General Caelion Arkendell had learned long ago how to master his expression.
Shock, grief, hesitation—those were luxuries left behind on old battlefields. A general survived by remaining unreadable, by never allowing the past to surface where soldiers might see it.
That discipline fractured the moment the mark burned.
Kael stood alone in the quiet of his tent, fingers curled tightly around his wrist as heat pulsed beneath the skin. Not the dull ache he had grown accustomed to over the years, but something sharp and present.
Alive.
He did not need to look to know.
Still, he did.
The mark was unmistakable now—its lines dark, deliberate, etched with the same cruel clarity he remembered from another life. A life he had buried beneath duty and command and silence.
"Miran," he said aloud.
The name settled into the air as though it had always belonged there.
For years, Kael had told himself the vow had ended the only way such forbidden bonds ever did—through loss. Death erased promises. Time wore them down. Empires rewrote truth until memory itself surrendered.
And yet.
On a nameless road in a forgotten town, a boy had looked up at him with eyes full of recognition he did not understand—
And Kael's world had shifted.
Not because he saw a stranger.
Because he saw his husband.
Kael closed his eyes briefly, steadying his breath. The oath stirred at the acknowledgment, the heat easing just enough to remind him it was listening.
Ashbridge, then.
A town too small to matter, too quiet to attract attention—exactly the sort of place the world would hide something precious and unwanted.
He straightened, reaching for his armor with practiced calm. Whatever the empire believed about forgotten vows, Kael would not ignore this one.
Not again.
Miran spent the morning restless.
The town had resumed its careful routines, but nothing felt the same. Every sound seemed sharper, every glance heavier with meaning. The mark beneath his sleeve remained warm, responding to thoughts he did not know how to silence.
He avoided the main road.
Avoided the inn where soldiers gathered.
Avoided thinking about the way the General's eyes had softened—just for a breath—before duty reclaimed him.
"Elio," Miran said suddenly.
They were seated behind the shop where Elio worked, the smell of cut wood and sap hanging in the air. Elio looked up from his task, brows lifting.
"That's the second time you've said my name like that today," he said. "What's wrong?"
Miran hesitated.
"Do you believe," he asked slowly, "that some things are decided before we ever get a choice?"
Elio considered him. "I think people like to pretend they aren't."
Miran let out a quiet breath.
"What if," he continued, voice low, "someone you've never met feels… familiar?"
Elio's gaze sharpened. "You mean the General."
Miran didn't deny it.
Elio sighed, setting his tools aside. "Then I think you should be careful."
"With him?"
"With yourself," Elio said gently. "Whatever you're carrying, it's heavier than you admit."
Miran looked down at his wrist.
"I don't know how to set it down."
That afternoon, an imperial summons arrived.
The parchment bore the seal of the General himself.
Miran stared at it, heart racing, the mark flaring in response as if it had been waiting for this moment.
Elio watched him carefully. "You don't have to go."
Miran shook his head.
"Yes," he said softly. "I do."
Kael waited beneath the open sky, away from soldiers and eyes that asked too many questions. When Miran approached, steps hesitant but resolute, something tight in Kael's chest loosened for the first time in years.
You're real.
Miran stopped a few paces away, gaze lifting cautiously.
"General Arkendell," he said, voice steady despite the tremor in his hands.
Kael studied him in silence.
Older than memory. Younger than loss.
"Look at me," Kael said quietly.
Miran did.
The mark burned.
And in that breathless space between them, the oath remembered both their names.