What’s Left After the Storm

The snow outside had slowed to a hush.

Inside the servant's quarters, time moved gently for the first time in days. No alarms. No footsteps. No danger clawing at the edges of breath.

Just silence.

And breathing.

Solene sat on the floor, wrapped in Seraphyne's cloak, her fingers loosely intertwined with Nerys's.

She hadn't let go since waking.

Her face still held the marks of grief—not gone, not healed—but softened now. Less hollow. Like color was just beginning to return to a world she'd already buried.

Across from them, Lira worked with quiet hands, gently wiping blood from Nerys's jaw with a damp cloth. Her touch was light, reverent, the silence between them respectful.

Nerys winced as the cloth touched a deeper cut. Solene reached over instantly, brushing a thumb under her eye.

"Sorry," Nerys murmured.

"For what?" Solene asked softly.

"For making you believe it."

Solene shook her head. "I wanted to believe it. I wanted to stop hurting."

"I know." Nerys squeezed her hand gently. "And I would've understood. But gods, I hoped you'd still feel me in your chest somewhere. That you'd know."

"I did." Solene's voice cracked. "That's what made it worse."

Seraphyne sat near the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, her head tilted back against the wall. Her breathing was steady now, but her eyes never left the two of them. She hadn't said much since they got back—just sat with them. Watched them.

Guarded them.

Nerys turned to her. "You saved me."

Seraphyne lifted one shoulder. "Seemed rude not to."

"I mean it." Nerys blinked slowly. "You carried me out of hell. That's not something I forget."

Seraphyne looked away.

Solene reached out, touching Seraphyne's knee. "You didn't have to do any of this."

"I know."

"But you did."

Seraphyne sighed, finally letting herself meet their eyes. "You weren't the only one with something to lose."

That landed heavier than it sounded.

Solene's fingers lingered on her for a second longer, then returned to Nerys's.

"I'm not going to be okay for a while," Solene whispered, mostly to herself.

"That's alright," Nerys said. "I'll stay anyway."

"You better."

Lira cleared her throat gently, setting aside the cloth and bandages. "I've done what I can for now," she said. "She needs rest. Both of you do."

Solene looked at her, a quiet nod of thanks in her eyes.

"You did more than I expected," Seraphyne added. "That means something."

Lira flushed, turning quickly back to her pack. "I'll be quiet now."

They didn't stop her.

As the fire in the hearth crackled and warmth spread slowly through the chill, the three women sat in silence—not the heavy kind, not the scared kind.

The kind that meant you're safe.

Even just for a night.

Later, after Nerys had drifted into a restless sleep, Lira gently coaxed her toward the washbasin tucked in the corner of the servant's room. The water was lukewarm at best, clean only by generosity, but Lira made do—murmuring apologies as she wiped dried blood from Nerys's scalp and tried to ease the stiffness from her bruised body.

Her hands glowed faintly with blue light.

A soft, flickering kind of healing.

Weak, but honest.

Solene watched for a few minutes before rising to her feet, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. The silence had settled too long, and she could feel the urge to move building like static in her chest.

She turned to Seraphyne, who was resting near the door with her back against the stone wall.

"Come with me?" Solene asked.

Seraphyne's eyes lifted, curious. "Where?"

"To the market. Just for a little while."

A pause.

Then Seraphyne stood with a quiet grunt, brushing dust from her clothes. "Lead the way."

---

Tartarus looked different under moonlight and anonymity.

With their hoods pulled low, no one looked twice. Just two more figures slipping through the back alleys, headed toward a part of the city where rules bent for the right price and questions weren't asked.

The market was quiet but open. Scattered tents and stalls with boiled vegetables, dried meat, tired herbs strung from makeshift hooks. A street vendor sold soup from a bubbling pot. Another sharpened knives with a bored expression.

Solene picked through a crate of root vegetables, holding them one by one like she was measuring their weight against the world. Seraphyne stood beside her, quiet, watching.

"You know what you're doing?" Seraphyne asked.

"Nope," Solene said flatly. "But pretending helps."

They found dried nettle, woundleaf, and a small jar of pain-dulling powder. Seraphyne haggled for everything with a low voice and a look that made the seller stop arguing before he started.

They shared a bowl of broth near the edge of the market—lukewarm, but passable. Solene sipped slowly. Her hands no longer shook.

On the walk back, their footsteps were in sync. The city around them didn't feel as loud.

Solene stopped just before they reached the old servant wing.

Seraphyne looked over. "You alright?"

Solene turned toward her.

"I wanted to say something."

Seraphyne tilted her head, one brow raised. "That's rare."

Solene gave her a small, tired smile. "I know I've been... difficult. And I know you didn't sign up for this."

"I don't think either of us knew what we signed up for."

"I just…" She paused, then met her eyes. "You didn't have to care. But you did. And I want you to know I see that. I see you."

She stepped closer, reached up slowly—

—and pressed a soft kiss to Seraphyne's cheek.

It lingered. Not long. Just enough.

When she pulled back, Seraphyne was still for a moment.

