Evening again. The air warm, the mana around the camp dim and pulsing low — everyone still recovering from the week.
I sat outside the tent with Salem. My legs tucked under me, hands in my lap, feeling the tiny indentations of the envelope corners I'd been handed at dinner. Paper — thin and trembling. I could smell the ink. Old, soaked through the parchment. One from the Saint-Clairs. One from home. One from… Tovin?
I handed them to Salem. I didn't need to ask her to read them. She knew.
She always knew.
Her mana curled next to mine — quiet and steady. She opened the first letter with that familiar soft fshh of paper parting.
Saint-Clairs.
Salem cleared her throat gently. "Marcus writes first."
She paused — letting the moment settle.
Then she began:
"Dear Annabel — it's been nearly a year. I know time must be heavy out there — the world bigger and louder than I can imagine. But Maria and Evelyn talk about you almost daily. It's quieter without you. The house feels too neat now. Maria misses hearing you at the breakfast table. And Evelyn…"
Another pause. I could feel the fondness in her breath.
"She's started learning basic mana forms. Wants to be a mage, just like you. Says she wants to be 'the kind who makes the dark things leave.' You made her brave. Thank you for that. I think she needed someone to show her that bravery and kindness don't cancel each other out."
My breath hitched.
Salem's voice softened.
"We hope the training isn't breaking your spirit. Come see us, if you ever get a single day to breathe. Evelyn says she'll cook for you — which is dangerous, but she's determined. Be well. We miss you. With love, Marcus, Maria, and Evelyn."
She folded the letter quietly. I imagined Maria's hands — always warm — pressing the paper shut before tying it with twine.
I nodded once.
"Next?" Salem asked.
I gave her the second letter.
I didn't say whose it was. She didn't need to ask.
Home.
She took a breath. Then began:
"My dearest Annabel —"
My chest tightened.
"You must be tired. I hope this letter doesn't weigh more on you. We just wanted you to know that we are proud. So proud, Annabel. Of who you are. Of how far you've come. There's not a soul in the village who doesn't speak your name with awe."
I didn't move.
I just let her voice carry me back to that house. The old beams. The smell of boiling stew. My brother's loud steps on the stairs. My father's soft hum before lighting the stove.
"Your father has decided to join a training program. He's been feeling the urgency, and with Ramon's help, he's preparing. They say raising your core past Rank 4 at his age is difficult, but you know your father."
I clenched my jaw. My core tightened slightly.
"He says if the devils come to the gates, he'll stand between them and what we love. You, especially. I wish I could talk him down, but I know where you get your stubbornness from."
That line — I knew it was my mother's hand.
"Ramon is keeping an eye on him. Says he's not letting the old man swing a sword without warming up first. Typical."
Salem paused, just long enough for me to feel the next line coming.
"We miss you. Even if you only have one day — just one — before war takes you further, please come home. Just so we can say it face-to-face: we love you. All of us."
Salem didn't fold this one right away. She let the paper sit open in her hands.
I rubbed the heel of my palm against one eye. I wasn't crying. Not really.
She passed me the paper gently.
"I'll keep that one," I whispered.
"Yeah," she said. "You should."
⸻
She took the last envelope and opened it slowly.
She made a small sound — something like a laugh. A short breath.
"Tovin," she said. "This is barely three sentences."
I smiled.
"Tovin has never needed more than three."
She started:
"Annie. Rank 3. Just happened. Not a lie this time."
I actually laughed.
"They're asking every boy Rank 5 and above to join the war schools. I'm going there soon, they let me in early because I told them you trained me. Which is mostly a lie."
Salem giggled.
"When the war starts, I'm going to fight. I'll probably scream the whole time, but I'll fight. Thought you should know. Stay alive. I'll try to do the same. —T"
I shook my head, still smiling.
"Do you think he meant it?" I asked.
"You mean the part about screaming, or the fighting?"
"Both."
She leaned into me a little. Her mana pressed close.
"I think he's terrified," she said. "But he'll still do it."
Silence settled between us again — still and calm.
The world didn't feel quiet often, but in this moment, it was.
My fingers brushed the edge of the paper again. Tovin. Evelyn. My mother's hands. My father's stubborn pride. Ramon's crooked grin. Maria's calm voice at the fire.
Not all of them were warriors. And yet — somehow — they were all here with me.
All the reasons I couldn't afford to fall.
I turned toward Salem. She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Her mana pulsed once, quietly, like a second heartbeat alongside mine.
I reached for her hand.
Held it.
And we just stayed there, two shadows against the grass, as the world spun a little slower around us.
Salem didn't move when I placed the last letter down.
The breeze was slow. Night mana moved through the camp like smoke — low and curling, barely lit.
I felt her silhouette beside me — the steady hum of her mana, calm and unwavering. She didn't speak. Neither did I. Not yet.
I turned my head slightly, feeling the shape of her shoulder with the echo of mine. Then leaned forward — just a bit. My fingers found the edge of her jaw by memory.
I kissed her.
Soft. Careful. The kind of kiss that holds nothing but the truth.
A single tear rolled down my cheek, cooled by the air before it slipped from my chin. My throat caught. I fixed it — swallowed hard.
"I really wanna see my mom again," I said. My voice cracked. "I think if I'm going out to war… maybe I should tell her. Abo… about my previous life."
The word burned in my mouth — like I hadn't said it in years.
"I don't wanna hurt her. But she deserves to know."
I pulled in a breath — but it wasn't steady.
"I'm just so scared. If she were to hate me because of it… I… I—"
I didn't finish.
Couldn't.
Salem leaned in and kissed me again.
Not deep. Not urgent. Just… steady.
I felt her lips rest against mine, holding my lower lip gently — like a hand over a tremor. A signal. A comfort. Breathe.
And then she pulled back, her voice threading through the space between us.
"War isn't here just yet," she said, low and certain. "Otherwise they wouldn't give us a month. The devils are stronger than us, we all know that, but there's a reason they aren't attacking."
Her mana flared slightly, not in anger — in clarity.
"There will be time to tell your mom everything. And it'll be when you're ready. Not before. Not because you owe it. Because you want to."
She brushed my cheek with her thumb — I could barely see the motion, just a light smear of mana on shadow.
"And if you're never ready, then… that's fine too."
I exhaled slowly.
Wiped the tear away with the back of my hand.
"I don't know where I'd be without you, Salem," I said.
The words came out clearer than I thought they would.
"I love you so much."
I leaned against her, head to her shoulder. Her warmth steady under my temple.
"I'm glad we can sit here during all this training," I whispered. "Even if it's only for a little bit."
She didn't answer right away.
She didn't need to.
Her mana leaned into mine — twined, tight, quiet.
In the dark blur of the world, I saw only one outline clearly now.
And I stayed there. With her.
Until the world felt still again.