Drevan slid an arm around her back, helping her stand. He opened his mouth, perhaps to reprimand her for running off alone—she could see the frustration flicker in his eyes. But before he could speak, Calen’s voice rose in uncharacteristic firmness.

“Drevan, no,” the elf said, cheeks flushed with both exertion and anger. “Not now.”

The tiefling’s eyes flashed. “She—”

“She knows it was reckless!” Calen snapped, surprising them both with the steel in his tone. “She knows! She also almost got herself killed, so if you’re going to scold her, let me heal her fully first!”

Drevan hesitated, a protest on his lips. Then he looked down at Amara’s trembling form, her face streaked with sweat and tears. His shoulders sagged, the anger draining away. “…Fine,” he growled, sheathing his sword.

Amara let out a shuddering breath. She clung to Calen’s sleeve as he poured gentle waves of healing into her battered body. Each pulse eased bruises, knit torn skin, and steadied her racing heartbeat. The tension bled from her limbs, replaced by a flood of emotions so intense she couldn’t stop tears from rolling down her cheeks.

“You both… came,” she whispered brokenly. “I’m sorry… I can’t believe I made you risk so much. I’m so—”

Her voice faltered, and she lowered her head, tears dripping onto the flagstones. In the hush, they heard the distant calls of night creatures, the crackle of torches, and the ragged breathing of the subdued bandits. Then, quite unexpectedly, Calen threw his arms around her, pulling her into a fierce embrace. She stiffened a moment, her tears intensifying, and then she sank into it, sobbing into his shoulder.

“Don’t apologize anymore,” Calen murmured. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Drevan stood there, arms at his sides, torn between exasperation and concern. His fierce expression softened. He took a step forward, hesitated, then slowly placed a hand on Amara’s shoulder. She turned her teary gaze up at him, breath hitching. For a heartbeat, he looked ready to bark a reprimand, but instead he exhaled and wrapped one arm around them both. It was awkward, as though he didn’t quite know how hugs worked—but his presence was solid and reassuring.

A tangle of limbs and quiet sobs, they stood there in the ruins, surrounded by groaning bandits and shattered stone. A thousand unspoken words passed between them: apologies, forgiveness, relief. The tension that had threatened to tear them apart slipped away, if only for a moment, under the raw reality that they were alive, together, and needed each other more than ever.

They lingered in that embrace for what felt like a long time—Calen supporting Amara, Amara clinging to him for dear life, and Drevan’s hand on her back, as if ensuring she wouldn’t vanish again. Eventually, the need to secure the bandits overcame the tender moment. Drevan cleared his throat and stepped back.

“We should tie them up,” he said, glancing over at the half-dozen men knocked out or too weak to fight. “We can alert the local authorities after we regroup.”

Calen nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ll help.”

Reluctantly letting go of Amara, he conjured slender tendrils of healing light—this time repurposed to form bindings. Where he’d normally seal flesh, he now sealed ropes around the bandits, using it almost like a conjurer’s trick. Drevan gave him a thin smile of approval, impressed by the elf’s resourcefulness.

Amara slowly sank against the pillar, pressing her palms to her aching eyes. The guilt still weighed heavily, but overshadowing it was profound gratitude. They had come for her, despite everything. They’d risked their lives. Her chest tightened at the realization that she was truly not alone, no matter how monstrous she might feel at times.

“All right,” Drevan muttered, hefting one last bandit’s limp form away from the center of the courtyard. “They won’t be going anywhere. At least not until the morning, when we can hand them over.”

Calen nodded in satisfaction. “They’ll have some nasty headaches, but nothing lethal.” He paused, drawing a shaky breath. “I hope that’s enough.”

“It will be,” Drevan assured him. Then he turned to Amara, who remained sitting on the ground, arms draped over her knees. “We have a small camp not far from here. Think you can walk?”

She glanced up, cheeks still damp. “I’ll try.” Her voice trembled with the lingering aftershocks of terror.

With careful gentleness, Drevan helped her to her feet. She leaned on him, the residual aches in her muscles protesting every step. Calen walked close on her other side, ready with a steadying arm if she stumbled.

