Before The Storm

Morning came slowly.

The forest was quiet — too quiet — the kind of stillness that arrives before something breaks. Even the wind seemed to pause in the trees, as though the world was holding its breath.

I had barely slept. Pieces of the dream still clung to me: the cracked mirror, the Firstborn's eyes, the version of myself standing alone in the flames.

I hadn't told Caden.I wasn't sure I ever would.

We walked in silence for most of the morning, following the river as it curved toward the outer road that would lead us back to the capital. Back to the world. Back to the place where they still thought I was only the girl who ran. The girl who bled too easily. The girl who was never quite enough.

They didn't know what I'd become.

I wasn't even sure I did.

By midday, the city walls were in view — silver in the distance, gleaming in the sun like polished steel. The flags of Nosgoth snapped crisply in the wind atop the citadel towers, but to me, they felt far away, like relics of another life.

We stopped at the crest of the last hill. From here, we could see the gates clearly. There were guards posted, courtiers bustling at the outer market, horses being led in from a northern convoy.

Caden didn't say a word. He stood beside me, unmoving.

The world we'd left was waiting.

And it wouldn't be kind.

"I'm not ready," I whispered.

His voice was soft. "You don't have to be."

I turned to him, my heart a knot inside my chest. "They're going to see it. Feel it. Whatever this is inside me, it's louder now."

"They'll sense power," he said. "But they won't know what kind. Not unless you tell them."

"They'll want to control it. Shape it. Or kill it."

His jaw flexed. "Then they'll go through me."

That hit harder than it should have. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" he said. "It's true."

"Because I don't want to be the reason you throw yourself into a fire you can't put out."

He gave me a long look. "And what if I want to burn for you?"

The wind pulled my cloak tighter around my legs. I didn't know what to do with the ache in his voice. Or in my chest.

I looked away, down the hill.

"They won't just fear me," I said. "They'll fear us."

A pause.

Then he stepped closer — close enough that the back of his hand brushed against mine. A single point of warmth. It might as well have been lightning.

"I'm not afraid of being feared," he murmured. "Not if it means standing beside you."

I could feel his presence in every breath now. My skin hummed with it. But he still didn't take my hand.

He never did.

Neither of us crossed that line.

Not yet.

"Come with me," he said suddenly.

I blinked. "Where?"

"Just for a while."

Before I could protest, he gently took my arm — not my hand, never that — and led me off the path. Into a shadowed grove tucked behind the ridge. Tall trees arched overhead, their branches casting scattered light across the mossy floor.

The world felt far away again here.

I breathed easier.

He let go once we were inside. Always careful. Always aware.

I turned to him, confused. "Why bring me here?"

"Because before the court sees you…" He paused. "I wanted you to be seen. As you are. Without eyes watching. Without judgment."

I swallowed, throat tight. "You already see me."

"I do." His eyes held mine. "And I need you to know… that hasn't changed."

I felt it then — the fullness of his presence, the way his energy bent the space between us. So much restraint in his stillness. So much wanting beneath the surface.

I stepped toward him. Slowly. One step, then another. Until the air between us was thin enough to share.

"I feel like I'm being torn in two," I whispered. "One part of me wants to hide. The other wants to burn everything down."

His voice was low. "You've always held fire in you. Even when you didn't see it."

I nodded. "But now it's visible."

"It was always visible," he said.

We were so close now I could feel his heartbeat. My own raced to meet it.

But he didn't touch me.

And I didn't reach for him.

Instead, I asked the question that had been living on my tongue since the temple.

"If I… changed," I whispered. "If I became something dangerous — would you still follow me?"

He didn't hesitate.

"I wouldn't follow," he said. "I'd walk with you. Even through ruin."

A breath caught in my throat.

My hands trembled at my sides.

The urge to reach for him was like a tide — slow, rising, inevitable.

But I didn't.

And neither did he.

Instead, Caden stepped back first, just slightly, giving me space to breathe.

To choose.

Because he always left the choice to me.

We stayed there for a long time, letting silence do what words couldn't.

Eventually, the sun dipped behind the trees, turning the grove gold.

I spoke again. "When this is over… when the world stops watching…"

"Yes?"

I looked up at him. "Will you still wait?"

His eyes softened — but there was no sadness in it.

Only something fiercer.

"I will wait," he said. "Until you're no longer afraid of what you might become. Until you know, without question, that none of it changes the way I see you."

My chest ached.

I stepped back then, needing space to breathe. To not break.

We both turned toward the distant sound of the bells from the citadel.

The summons had begun.

As we walked down the hill toward the gates, Caden didn't reach for my hand.

He didn't have to.

His presence beside me was enough.

It always had been.

But I knew this time — the next time I touched him, it wouldn't be out of fear. Or hesitation. Or desperation.

It would be because I wanted it.

Because I had chosen it.

And chosen him.