Location: Hallowbrook Manor Gardens
Time: Evening, Day 387 After Alec's Arrival
The sun clung to the horizon, a smudge of amber light slipping behind the orchard line. The air was heavy with the scent of wet earth and moss. Evening damp crept through the hedgerows. Somewhere, a thrush gave a short, startled call before the hush returned.
Elira walked the gravel path alone, the soft rustle of her cloak trailing behind her.
The gardens hadn't changed.
That was the problem.
The spiral-pruned hedges, the dry fountain shaped like a lion devouring a serpent, the same cracked benches with faded crests of noble houses that had long since lost their claim to anything but memory — all of it stood untouched. Stagnant.
The place was preserved like a reliquary of old wounds.
She passed the spot where she and her brother used to play cards on stolen afternoons.Passed the side path where Dain had once tried to kiss her after his father's funeral.Passed a life that should have faded but hadn't.
Dain was waiting beneath the oldest tree — a gnarled, leaning relic draped in late-summer shadow. His coat was off, sleeves rolled, gloves tucked into his belt. He looked tired, but not in the way Alec did. Not from labor.
From simmering.
He straightened as she approached, offering a small nod — formal, but edged with familiarity. Too familiar.
"You came."
"You summoned."
Her voice was level, unbothered. She stopped five paces away, not moving closer.
He gave a thin smile. "Walk with me?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded. Once.
They moved along the gravel path, neither reaching for the lanterns along the trail. Shadows lengthened around them.
It was Dain who broke the silence.
"He speaks well, your new architect."
Elira didn't look at him. "He speaks when needed. Not more."
"Sharp, then. Clean. But truth isn't the same as loyalty."
She exhaled, long and slow. "If this is going to be one of your veiled warnings—"
"It's not veiled."
She stopped. Turned slightly toward him.
"Then be plain."
He stopped, too. The shadows swayed around them as a breeze stirred the branches.
"When my brother died," he said, "you didn't cry. You stood straighter. Took the seal from his hand before they buried him. Held the court without missing a day. I remember thinking — she's colder than I thought. Colder than any of us."
"I didn't have the luxury of grief."
"No," Dain agreed, voice low. "You didn't. You carried this county on your back. Every vote. Every harvest. Every damn treaty."
She said nothing.
He stepped closer, boots crunching softly on gravel.
"But now I see you… handing it away. Piece by piece. Ledger by ledger. And not to someone who's bled with us. Not to someone born of this land. But to him."
Her tone was steel. "You don't trust Alec."
"I don't trust what I can't trace," Dain snapped. "He has no house, no oath, no blood. He answers to no one but his own mind."
"And yet," she said, quiet and cutting, "he rebuilt more in four months than you managed in three years of absence."
That landed. His jaw flexed.
"I'm not jealous of his work."
She raised an eyebrow. "Then what are you?"
He didn't answer right away.
Then, more quietly: "Displaced."
She turned fully toward him now. Her eyes, green-gray in the dusk, held nothing soft.
"You left, Dain. When we needed steel, you gave us shadow. When we needed unity, you offered intrigue. You watched the fire burn from the hills."
"I fought, Elira. Gods, you think I didn't fight?"
"I think you fought for you."
Silence fell. Thick.
Then Dain stepped close again. Too close.
"I remember when you used to believe in me," he said. "Back when we stood on the same side of the war table."
Elira's voice was cool. "I believed in a shared goal. Not in you."
He blinked. Just once.
She went on. "You mistake proximity for trust, Dain. We built things together, yes. But you were never the future. You were the proof of how easily the past clings to power it hasn't earned."
He swallowed that. Hard.
She stepped back.
But he followed. Just a breath. Just a whisper closer.
"Alec is a comet, Elira. He'll burn bright, leave you dazzled — and then he'll vanish."
Her voice dropped. "That's not your concern."
"It is if I'm the one left behind cleaning up what he breaks."
"You're not," she said, sharp now. "You're not the one cleaning. You never were."
His expression twisted. Not rage.
Hurt. Pride fraying.
"I'm not asking for your hand. Or even your faith. But gods, Elira… remember who built these walls with you. Whose blood helped keep the border lines stable. Whose name your daughter carries."
That caught.
Just slightly.
The cold rain of implication slid down her spine.
But she didn't flinch.
She turned from him slowly, her voice level but sharp enough to cut.
"If you want to help Oslo, you bring your sword to the field. Not your grief to my doorstep."
He dipped his head — not in respect.
In withdrawal.
"As you wish."
But as she walked away, his voice reached her again.
Low.
Pointed.
"When he leaves, someone will have to be here to gather the pieces."
She didn't answer.
Didn't pause.
But something behind her ribs twisted.
Later That Night – Guest Chamber, Hallowbrook Manor
She didn't sleep.
She sat by the window, wrapped in her shawl, eyes fixed on the moon-glazed orchard below. The trees whispered. The shadows shifted.
And Dain's words played over and over.
A comet doesn't stay.
And what if he was right?
What if Alec was only passing through — a genius of systems, of repair, of blueprints and rhythm… not of permanence?
Not of belonging.
Was it fair to let a child believe in a man born to disappear?
Was it fair to let herself?
She didn't cry.
But her fingers found the edge of her sleeve.
Ran across the embroidered stitching — pale gold thread, old, familiar. The same hands had sewn it that made her wedding cloak.
The past wasn't just stirring.
It was watching.
And for the first time in years, Elira didn't know if she wanted it silenced…
Or forgiven.