Chapter 13

Ashes and Dawns

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The sun rose pale and uncertain over the palace walls, its light bleeding through the haze of smoke that still clung to the capital. The battle had ended two days ago, but its echoes lingered — in the hollowed streets, in the soft wailing of those who mourned, in the uneasy quiet of a kingdom trying to breathe again.

Aurelia stood on the eastern balcony, her hair tangled by the wind, the gold of her crown dulled by ash. Below, the banners of Salastian fluttered half-mast, torn and blackened. Her reflection in the marble glass looked foreign to her — weary, older somehow, with the faint shadow of grief deepening the space beneath her eyes.

Kairos had not yet spoken to her since the battle ended.

He had fought like a storm — wild, precise, relentless — until the moment he fell beside her, wounded but alive. And when dawn came, he vanished from the field without a word, leaving Aurelia with victory… and silence.

Now, in the early stillness, that silence pressed upon her like a weight.

“Your Majesty,” said a soft voice behind her. It was Serene, her attendant. “The council awaits your presence in the Grand Hall.”

Aurelia turned, her posture firm even as fatigue etched itself into her bones. “Tell them I’ll arrive shortly.”

Serene hesitated. “And Lord Valerian?”

Aurelia’s hand froze on the marble balustrade. The name pierced through her defenses. “Where is he?”

“They say he’s recovering in the West Wing. He refused the physician’s aid.”

Aurelia closed her eyes for a moment. Of course he did. He had always been stubborn — more loyal to his guilt than to his own survival.

When she finally walked through the corridors, the palace felt emptier than it should. Every corner whispered fragments of memory: laughter, training, arguments, the fragile trust that once tethered them.

Outside the West Wing chamber, she paused. Her hand hovered over the door handle, trembling ever so slightly.

What would she say to him?
Thank you for saving me?
I’m sorry for not trusting you?
Or simply — I missed you.

None felt strong enough. None felt right.

She pushed the door open.

Kairos sat near the window, his shoulder wrapped in fresh bandages, the glow of healing magic still faint on his skin. The light caught in his dark hair, silvered by exhaustion. His eyes — sharp as always, though softened now by pain — lifted to meet hers.

“Aurelia.”

Her name in his voice was a quiet storm — hesitant, reverent, wounded.

“You should be resting,” she said, her voice calm though her pulse raced.

“I’ve done enough of that,” he replied. “The world doesn’t wait for those who linger.”

She stepped closer, the distance between them charged with everything left unsaid. “You almost died.”

“Would it have mattered?”

That simple question shattered her composure.

“Don’t say that,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Kairos looked away, his jaw tight. “I don’t know what matters anymore, Aurelia. I did what I had to. I fought for you — for your crown, your people. But in the end, I’m still the outsider, the reminder of every failure this kingdom endured.”

She wanted to argue. To tell him he was wrong. But instead, she said quietly, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

He looked back at her, weary and searching.

“You didn’t fight for me,” she said. “You fought with me. And that… that makes all the difference.”

A silence stretched between them — heavy, but no longer suffocating.

Later, when the council meeting ended and the kingdom’s fate seemed a little less fragile, Aurelia found herself in the old courtyard. It was where she and Kairos had trained as children, where laughter once echoed beneath the cherry trees.

The blossoms were gone now — burned away by war — yet their scent lingered in her memory.

She didn’t hear Kairos approach, but she felt it — the shift in the air, the way her heart stumbled.

“You came back,” she murmured without turning.

“I never left,” he said softly.

When she faced him, the distance between them wasn’t measured in steps anymore, but in years — years of misunderstanding, of pride, of fear disguised as duty.

“Kairos,” she began, “I need to ask you something. During the battle, when the west flank fell… you could have retreated. You didn’t. Why?”

His lips curved into something between a smile and a scar. “Because retreating was never an option when you were on the line.”

Her heart ached — not from the words themselves, but from the sincerity woven through them.

“You risked everything,” she whispered. “Even after what I said. After how I doubted you.”

Kairos stepped closer. “I didn’t fight because you trusted me, Aurelia. I fought because I couldn’t bear to watch you fall.”

The confession broke through her like light through a storm.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The quiet filled with things too fragile for words — forgiveness, longing, exhaustion, hope.

Finally, Aurelia said, “You once told me that loyalty can be both a gift and a curse. I didn’t understand it then. But now…” Her voice caught. “Now I do.”

Kairos studied her, something like pain and pride mingling in his gaze. “And what do you believe it is now?”

She smiled faintly, tears glimmering. “A gift. Because it brought you back to me.”

Night fell softly over the capital, the stars blooming one by one like fragile promises. In the gardens, Aurelia and Kairos walked in silence. No declarations, no vows — just the quiet rhythm of two souls relearning each other’s steps.

When they reached the reflecting pool, Aurelia paused. “Do you ever think about what comes next?”

Kairos looked at the water, his reflection fractured by ripples. “I used to. But the future always seemed like a story written for someone else.”

She reached out, her fingers brushing his hand — hesitant, trembling, real.

“Then let’s write it ourselves,” she said.

He turned toward her, eyes wide, the faintest trace of wonder crossing his face.

And for the first time since the fires burned, since the kingdom wept, since trust was torn apart and remade — Kairos smiled. A true smile, small and unguarded.

“Together?” he asked.

Aurelia nodded. “Together.”

But far above them, in the highest tower of the palace, a messenger hawk arrived — wings tattered, carrying a seal Aurelia had not seen in years.

When she opened it hours later, alone beneath candlelight, the words inside made her blood run cold.

“The shadows that burned your past have not yet died, Your Majesty. The one who betrayed you still walks among your own court.”

And just like that, the peace she fought so hard to protect began to tremble again.