Selena stood quietly within the warmth of Anikin's study, where bookshelves bowed under the weight of knowledge and glowing fungi gave off a soft blue light that cast dancing shadows on the bark-paneled walls. The fire crackled low in its pit, its golden fingers licking upward in slow, meditative rhythm. This wasn't a new conversation—it was the continuation of the one that began earlier that day, the weight of her confession still hanging in the air between them.
Anikin remained seated across from her, his expression thoughtful, eyes narrowing just slightly as he studied her face. She could see that her words from earlier—about Markas, the unborn child, the threat of Mathew, and the gods' design—had not left his mind.
Now she added more.
"This morning," she said, her voice soft but resolute, "Jaina came to me again. In a vision. She told me… someone close to me—one of my friends—will face death within weeks. And only the Icehart can show me how to save them."
Anikin leaned back, his brows furrowing deeply. "No," he said flatly. "That is not something I can allow."
Selena's heart squeezed. "Please—"
"The Icehart is not a tool, Selena. It is older than words, older than memory. It is chaos made still. No human has ever touched it, and we have no idea what such an act would do. To you, or to it."
"But if I don't, someone I love might die," she said, stepping closer. "I don't even know who. But the fear is already inside me, and I can't ignore it."
He stood now, hands clasped behind his back as he walked slowly to the high, arched window. Through the translucent bark, the lights of the settlement shimmered among the trees. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then at last, without turning, he replied, "This isn't a decision I can make alone. The Icehart is sacred. It belongs to all Shadowkin. And its secrets are not mine to unlock… even for you."
Selena lowered her gaze, struggling not to break. "I understand," she whispered.
"But," he added gently, "I will consider what you've said. And I will speak to the elders."
Selena nodded with gratitude, her chest tight but her heart a little lighter.
⸻
Later that evening, as the golden light of the hearth spilled through the wooden corridors of the tree-home, Selena joined Ariwin in the wide, open kitchen. It was a beautiful place, nestled within the heartwood, its walls grown rather than built—vines formed shelves, and leaves curled into bowls to hold herbs and roots.
Ariwin handed her a carved ladle. "You stir, I'll chop."
Selena laughed softly and took her place. The scent of crushed herbs and forest fruit filled the air.
"You look like you've had a heavy day," Ariwin said, watching her closely.
Selena hesitated. "I've just… been thinking."
Ariwin nodded in understanding. "I know the look. My father has it too, sometimes."
They worked in silence for a moment before Selena glanced at her. "You live here with him, don't you?"
Ariwin smiled. "Yes. It's our way. When a Shadowkin woman is expecting, she returns to her parents' home to be cared for during the months of waiting. It's a tradition of safety… and comfort."
"And Farakin?" Selena asked gently.
"He lives with the warriors, closer to the eastern border," she said, her tone light but honest. "He visits often. But… even a husband gives space during this time. We're a bit strange to outsiders, I know."
"No," Selena replied. "It makes sense. I like it."
Ariwin looked at her, eyes soft. "And you? You carry something too, don't you?"
Selena hesitated, then smiled. "Yes… but not just in my belly."
They shared a moment of silent understanding, the firelight dancing between them.
⸻
Dinner was a shared affair. The group sat around the long, winding table at the heart of the home—Anikin, Ariwin, Farakin, and the travelers from Aeloria. The food was warm, the laughter cautious at first, then flowing more freely as the minutes passed.
Kael told a story about Stormclaw trying to eat a Arya's hat, earning a round of chuckles. Arya asked questions about Shadowkin customs. Luther, quiet for much of the meal, sat close enough to brush against Arya's arm every so often. She didn't move away.
Anikin observed it all, silently contemplative, his cup held loosely in his hands.
For a while, it felt like family.
Eventually, the fire burned low. One by one, chairs were pushed back. Goodnights were exchanged.
Luther lingered, helping gather plates. Arya brushed past him on her way down the corridor.
She paused, glanced back over her shoulder, her voice low and playful.
"Good night."
He smiled gently, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Good night."
And the house settled into stillness once more.