The hinges gave a soft, protesting sigh as Nyra pushed the door open. Moonlight spilled through the high window, pale and cool, brushing across Kael's sleeping form like a blessing he didn't know how to accept.
He lay half-turned toward the door, the blanket twisted around his waist, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. A faint sheen of sweat clung to his skin, the kind that came after magic had burned too hot inside someone's veins.
Nyra shut the door quietly behind her.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, tracing the lines of tension still etched into Kael's body even as he slept—the tight set of his jaw, the faint twitch of his fingers, as if he still felt the echoes of power crackling under his skin.
She moved toward the bedside, her steps soundless. When she reached him, she paused, letting herself look.
Really look.
His hair was damp against his forehead, darker than usual. His lips parted slightly with each breath, lashes trembling with dreams he clearly didn't want. There was something unbearably vulnerable about him like this—the man who carried destructive magic like a curse lying there, looking young, tired, and painfully human.
Nyra's chest constricted.
She reached out and brushed the back of her knuckles lightly against his temple, sweeping away a strand of hair that clung to his skin. The touch was feather-soft, meant to soothe. Meant to calm. Meant to say I'm here even if she couldn't find the words.
Kael stirred.
His brow knit tighter. A short, pained breath escaped him.
Then—
"Nyra…" he whispered, eyes still closed, voice rough and cracked from exhaustion. Not a dream call this time—closer to a plea, slipping out unguarded.
She froze, hand hovering just above his cheek.
"I'm here," she murmured before she could stop herself. The words felt too intimate, but too honest to swallow. "You're safe."
His lashes fluttered. Slowly, he blinked awake, pupils adjusting to the silver-lit room. Confusion flickered first. Then relief. And then something he quickly tried to hide.
"You shouldn't…" Kael's voice broke. He cleared his throat. "You shouldn't be here."
Nyra raised an eyebrow, folding her arms—not to shield herself, but to stop her hands from reaching for him again.
"And why is that?" she asked softly.
Kael exhaled, gaze shifting away. "Because I lost control. Because I could have—"
"You didn't," she said, firmly but not unkindly.
He looked back at her then, eyes dark, tired, and full of the storm he carried under his skin.
"I could have hurt you," he said quietly. "That's what terrifies me."
Nyra stepped closer, until her knees brushed the edge of the mattress.
"But you didn't," she repeated. "Because even when your magic breaks free, it still knows me. You still know me."
Kael's breath hitched—barely, but enough.
She sat at the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under her weight. Her hand hovered, hesitated, then rested gently over his forearm. His skin was warm—too warm—but solid. Real.
"You think you're losing control," she said. "I think something is changing. And until we understand it, you're not facing it alone."
Kael closed his eyes, a long exhale leaving him. Some of the tension in his shoulders unwound, piece by piece, as if her presence helped more than he wanted to admit.
"Nyra…" he whispered again, softer this time—an apology, a confession, a surrender all tangled together.
She squeezed his arm once.
"Rest," she said. "We'll deal with the rest tomorrow."
His eyes opened, finding hers in the moonlight.
"Stay?" he asked before he could catch the word, raw and unguarded.
Nyra's breath faltered—but only for a moment.
She shifted, pulling the chair closer and settling into it, still within reach of him.
"I'll stay," she said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."
Kael's eyes softened—something fragile, grateful, and aching.
And for the first time since the magic shattered the ring, he slept without trembling.