I remain there, sitting beside him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, counting each breath without meaning to. Making sure it continues.
“You’re not allowed to die after all that,” I say quietly, the words softer now, almost lost to the stillness.
The sound lingers briefly against the stone before fading.
28
VAEDROS
Consciousness returns slowly this time, not as a clean break but as something heavy pulling me upward through pain that has already settled into place. It sits deep along my side, steady and insistent, sharpening with each breath until it becomes impossible to ignore, and I let it anchor me before I open my eyes, letting the body speak first before I decide what to do with it.
The air is cool and still, carrying the scent of damp stone and faint smoke, and that alone tells me enough to understand I am no longer inside the ruin. When I finally look, the rest confirms it. Rough stone walls curve around me in uneven shapes, shadows shifting with the low burn of a small fire set a few feet away, contained carefully between arranged stones. The ground beneath me has been cleared, flattened enough to keep my balance steady even in this state.
A cave.
I stay where I am for a moment longer, letting my breathing settle into something controlled before I move, because rushing this part would be inefficient. My hand drifts to my side, pressing lightly against the bandage that holds the woundtogether, and I feel immediately how deep the damage runs beneath it. The binding is tight, applied with enough pressure to slow the bleeding without cutting off movement entirely.
Not careless. Not rushed.
Aeryn.
I shift slightly, testing the edge of it, and the pain answers without hesitation, sharp enough to warn but not enough to stop me from thinking through it. The injury is severe, but not fatal. Not if managed correctly.
I push myself upright.
The motion is slow, deliberate, each movement measured before I commit to it, and for a while it works. My weight settles, my balance holds, and I almost complete it before the strain tightens along my side and forces me to stop. I hold there, steadying myself against the stone, then ease back down before the attempt becomes something less controlled.
Standing is possible. Remaining upright is not.
I lean back against the wall and turn my attention outward instead, letting stillness work in my favor while I listen. The sounds beyond the cave reach me faintly, carried across distance that strips them of detail but not structure. Movement. Organized. But no longer close.
The battle has shifted.
I don’t need to see it to understand what that means. The absence of immediate threat, the direction of sound, the time that has already passed, none of it supports the possibility of reengagement from this position. Whatever remains of the conflict is no longer here.
Which means the artifact is gone.
That settles quickly.
I close my eyes for a brief moment and run through it again, not searching for alternatives, only confirming what already aligns. Xalith did not arrive late. He arrived when it mattered.He let the ruin do the work for him. Let me do the work for him. Then he stepped in at the point where control required division.
Velkiron entered at the same time. Multiple points. Clean execution. No hesitation. Planned.
The conclusion requires no adjustment.
He took it.
I open my eyes again and look toward the cave entrance, where the light has already begun to fade, softer now, angled low enough to suggest late afternoon moving toward evening. The fire beside me burns steadily, recently fed, its heat controlled and contained.
She is not here. Which means she left. Or she is close enough not to matter.
Neither possibility concerns me immediately, though both tell me what I need to know. She did not abandon this position entirely. The fire alone confirms that.
I shift forward again, testing my weight, pushing slightly further than before just to confirm the boundary instead of guessing it. The answer comes immediately. Pain cuts through the movement before I can stabilize, sharp enough to disrupt balance, and I stop before it forces me into something less controlled.
I settle back again. I have to move soon.
The instinct remains. It always does. But instinct without the ability to act on it serves no purpose.