The hunt ended, but Kael did not return to the roads.
Not in the way others expected.
The Guild annex still offered jobs—easy ones, simple ones—but Kael stayed close. Six months passed without a journey that took them farther than a day's walk from home. For the first time in years, their steps led back to the same bed each night.
---
Life slowed.
They woke before sunrise, helped their father in the fields, sometimes joined Rys in carrying water or splitting wood. The familiar creak of their house, the scent of earth, and the feel of the soil on their hands became a routine.
Evenings were spent at home. The hearth became their center, and for the first time since the night of the raid, the house was no longer hollow.
---
"Didn't think you'd stay," Rys said one morning, leaning against the doorframe while Kael chopped wood.
"I didn't either," Kael answered, pausing to rest the axe on their shoulder. "But leaving… isn't what I need right now."
Rys tilted their head, studying them. "What is?"
"This," Kael said simply.
---
That answer echoed in everything they did those months. There was a hunger to keep their family close, to repair the pieces that could be repaired. It wasn't loud or dramatic—it was in the quiet moments. Fixing the broken latch on the door. Carrying in the baskets without being asked. Just being there.
Their father didn't talk about it, but he noticed. A weight he had been carrying alone was lighter.
---
In the calm that followed the storm, Kael finally had the time to turn inward—to train in ways that were deliberate instead of frantic.
And more than anything, they began to think about healing.
---
Mirek's spell had stayed in Kael's mind ever since the caves. They had turned it over and over in their memory until, one day, Kael took a slate board, a piece of chalk, and began scribbling lines of words.
Most spells others knew were rigid, handed down unchanged. Kael wanted something else: something efficient, something born out of understanding.
They worked at it daily. Lines of syllables, erased and rewritten, muttered under their breath until the rhythm fit.
---
It was Rys who first saw the shape of something new.
Coming home early from errands one morning, they found Kael standing barefoot in the yard, eyes closed, hands out. They spoke in a soft voice—not just the sounds of memorized words, but words Kael understood.
---
"Was that a new spell?" Rys asked when they opened their eyes.
Kael nodded. "Trying to make one."
"You can just… make them?"
"If the structure works," Kael said. "And if the words are right."
---
Kael explained what they'd found: that structure mattered more than people realized. It wasn't only about the five-seven-five syllables. If the final syllable of each line rhymed, the mana cost dropped sharply. Magic liked completion. It liked harmony.
---
To prove it, Kael bit their thumb until a bead of blood rose, then recited softly:
> Wound mend, close the seam,
Gentle light restore the dream,
Pain flows like a stream.
A shimmer spread across their skin like silver threads weaving shut. The wound closed instantly.
Kael flexed their hand, frowning—not from pain, but in surprise at how effortless it felt.
---
Rys blinked. "That… was faster than any spell Mirek taught you."
"It barely cost anything," Kael murmured, still watching their healed thumb. "Almost no drain at all."
"You just made that?" Rys whispered.
"Yes," Kael said. "If I'd known this six months ago…" Their voice trailed off, and for a moment, they couldn't finish the sentence.
---
Rys crossed the yard, hugged them, and said softly, "Then teach me. So we can make sure no one else gets lost because of it."
Kael hesitated, then nodded. "You and father both."
---
That evening, all three of them sat together, and Kael taught them the new spell. It felt strange, sharing something like this. But it was right.
The simple haiku spread through the house as if it belonged there, a quiet promise that pain would not always win.
---
The rest of the months slid by like slow water. The days warmed. Snow vanished from the fields.
Kael kept to the same pattern: small jobs close to home, training at dawn, spells at midday. They still kept their body sharp and their mana steady, but the frantic edge of revenge was gone. In its place, something else was growing.
---
For the first time in a long time, they allowed themselves to breathe.
And in that slow, careful breathing, there was healing too.
---
By the time the mud of spring began to dry and faint patches of green spread across the fields, the edges around Kael had softened. It didn't erase everything—they were still quieter than most, still withdrawn at times—but there was a weight that had lifted, little by little, as the weeks went on.
The house had changed, too. It was no longer a place they came back to just to sleep. It was lived in again.
---
The three of them—Kael, Rys, and their father—often spent their evenings together. Some nights it was around the hearth, the scent of cooking filling the air. Other times, they drifted outside, sitting on the porch with the glow of fireflies blinking in the damp dusk.
Rys usually carried the conversation. They talked about little things: who was arguing at the market, what new thing someone in town was trying to build, silly gossip that wouldn't matter a day later. It never failed to make Kael listen.
---
One night, when their father turned in early, it left only Kael and Rys out on the porch. The sky was clear, full of stars, and cool night air brushed over their faces.
"You've gotten quiet again," Rys said, pulling the blanket tighter around their shoulders.
Kael glanced over. "I thought you liked it when I'm quiet. It lets you talk more."
"I like both," Rys said easily. "You just… hold everything in so tightly sometimes."
---
Kael hesitated. Then, more slowly than they expected, the words came out.
"I thought I'd be gone by now," Kael said. "After everything. I thought I'd keep walking until I couldn't anymore. But lately… I don't feel like leaving."
