The forest did not sleep.

Even in the lull of night, the Glimmerwood hummed faintly, its ancient boughs creaking as if they bore witness. The fire crackled low, throwing restless shadows across the moss, and beyond the edge of its glow, the Ashborn still knelt — silhouettes unmoving, like statues sculpted from soot.

Sira sat with her knees drawn up, her back against the roots of an oak that pulsed faintly with inner light. The shard lay across her lap, dim now, but its weight was more than stone and rune. She had turned it over a dozen times, tracing every groove, every glimmer, searching for answers that did not come.

But the only thing heavier than the shard was silence.

Echoes of a Queen’s Voice

Her mother’s words whispered back to her, as they so often did in moments like this: You must learn to listen to the world, my child. It will speak to you in roots and stone, in water and ash. But never believe it speaks of who you are.

It had sounded wise when she was young. But what if the world was speaking now? What if kneeling Ashborn, fragments of Collapse, were not simply ruins that bent to power, but harbingers — declaring what she truly was?

Her hands tightened around the shard. She wanted to weep, but tears did not come.

The Prince and the Fire

Rael’s shadow fell across her. He knelt without ceremony, one arm resting casually across his knee, the other hand feeding a stick into the fire. The warmth lit the bronze lines of his face, weary but composed. Always composed.

“You’re awake,” he said quietly.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Nor can I,” he admitted, though his tone was lighter than hers.

She gave a sharp, tired laugh. “You? The man who could sleep in a battlefield’s mud if duty allowed? I don’t believe it.”

His lips quirked. “Mud has no ember-eyes watching from the dark.”

Her gaze slid toward the kneeling Ashborn. A ripple of fear tightened her chest, but Rael’s calmness pulled her eyes back to him.

Unasked Questions

For a time, they spoke of nothing. Just the fire, the forest’s restless groan, the quiet pulse of the shard.

Finally, Sira whispered, “When they bowed… did you fear me?”

Rael’s eyes flicked to hers — not startled, not dismissive, but steady, as if he had expected the question.

“No,” he said. “I feared for you.”

Her throat tightened. “It’s not the same.”

“It is,” he countered, voice soft but firm. “One is fear of losing what I cherish. The other is fear of what you might become. I have only the first.”

She looked down, brushing ash from her hands. “And if the second proves true?”

Rael leaned forward, gaze fixed on the flames. His voice was quiet, but there was iron beneath it. “Then I will still stand beside you. Even if the world kneels.”

Small Confessions

Sira swallowed hard. She had been told since childhood to be strong, to bear herself with the dignity of Mithila, to keep her fears veiled beneath grace. Yet here, with him, the weight cracked open.

“When I was a girl,” she said, “I dreamed often of a shadow standing at the edge of the garden. No face, no voice. Just a presence, waiting. The priests said it was a blessing, a guardian spirit. But when I grew older, I feared it was… this.” She gestured toward the Ashborn, her fingers trembling. “An omen of what I was meant to draw to me.”

Rael’s hand shifted, not quite touching hers, but close enough that the warmth reached. “And what if it was a guardian? One that frightened even itself, waiting for the day it would be understood?”

Her breath hitched. She almost laughed at the thought, but her chest hurt too much.

“You always find hope where I find shadows,” she murmured.

“It is my role,” he said. “Storms and steel. Hope, too, when you forget yours.”

A Thread Between Them

Silence again, but this time it was different. Not empty, but taut with something unspoken.

The firelight danced in Rael’s eyes, and Sira found herself studying him — the lines carved by responsibility heavier than his years, the quiet weariness beneath the stoicism, the way he carried burdens as if they were armor.

And suddenly, she wanted to ask: Do you carry me the same way?

But she did not. Not yet.

Instead, she let her shoulder rest just slightly against his. A small gesture. A tiny surrender.

Rael did not move away.

Unresolved

The shard pulsed faintly in her lap, warm against her palms. Beyond the fire, the Ashborn waited still. Unmoving. Watching.

And though fear still lingered in her chest, another feeling threaded through it now — tenuous, fragile, but real.

Not certainty. Not safety. But the knowledge that she was not alone in the dark.

For now, that was enough.