Once outside the ruined walls, they moved slowly back into the forest. The moon hung low, painting silver patterns on the leaves. No one spoke much beyond the occasional check on Amara’s condition. She felt exhaustion threatening to pull her under, but she forced herself to focus on the warmth of her companions at her side.

When they reached a suitable clearing, Drevan insisted on stopping so they could rest. They built a small fire, the sparks dancing in the darkness. Calen began brewing a light herbal concoction from his healing supplies, something to steady frayed nerves and replenish stamina. He handed the steaming cup to Amara first.

She wrapped her hands around the cup, grateful for the heat. The fragrance of mint and chamomile floated into her nose, easing the tight band of anxiety around her chest.

Calen settled next to her, rummaging in his pack for bandages and a salve. “Let me clean that cut, okay?” he murmured, indicating the dried blood at her temple. She nodded, letting him dab ointment against the wound. Despite his soothing presence, tears threatened once again.

“Sorry,” she said, voice hitching. “I just can’t stop thinking… I could’ve died there. I almost—” She swallowed. “I was too scared to use my magic. I let them take me.”

Calen paused in his work. “I know you’re scared… we’re scared, too. But not of you,” he emphasized, gently tapping the salve into place. “Of what could happen if you feel you have to handle it alone.”

She shivered, feeling Drevan’s gaze on her from across the campfire. He was tending to a small cut on his own forearm, silent as he listened. Finally, he sighed and set aside the cloth. “Look,” he said, voice brusque but sincere, “I was wary because that blast you did… it was dangerous. It is dangerous. But you’re not alone in this. If it comes to controlling your power, we can work on it—train. Figure it out together.”

Amara blinked, fresh tears forming. “But… you were so distant after—”

“I was cautious,” Drevan corrected, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “But seeing you like that tonight… helpless because you wouldn’t use your power? That’s worse. Much worse.” He turned his fiery gaze on her, though it was tempered with unexpected compassion. “I’d rather you figure out how to use it safely than not use it at all and nearly die.”

She lowered her head, overcome by emotion. “I… I really don’t deserve friends like you,” she whispered.

Calen made a small sound of protest. “Don’t say that. We care about you because we want to, not because we have to.”

Drevan nodded, though his expression remained stoic. “We’re a team. All of us have our… shadows. I have mine. Calen has his. You have yours. The only way we get through them is together.”

Amara let out a shaky breath, feeling the warmth in her chest. She reached over to Calen’s hand, squeezing it gently. Drevan, looking slightly awkward, reached out as well, placing a tentative hand atop hers. The three locked eyes in the flickering light, a fleeting but powerful moment of unity washing over them.

They sat there in silence, hands clasped, the crackling embers whispering their companionship into the night. Finally, Calen broke the silence with a soft laugh, eyes misty with tears. “If we keep doing group hugs, we might wind up with matching bruises,” he quipped, voice trembling at the edges.

Amara managed a watery smile. “I don’t mind a bruise if it means we stick together.”

Drevan made a low, almost amused noise, though he tried to hide it behind a cough. “All right, all right,” he muttered. “One more… if you insist.”

They leaned forward, arms encircling each other in a gentle huddle around the small fire. Calen’s staff lay forgotten in the grass, Drevan’s sword rested at his side, and Amara let go of the fear for just a moment. She buried her face in the crook of Calen’s shoulder, tears of relief and lingering terror coursing down her cheeks. Drevan’s arm was strong around her back, his horns casting a protective silhouette in the firelight. The flicker and glow played across their intertwined forms as they shared that quiet, binding embrace.

Her heart pounded, but this time not from panic or fear. It was raw, cathartic closeness—the realization that she did have a place among them, even if it was messy and dangerous and bound up with uncertain magic. They would face it head-on, as a family forged by choice, not circumstance.

Slowly, the weight in her chest lifted, replaced by a hesitant, fragile hope. They had tested each other tonight. Against bandits. Against their own doubts. They had come through, bruised and shaken, but somehow stronger. And in that circle of arms, with the forest around them and the darkness no longer so terrifying, Amara finally believed that they could stand against whatever shadows lay ahead—so long as they stood together.