Rys blinked at that. "So you're saying you want to stay?"
"I don't know what I'm saying." Kael's voice lowered. "I just know that being here feels… safe."
---
Something in Rys's face softened. They shifted closer on the step, their blanket brushing Kael's arm. "You know you don't have to carry everything alone," they said, voice quiet. "If you want to talk, or lean on someone, I'm right here."
Kael turned their head slightly, meeting Rys's eyes for a long moment. "I know."
---
A long silence followed—not awkward, just full.
Rys leaned gently sideways until their head rested against Kael's shoulder. Kael froze, breath caught in their throat. They could have pulled away. Instead, they stayed very still, careful not to move too much, as if the smallest gesture might break the moment.
The blanket's warmth pressed lightly against them, and the scent of Rys's hair—a faint mix of wild grass and the smoke of the hearth—was suddenly, unexpectedly grounding.
---
Kael's heart thudded harder than it should have. They told themself that this wasn't dangerous, that it was only comfort between two people who had been through a lot together. And yet, a thought whispered at the back of their mind:
Could this be more? Or is this just a bond I can't trust?
---
"I thought," Rys murmured, still leaning against them, "that you'd be gone a month after you came home."
Kael's answer came softly. "So did I."
"And yet here you are."
"I needed to be," Kael said.
---
There was something in the way Rys breathed after that—like relief mixed with something else, unspoken. They stayed like that for a while, the stars bright overhead, until Rys finally sat up again. The blanket slipped from their shoulder and they caught it absently.
"It's late," they said, though their voice carried a note of reluctance.
Kael nodded once. "Yeah."
---
Rys paused at the door, turning back to look at them. "I'm glad you're still here."
Kael's reply was simple. "Me too."
---
After they disappeared inside, Kael stayed on the porch a long time, staring at the fields. The spot on their shoulder where Rys's head had rested still felt warm.
There was danger in letting their heart drift in that direction, they knew. The curse made bonds complicated, uncertain. They had no proof—only an instinct—that Rys was not the one the curse was meant to end with.
But knowing and feeling were different things.
And sometimes, like tonight, the feeling almost won.
---
The days that followed fell into a rhythm: small errands, chores at home, training, practicing the healing spell until Rys could do it without hesitation.
When Rys finally got it right for the first time, sealing a small cut on their own hand, they laughed—bright and clear—and threw their arms around Kael in a moment of pure joy.
Kael stiffened at first, then, against their better judgment, allowed themselves to return the hug, just briefly.
---
Even knowing this could never last, Kael couldn't bring themself to push that kind of closeness away.
---
The six months that followed shaped themselves into a slow rhythm. Days began with chores and work, and ended with the kind of stillness Kael hadn't felt since before everything went wrong.
For their father, it was a relief to have Kael there. And he made good use of it.
---
One bright morning, when the mist was just beginning to lift off the fields, he handed Kael a pair of worn gloves and said, "You're coming with me today."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Where?"
"Fence repair," he said simply, already walking.
Kael followed.
---
It wasn't adventuring work. It wasn't even hard work. But there was something grounding about it: driving posts into the soft earth, stretching wire, setting boards into place.
They spent the entire morning this way, speaking little. Kael had grown up around these tasks, but after years away, the rhythm felt both familiar and new.
"You've got better balance now," their father remarked at one point. "Stronger hands."
Kael shrugged. "Training does that."
"It shows," he said with a faint smile.
---
When they stopped for water, Kael asked, "You think Rys might want to come out here sometime?"
Their father's smile widened slightly, and there was a hint of something deliberate in his answer. "Oh, Rys will come if I ask. Maybe we should all do this together next week."
Kael narrowed their eyes slightly. "You trying to make a team out of us?"
"Teamwork's good for building trust," he said with deliberate casualness, and set off down the fence line before Kael could respond.
---
It wasn't just once. Their father kept finding excuses for all three of them to work together. Gathering fallen branches from the edge of the woods. Fixing the shed roof. Carrying a cart of vegetables into town.
At first, Kael thought little of it. But it soon became obvious that these "tasks" were often ones that could have been done by just one person.
---
Rys caught on before Kael did.
One afternoon, as they were stacking hay in the barn—Kael holding the bales while Rys climbed up to arrange them—Rys laughed, brushing straw from their hair.
"Your father's at it again," Rys said.
"At what?"
"Setting us up."
Kael blinked. "You think so?"
"Think so?" Rys gave them a look. "He's more obvious than a runaway goat in a cabbage patch."
---
Kael's face warmed, and they quickly turned back to the next bale. "Maybe he just likes having the help."
"Uh-huh," Rys said, drawing the words out, clearly not convinced.
---
Whether intentional or not, it worked.
Kael found themselves spending more time with both of them, learning things they'd missed while on the road: how to spot a bad crop before it spreads, how to mend a harness, how to tell from a bird's flight that a storm is a day away.
None of it had anything to do with spellcasting or battle techniques. And yet, Kael found value in all of it.
---
One evening, when they were repairing the roof together, Kael paused to watch their father work.
"You seem… better," their father said after a while, without looking up.
"Better?"
"Lighter."
