Rosalind said nothing.
It wasn't until she met his eyes—clear now, no longer shadowed—that she realized:
The sorrow was gone.
The weight.
The loneliness.
All of it—gone.
The weight, the loneliness—gone.
In its place stood a quiet resolve—unshakable, like stone beneath the storm—something she could lean on, and never fear collapse.
"I won't choose as Luxaris did. And I won't let you share Selatheia's fate."
Every word he spoke, every phrase, every syllable seemed etched into her heart, as if to tell her this was no passing promise.
He looked at her—steady, unflinching.
"I will not let go of you. Not now.
Not even if fate itself stands against me."
Her heart missed a beat.
For a man she once believed to be so restrained, so guarded—he always knew how to say the very things that left her quietly breathless.
"Perhaps… you're right," she said softly, turning slightly, her hand curling into a gentle fist.
"All of us… have the right to choose our own path."
