She didn't turn around, but she spoke. "You followed me." A beat of silence. "I always would," he said simply. Mae looked up at the sky, blinking back the feeling in her throat. "It's beautiful. What we made." Ashar moved beside her, not close enough to touch. Just near. "You made it," he said quietly. "I just brought the spark." She looked down at her hands, still glistening faintly with traces of energy. "I didn't ask for this."
He nodded. "Neither did I."
Another silence stretched between them. Not heavy. Just, truthful. Then, softly, "do you hate me for it?" she asked. Ashar's voice was low, but sure. "No. I've feared this moment my entire life, and somehow, it feels like peace." Mae turned to him then. He wasn't looking at her. He was watching the sky. But his hand rested between them, on the grass. Close. Not touching. But close. Mae stared at his hand. Not touching her. Just there. Close enough to feel the warmth between them, like gravity that hadn't decided yet whether to pull or release.
She hated how badly she wanted to close that space. She hated how afraid she was of what it meant if she did. "I don't know how to be this," she whispered. "Whatever this thing is I've become. I don't even know who I am anymore." Ashar didn't look at her, but his voice was quiet, carved from something old and careful. "You're not a thing. You're not a god. Or a weapon. Or a mistake." He finally turned to her. Eyes dark and endless and, gentle. "You're Mae." Her throat tightened. "But I'm more than Mae. And I didn't ask to be."
"I know," he said. "Neither did I." She blinked at him. "You always say that. What does it mean?" He exhaled slowly, his voice low and raw. "It means I've spent my whole life running from the last prophecy my people whispered before they died. That the last of us would be tied to the one who could remake it all. Someone who didn't belong. Who shouldn't exist." He looked at her fully now. "And that if we met, I'd lose myself." Mae's breath caught. "Did you?"
Ashar didn't answer right away. He moved his hand, not touching her, still, but just a little closer. "I don't know who I was before you." And I don't think I care anymore."
Silence. A sharp ache bloomed in her chest. She reached out, her pinky brushing his. Just a whisper of skin. Their eyes locked, and that one touch made her feel more seen than anything had in her entire life. Ashar didn't pull away. He didn't move forward either. He just stayed. "Do you still hear me?" she asked quietly.
His eyes softened. "Even when I try not to." She gave a soft laugh, small, broken, and real. "I'm scared," she admitted. "I am too." Mae turned toward him then, pulling her knees to her chest again, shoulder brushing his arm. "But you're here anyway." Ashar's voice dropped lower, so only she could hear. They sat like that until the wind shifted, carrying the scent of gold flowers and some half-remembered warmth she couldn't name. No gods. No prophecy. No destiny.
Just the girl who broke the world and the last man who was meant to watch it burn, sitting in the light of something they never thought they'd find. The sun had nearly vanished when Mae and Ashar finally returned to the castle. They walked side by side, not touching, but something about the way they moved had changed. More in sync. Quieter. Closer in ways that had nothing to do with distance. The castle greeted them with warmth, lanterns flickering to life as they passed. Mae was quieter than usual, eyes soft and far away, but no longer guarded.
Ashar still didn't speak much, but for the first time, it didn't feel like silence. It felt like presence. They entered the central hall where the others had gathered, Lucien and Sethis sitting at the long table, Kaine sharpening something unnecessarily sharp, and Riven, cooking. Or, well, finishing whatever passed for cooking. He looked up as they entered, pausing as his gaze caught Mae's, then flicked to Ashar. His usual smirk flickered across his face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Well look who's still alive," Riven drawled, placing a cracked bowl down with theatrical flair. "I was about to send a search party. But then I remembered: Ashar wouldn't get lost, and Mae would rewrite reality if she did." Mae managed a half-smile as she sat, her body tired in a new kind of way. "We just, needed some air." Ashar said nothing, taking the seat beside her. Riven leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. "Right. Air."
Lucien raised a brow but didn't comment. Sethis glanced between them like he was waiting for a punchline. Then Riven clapped his hands together, breaking the quiet.
"Dinner's ready, such as it is. Last of the good stuff. We're officially out of supplies unless someone starts eating Kaine's attitude." Kaine rolled his eyes, not looking up. "Try it and see what happens." Riven smirked. "Might taste like fire and regret." He turned to Mae with a crooked grin. "Unless you can magically summon a feast with your god-juice or whatever it is you've got in there."
He laughed, lighthearted, but it didn't quite land. The tension in his eyes betrayed him. He was trying not to ask. Trying not to say what burned under his skin since that vision. Mae's smile faltered. Ashar didn't react, his face impassive, eyes fixed ahead.
Lucien finally broke the moment. "We'll need a supply run tomorrow. I'll scan the terrain and see what the region offers now that it's not twisted."
"Still might be dangerous," Sethis said. "Just, prettier danger." Mae looked down at the food. It was simple, salvaged rations, barely warm, barely seasoned. But it felt like the first real meal in a long time. Not because of the food. Because she'd made it to another day. Because she chose to come back. As they all sat around the table, trying to pretend they weren't sitting with prophecy and pressure and impossible futures breathing down their necks, Mae reached for the bowl.
"It's not god-juice," she said softly, looking at Riven. "But I'll try to help." Their eyes met again. Just for a second. He smiled, for real this time. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I know."