Kael thought about it. "I guess so."
"You know," he added casually, "Rys has been good for you. For all of us."
Kael felt their ears heat. "They've helped a lot," they admitted.
Their father's eyes twinkled. "Maybe don't wait too long to tell them."
---
Kael didn't answer. The thought had crossed their mind more than once, but suspicion always tugged at the back of it. What if Rys wasn't the one? What if this wasn't meant to last?
It was safer to keep those words behind their teeth, no matter how much they wanted to say them.
---
Still, they noticed the little things more as the days went on:
Rys walking beside them when they carried wood from the forest.
Rys humming while they worked, always a little off-key.
Rys leaning close when they talked, as if every word mattered.
---
In quieter moments, their father pretended not to see.
But every now and then, Kael caught him watching with a faint, knowing smile, the kind a parent wears when they hope for something good.
---
The season turned. Fields greened, then goldened. By the time summer edged closer, Kael could repair a fence in half the time, fix a broken plow, and split a pile of logs without thinking twice about it.
These were skills that belonged to home, not the road. Yet they felt like pieces of themself they hadn't known were missing.
---
When the day's work was done, the three of them would sit on the porch, sometimes eating a simple supper, sometimes just watching the fireflies spark across the grass.
It wasn't the life Kael had imagined for themself when they left, but for these six months, it was enough.
And if their father kept nudging them and Rys closer together, Kael pretended not to notice… while silently wondering what it might mean if they let themselves imagine.
---
The night air clung to the skin, thick with the scent of summer grass. Kael stood at the fence, watching the fireflies drifting lazily over the fields.
They had stood in this exact spot a hundred times over the last six months, and every single time, they'd thought about the same thing: how long they could keep avoiding this conversation.
Not tonight.
---
They heard footsteps approach behind them. Slow, measured. Familiar.
Rys leaned on the fence beside them, saying nothing at first. After a few moments, their voice came soft:
"You've been out here longer lately."
Kael gave a small, distracted smile. "There's a lot to think about."
"Yeah," Rys said quietly. And then, as always, they didn't push.
---
That patience—the same patience Rys had shown since the day, years ago, when they'd spoken words Kael hadn't been ready to hear—was one of the reasons Kael's chest hurt now.
"I need to tell you something," Kael said finally, their voice low but firm.
Rys turned to them, cautious but attentive.
Kael gripped the fence rail tighter. "You know my curse. You know what it does. But you don't know how it ends. No one does. Not even father. Until now."
---
Rys's brow furrowed, but they stayed silent.
"It breaks," Kael said, "when I kiss the one I'm fated for. My fated mate. That's all it takes. Until that happens, no one—not even you—can see the real me. Not through magic. Not through glass. Nothing."
The words came faster now, like a dam breaking.
---
"And I've never said that to anyone because… what difference does it make? I don't know who they are. I don't even know if I've met them yet. So I've just lived with this—this… mask. Pretending not to care that no one ever really sees me."
Their voice cracked, the weight of it all bleeding through.
---
"For years, I thought the only way I'd survive it was to wait. To hold myself back until it was over. Until I found that person."
They finally turned to meet Rys's eyes.
"But these past months, I've realized something else. Waiting isn't living. And I don't want to wait anymore."
---
Rys's breath caught.
"I've fallen for you," Kael said plainly. "I don't know when it happened. Maybe it's been happening for a long time and I just didn't want to see it. I know I didn't feel that instant pull everyone talks about when it comes to fated mates, but… I care about you, Rys. Enough that I want to choose this. Even knowing that someday, everything could change."
---
Rys stared at them, motionless. There was pain in their eyes—old pain, from years of wanting and never having—but it was layered now with something raw and bright.
"You're serious," Rys said quietly, almost like they didn't believe it.
"I am," Kael said. "I can't promise you forever. I can only promise that I want to be with you until one of us decides otherwise… or until I meet them. Whichever comes first. If that's not enough, I'll understand. But I had to say it."
---
Rys shook their head, a tremor in their hands as they reached up to wipe their face.
"Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to hear those words?" they whispered, voice breaking. "I thought I'd lost any chance. I told you how I felt years ago. And I stayed because being your friend was better than nothing. I'd made my peace with that. And now—"
Their voice cracked again, and a single tear slid down their cheek.
"Now you're standing here saying you want to try. Even knowing it might end. How am I supposed to say no?"
---
Kael stepped closer. "Then you'll say yes?"
"I'll say yes," Rys said, their voice fierce despite the tears. "Even if it hurts someday, I'd rather have this than never have tried at all."
---
Kael let out a breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding and reached forward, pulling Rys into their arms.
Rys clung to them like something that had been waiting to break for years finally did, burying their face against Kael's shoulder.
They stayed like that for a long time, under a sky filled with silent stars, while the fireflies blinked softly around them.
---
When they finally pulled back, their faces were close, but neither of them went further. Not tonight.
"Walk back with me?" Kael asked.
Rys nodded.
Kael took their hand, fingers weaving together naturally.
They walked back toward the house slowly, the world around them quieter than it had ever been.
For the first time, the weight between them was no longer just silence. It was something chosen.
---