know I didn’t stop caring, even when I couldn’t be what they needed.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions and the weight of shared history. Antioch’s gaze lingered on her, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. Finally, he let out a soft sigh, shaking his head.

“You’ll do it your way, as you always do,” he said, a trace of grudging respect in his tone. He raised his hand in mock surrender. He knew better than to argue further—this was a battle he could not win, and the defiance in her eyes told him she wouldn’t be swayed.

Harahel gave him a sympathetic smile, the corners of her lips lifting with a mix of affection and amusement. Without a word, she started to crawl back into bed beside him.

Antioch, momentarily confused, raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn’t want to be late?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of playful concern.

Harahel let out a soft, melodic laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, Antioch, the god of fools," she teased. "If you ever bothered to look at a calendar, you’d know I don’t have to leave for my service to Soter until tomorrow."

Realizing he had been tricked, Antioch’s expression shifted from playful confusion to a smirk of acknowledgment. Without another word, he leaned in, his eyes darkening with intent. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between them, capturing Harahel’s lips in a passionate kiss.

Harahel woke, drenched and disoriented, her body pressed against the cold, damp sand as the rhythmic crash of waves filled the night air. The sharp tang of salt stung her skin, mingling with the dull ache pounding in her head. Above her, the moon hung high in a canopy of stars, its pale light casting an eerie glow over the endless expanse of the beach. She blinked against the darkness, her breath hitching as the memory surged back—the warmth of Antioch’s kiss, the way it lingered... and then, nothing.

The wetness of her clothes clung to her skin as she tried to push herself upright, the taste of the ocean on her lips and the sensation of having been submerged still lingering like a shadow. Her heart pounded, her mind scrambling to piece together the fragments of the evening.

Harahel’s heart leapt as her gaze fixed on Gadriel’s prone form lying a few feet away, the waves lapping at her legs. The imposing figure of the woman, so often unshakable, now seemed fragile against the stark expanse of the shore. Harahel scrambled to her feet, her muscles aching and her soaked clothes weighing her down, but she forced herself to move.

“Gadriel!” she called, her voice hoarse and trembling. She staggered across the wet sand, collapsing to her knees beside her companion. Gadriel’s usually sharp and calculating features were pale, her chest barely rising and falling. Her dark hair was plastered to her face, and the seawater clung to her like a second skin.

Harahel pressed two fingers to Gadriel’s neck, relief washing over her as she felt a faint pulse beneath her fingertips. She leaned closer, the smell of salt and seaweed filling her nose, and gently shook Gadriel’s shoulder. “Come on,” she urged. “Wake up. We didn’t come this far for it to end like this.”

For a tense moment, there was no response. Then, with a sputtering gasp, Gadriel coughed up a mouthful of seawater, her body convulsing as she fought to breathe. Harahel helped her sit up, steadying her as she blinked dazedly, her sharp eyes clouded with confusion.

“Where... what happened?” Gadriel croaked, her voice barely audible over the crashing waves.

“The wave,” Harahel said, her voice shaky but steadying with each word. “It flipped the boat. We were thrown into the sea. I don’t know where Finnegan is.”

The two women sat in silence for a moment, the enormity of their situation sinking in. The island loomed behind them, its dense jungle shrouded in mist, and the oppressive stillness of the place pressed down on them like a weight.

“We need to move,” Harahel said finally, her voice firm despite her exhaustion. “We’re exposed here. Whatever sent that wave might not be done with us.”

Gadriel nodded reluctantly, her usual defiance replaced by a weary pragmatism. With Harahel’s help, she struggled to her feet, her legs unsteady but holding. Together, they turned toward the ominous jungle, its dark shadows promising both shelter and danger.

As they took their first steps toward the unknown, Harahel cast one last glance at the ocean, silently willing Finnegan to appear. But the waves offered no answers, only the relentless rhythm of the sea.