A broken piece

The silence in Celeste's room was deafening.

It had been days since they'd returned to the castle, but her dreams refused to give her peace. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes—unfamiliar places, a voice whispering her name in a way only someone who truly knew her would say it. And always... green eyes watching from the edge of the dream, sorrowful and patient.

She didn't tell Azrael everything. Not yet.

Celeste sat on the edge of the bed, legs drawn to her chest, wrapped in the thick wool blanket. She still flinched when anyone touched her. Even Azrael. Especially Azrael. Because with him came warmth... and guilt.

She wanted to trust him. She wanted to stop being afraid. But something inside her—a knot made of years of cruelty, abandonment, and doubt—refused to let go.

Her hand trembled as she touched the locket Kael had given her. She hadn't opened it since the night he appeared, and a part of her feared what she might find inside. It felt wrong, but also... right. Familiar. Like something once beloved, now turned into a riddle she wasn't ready to solve.

A soft knock interrupted the silence. She didn't answer. Azrael didn't wait.

He stepped inside slowly, his expression unreadable, his crimson eyes dim in the torchlight. He held a bowl of warm soup, steam curling into the air like gentle tendrils.

"You haven't eaten," he said quietly.

She turned away. "I'm not hungry."

He didn't press her. Instead, he placed the bowl down and crossed the room slowly, kneeling a few feet away, giving her space.

"I'll stay," he said. "You don't have to speak."

And he did.

For over an hour, Azrael sat in silence beside her as the fire crackled in the hearth. No questions. No touches. Just presence.

It was that quiet stillness that finally cracked her.

"I think I knew him," she whispered, her voice brittle.

Azrael's gaze sharpened.

"The man… Kael. The locket. The way he said my name—I felt something. Not love. Not fear. Something deeper. Like an unfinished story." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "What if I promised him something I've forgotten?"

Azrael's jaw tensed, but he didn't speak.

She looked at him then, really looked. His sharp angles, the way he always kept just enough distance to let her breathe, but close enough that she could find him if she reached out.

"I don't want to be someone else's memory," she said. "I want to be me. But I don't even know who that is."

Azrael stood and took a slow breath. "Then let's find her together. And if that locket or Kael or anything else tries to pull you away from who you want to become—I will burn the past to ash."

Celeste's breath caught. There was no rage in his voice. Just quiet, burning loyalty.

And yet... when he moved closer, hand outstretched, she flinched.

Azrael froze, as he always did, never crossing that line. His hand lowered.

But this time, Celeste whispered, "I'm sorry."

Azrael shook his head gently. "You don't have to be. Just… let me walk with you. Even if from a distance."

Celeste's grip on the blanket tightened.

The locket pulsed faintly.

Outside the castle, Kael stood atop a crumbling watchtower on the border of the Demon King's realm. The wind tore at his cloak, his eyes on the moon.

"She's beginning to remember," he murmured to the dark. "And when she does… she'll come to me. She always does."

In his hand was a fragment of parchment—torn, old, bearing Celeste's signature beneath a faded seal of blood and magic.

The sun filtered through the dense canopy above, casting soft golden rays on the forest floor as Celeste sat on a large rock near the edge of the river. The morning air was crisp, the water murmuring beside her as if whispering secrets only she could hear. The camp behind her had grown busier, but she preferred the quiet for now.

She still flinched when someone approached too fast or touched her unexpectedly. Azrael had noticed and adjusted—never pushing, never rushing. His patience had become a balm to her wounded soul.

The past few days had been... strange. Peaceful, yet restless. Azrael had gone to handle matters in the east with his warriors, but he had left her with someone he trusted—his second-in-command, Thorne.

Thorne was quiet, built like a mountain with sharp eyes that missed nothing. He rarely spoke unless necessary, but despite his intimidating presence, there was a calm to him. He reminded Celeste of a silent storm—dangerous, but distant.

"Celeste," Thorne's deep voice rumbled behind her, and instinctively, she stiffened.

He stopped several feet away, carefully lowering himself to sit on a nearby log. "No one will touch you without permission here," he added, his tone neutral but firm. "You don't have to flinch anymore."

Her fingers curled around the hem of her dress. "It's not that easy," she murmured.

"I know," Thorne said, surprising her.

Before she could respond, a figure came crashing through the trees with a laugh—a girl with wild auburn curls and curious green eyes. She looked younger than Celeste, but her energy lit up the woods around her.

"Thorne! You left me behind again!" she whined, before her eyes landed on Celeste. She froze mid-step, blinking.

"Oh. You're her."

Thorne groaned. "Lyra…"

"I'm Lyra," the girl said cheerfully, ignoring him. "You're Celeste, right? Azrael's… bride?" She said it like it was a juicy piece of gossip.

Celeste gave a shy nod, unsure how to respond.

Lyra plopped down beside her like they'd known each other for years. "Don't worry, I don't bite. Unless you want me to."

"Lyra," Thorne growled again.

Celeste surprised herself with a soft laugh. It was the first time in days she had truly smiled.

Lyra beamed. "There it is! See, I'm charming."

Celeste's smile faded just slightly. "I'm still… figuring things out."

Lyra nodded seriously now, reaching out—then pausing. "May I?"

Celeste hesitated. Her instincts screamed to pull back, but something in Lyra's earnest eyes settled her. She gave a slow nod.

Lyra gently took her hand, squeezing it with unexpected tenderness. "You're not alone, you know. We've all come from pain. This pack, Azrael's pack… it's built from broken pieces that found strength together."

"Is that what I am?" Celeste asked, her voice almost a whisper. "A broken piece?"

"No," Thorne said, his voice closer now. "You're the piece that's been missing."

Something stirred in her chest—like a warmth she didn't know how to hold.

And from the woods behind them, a pair of unseen eyes watched. A presence lingering just beyond the veil of the trees.

The stranger.

Still hidden. Still waiting.

But drawn to Celeste like a tide to the moon