Then she smiled.

The smallest, realest smile Solene had ever seen from her.

"Careful," Seraphyne murmured. "You keep doing things like that, I might stop pretending I don't care back."

Solene's smile didn't fade. "Good."

They walked the rest of the way in silence.

But it wasn't empty anymore.

Seraphyne

It started as a flutter.

The kind that struck deep in the chest and made her feel... unbalanced.

It wasn't the danger. It wasn't the magic fatigue or the near-death rescue. Seraphyne had survived worse.

It was Solene.

The way her fingers grazed Seraphyne's as they passed the herbs between them. The way her eyes lingered just a moment too long after a half-joke, a half-smile. The way she looked at her like Seraphyne was someone worth staying for.

And that kiss.

Gods, that kiss.

Not on the lips. Not passionate. Just a press of warmth on her cheek.

Soft. Intentional.

It hit harder than a spell to the chest.

She didn't breathe for a full second after.

And when Solene smiled afterward—so gentle, like her heart had stopped breaking just long enough to let someone in—Seraphyne knew.

This wasn't just affection. This wasn't just companionship.

She was attracted to her. Dangerous, sure. Complicated, definitely. But real.

It shook her.

By the time they returned to the servant quarters, night had draped its heavy cloak over the city. The fire was low. The air thick with the scent of healing herbs and candle smoke.

They bathed one by one.

Seraphyne went first—quick, practical. She hated being wet. Hated being vulnerable in water. But she scrubbed the sweat and grime from her skin, ignoring her reflection in the basin's mirror, pretending she wasn't feeling things she couldn't name.

When she stepped out, wrapped in a threadbare towel, she passed Nerys sitting upright with her bandages freshly cleaned. The firelight caught the sharpness of her cheekbones and the softness in her eyes.

Seraphyne didn't speak. Just gave her a nod.

Then Solene bathed.

And Seraphyne tried not to look.

She really tried.

But her eyes betrayed her.

Just a glance. Then another.

Solene, back turned, her skin bare and pale, bruised in places, elegant in others. Her hair pinned up haphazardly, shoulders tense like she wasn't used to letting herself be seen.

And Seraphyne stared longer than she meant to.

Then—

A flick of movement to the side.

Nerys.

Watching her.

Seraphyne flinched, caught. Eyes widening slightly.

But Nerys didn't look angry.

She just smiled. Small. Knowing. And nodded once.

Seraphyne stared.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel guilty.

She felt… seen. Accepted.

She looked back at Solene—who was humming something under her breath now, quiet and soft, like music from a life she'd forgotten.

Seraphyne's heart fluttered again.

This wasn't just a rescue anymore.

This was becoming.

The fire had burned low, but the room was warm.

The rough bedding had been pulled together to form a makeshift nest near the hearth. It was clumsy, uneven, held together by old blankets and a cracked mattress—yet somehow, it felt like the softest place any of them had been in months.

Nerys leaned against the wall, her head resting lightly on Solene's shoulder, one leg stretched across Solene's lap. Her bandages were fresh, her bruises slowly fading under Lira's quiet work, but her spirit... it pulsed stronger now.

Solene rested her cheek against Nerys's hair, one hand idly tracing circles across her thigh. Her eyes were half-lidded, calm, distant in the way someone gets after surviving something that should have broken them.

Seraphyne sat cross-legged on the floor across from them, sharpening a dagger she didn't really need to sharpen. The repetitive sound of stone against steel filled the gaps in the conversation.

It was quiet.

But not empty.

"I missed this," Nerys murmured, voice low.

Solene glanced down. "The knife sharpening?"

"No." A faint smile curved Nerys's lips. "This. All of us. Not dying."

Seraphyne smirked without looking up. "You call this 'not dying,' huh?"

"It's an improvement," Solene said dryly.

They all laughed—quiet, breathy, tired. But real.

The kind of laugh that came with scars and relief.

Seraphyne finally set the blade aside and leaned back against the wall. "It's strange," she said, voice softer now. "I've been alone for so long I forgot what this feels like. Just... sitting. Not watching your back. Not preparing to run."

"You're still watching us," Solene pointed out.

Seraphyne raised an eyebrow. "That's different."

"How?" Nerys asked.

"I want to," Seraphyne said simply.

That landed heavier than it should have.

Solene didn't answer. She just reached out with one hand—slow, deliberate—and offered it palm-up across the space between them.

Seraphyne hesitated.

Then took it.

Fingers laced.

No words.

Nerys watched them with the softest smile Solene had ever seen from her. It wasn't jealousy. It wasn't concern. It was acceptance. A quiet kind of love that knew it didn't have to be possessive to be powerful.

"I think," Nerys said, "this is the first time I've felt like myself in months."

Solene leaned her head back, eyes closing. "Then maybe we're finally becoming who we were supposed to be."

Seraphyne squeezed her hand once.

"Not supposed to," she whispered. "Just... choosing."

And in that low-lit corner of a broken world, three women—battered, bruised, but still breathing—chose each other.

For tonight, that was enough.