The system’s notifications faded to the back of his mind, replaced by something simpler.
Isolde woke slowly, surfacing from sleep in layers. First awareness of warmth—unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Then the realization that the warmth was another body, pressed against her in a way that felt intimate and right. Then the memory of the night before, flooding back in fragments: steam and candlelight, gentle hands, whispered words.
She opened her eyes.
Emeric was watching her, his chin propped on his hand, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He looked like he’d been awake for a while, content to simply lie there and watch her sleep.
"How long have you been staring at me?" she asked, her voice rough with sleep.
"Long enough."
"That’s not a real answer."
"It’s the only one you’re getting."
She laughed, a soft, breathless sound, and reached up to touch his face. His jaw was rough with stubble, and she traced the line of it, the shape of his cheekbone, the small scar above his eyebrow she’d noticed last night.
"You look different in the morning," she said.
"Good different or bad different?"
"Good. Softer." She paused, her fingers lingering on his lips. "I like it."
"Careful," he murmured, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. "I might get used to that."
"You should." She sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist, and for a moment she seemed to forget she was bare. Then she remembered, and a faint flush crept up her neck. But she didn’t reach for the sheet. She let him see her, let him look.
She lightly dragged her body,
"I like that too," he said softly. "You’re not hiding."
"No." She considered the word, turned it over in her mind. "I don’t think I want to anymore. Not with you."
Emeric," she said finally. "Last night—"
"I meant it." He turned to face her, taking both her hands in his. "All of it. Every word."
"Even the—" She broke off, her throat tight. "Even the part about—"
"Yes. Every word. I meant all of it."
She looked at him, her eyes searching his face, looking for the lie. She found none. What she found instead was certainty, steady and unwavering, the kind of certainty she’d stopped believing in years ago.
"I don’t know what to do with that," she admitted. "I don’t know how to be worth that."
"You don’t have to do anything." He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "You just have to stay. That’s all I ask."
"Stay." She repeated the word like she was tasting it. "That’s simple enough."
"It’s the simplest thing in the world." He smiled, small and wry. "And also the hardest. But I think we can manage it."
She laughed again, softer this time, and leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and they sat there in the morning light, tangled together, the world outside the bedroom a distant concern.
"I have a question," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
"Ask me anything."
"I’ve been thinking about what you said. About going into that rift alone." She pulled back to look at him, her expression serious. "You said you wanted to get stronger. You said you needed to know what you could do. But there’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?"
He went still. "What do you mean?"
She studied his face, reading him the way she’d learned to read battlefields. "You’re not just training to be stronger. You’re training for something specific. I can feel it." She touched his chest, right over his heart. "Something’s driving you. Something you haven’t told me about."
He opened his mouth to deflect. To tell her it was nothing, that he just wanted to be worthy of her.
But the words wouldn’t come.
She was too sharp. Too perceptive. She’d see through any lie he tried to tell.
"I can’t tell you," he said finally, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "Not yet. Not until I understand it better myself."
"That’s not an answer."
"It’s the only one I have right now." He met her eyes, willing her to understand. "I’m not keeping secrets from you because I want to. I’m keeping them because I’m not ready to share them yet. Some things are still too fragile. Too new."
She was quiet for a long moment. He could see her wrestling with it—the part of her that wanted to push, to demand, to tear down every wall he’d built.
And then, slowly, something shifted in her expression. Not acceptance, exactly. Something closer to trust. To faith.
"I can wait," she said. "I don’t like it. But I can wait."
"That’s more than I deserve."
"It’s exactly what you deserve." She kissed him, soft and brief. "You’ve earned the right to keep your secrets. For now. Just don’t forget that I’m here when you’re ready to share them."
He felt something loosen in his chest, a tension he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying. She wasn’t pushing. She was waiting. And somehow, that was better.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"Don’t thank me yet." She smiled, but there was steel beneath it. "I’m patient, but I’m not infinite. One day, you’ll tell me everything. And I’ll be ready to hear it."
"One day," he agreed.
[DEVOTION LOGGED: EMOTIONAL RESTRAINT — SACRIFICE OF PERSONAL TRUTH TO PRESERVE TARGET’S PEACE]
[DP AWARDED: +5]
[BOND METER: 34 → 37]
"Okay." He focused on her, and a new window appeared, the one he’d seen that first night.
His mind had just been on what changed. If he had helped her in any way.
[TARGET: ISOLDE ROWAN]
[AGE: 21]
[RANK: 3rd TIER]
[STATUS: CRITICAL]
MANA CORE: SEALED
CORE CONDITION: CRITICAL (95% DAMAGED)
PHYSICAL STATUS:
MUSCLE ATROPHY — ADVANCED STAGE
CORE INSTABILITY — LIFE-THREATENING
CURSE DETECTED: █████████████████
EFFECT: SUPPRESSING NATURAL RECOVERY
PROJECTED LIFE EXPECTANCY IF UNTREATED: 19-20 MONTHS
CURE: █████████████████ █████████████████ █████████████████