Later that night, Orion left earlier, telling them he needed to sleep as his body started to feel the ache of hard work.
The wind outside the sanctuary softened. The fire burned low—embers only—casting flickers of red and amber across the carved walls.
Velastra stood near the fire, barefoot, her robe gathered loose around her shoulders. She looked over at Cael, who sat quietly on the stone, his hands resting on his knees, his sightless gaze tilted toward the dim heat.
She crossed to him, each step deliberate—silent as starlight.
"You've learned to see this place without your eyes," she said softly, kneeling beside him.
He turned toward her voice, a faint smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. "What else is there to see?"
Velastra leaned in, her lips close to his ear, and whispered:
"Me."
Her hand brushed his cheek, trailing down to rest just above his heart.
"I want you to start seeing me," she said. "There. In your darkness."
Cael's breath caught, but he didn't pull away. Her lips found his—warm, unhurried.
"Let your tongue count the lines of my lips," she murmured against his mouth. "Remember me that way."
He did. Slowly.
Each breath a thread. Each movement, memory.
She guided his hand to her collarbone. Her pulse beat beneath his touch—steady, deliberate. And when she brought his palm lower, to where silk met skin, he followed slowly, memorizing the texture and the curves.
Velastra's breath mingled with his, her fingers threading gently through his hair. Beneath her touch, Cael trembled from something tender and unspoken. She kissed the corner of his mouth, then the edge of his jaw, her whispers barely brushing his skin.
"Always remember me," she said softly, lips grazing his temple.
Cael's hands tightened around her waist, his mouth parting with a quiet exhale, a sound that hovered between longing and disbelief. He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in like a lost song.
But just as her fingers brushed along the hem of her robe—
The sanctuary door burst open.
"I swear to the last gods," Orion announced loudly, "if I have to witness one more second of this, I'm going to exile myself from exile."
Velastra froze mid-motion. Cael jerked slightly, startled.
Orion strode with all the exasperation of an older brother caught in someone else's romance. He waved a hand between them.
"You two need to respect my presence! At least pretend I'm not some unloved bachelor haunting the cliffs of Navoris. Have a little mercy, would you?"
Velastra stared at him, lips parted in disbelief. "Did our moans awaken you?"
Orion shrugged dramatically. "If you want to roll around like wild gods, do it when I'm not within earshot. Or at least cast a privacy ward, for flame's sake."
Velastra hit his head and answered, "I cannot cast a spell here as we are like mortals."
Orion pointed at him accusingly. "Don't smile. You're the one being seduced to death in front of your spiritual physician."
Velastra let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You could have just slept."
"I tried. But I forgot my sleeping sachet."
She glanced back at Cael, who looked more amused than wounded now, his hand still resting against her hip.
Orion raised his hands in surrender. "Look, I get it. Deep love. Fiery passion. Lifelong bond. Gorgeous immortal wife. But let an old man cling to dignity. Just do it when I'm gone."
Velastra finally let out a short, reluctant laugh. "Fine."
"Thank you," Orion said with an exaggerated bow. "Now carry on—preferably in your chamber."
He turned on his heel and stalked out dramatically, muttering under his breath, "If I had said yes to Lady Cirell, I'd be enjoying tea and foot massages by now…"
The door shut with a finality that echoed like a sigh.
Velastra stood still for a moment, forehead pressed gently to Cael's, her breath soft against his skin.
"Next time," she murmured.
But Cael moved before her words could settle.
His lips met hers—quietly at first, a hush of warmth, as though answering her question not with speech, but surrender. There was no urgency this time, no burn of survival in his kiss. Only invitation.
Velastra didn't press further. She only leaned in, matching his rhythm with her own.
When they finally broke apart, she whispered, "Are you sure?"
Cael nodded slowly, tracing her cheek with reverent fingers. "I missed our heat."
She kissed him again, a smile blooming in the spaces between their breaths.
Together, they stepped out into the night.
They didn't go far—only past the edge of the sanctuary, where moss blanketed the cliffstone and the world fell away into shadow. There, beneath a crooked yew tree and a hundred waiting stars, Velastra spread the worn cloak she'd brought with her into exile.
Cael lowered himself beside her with practiced grace, reaching for her by memory. She guided his hands gently—first to her shoulders, then to her waist, until he could trace the rise and fall of her breath with his thumbs.
The moon cast its glow in soft fragments, caught between clouds and the yew's branches. The air smelled of juniper and ash, wind-washed and clean.
Velastra leaned back onto her elbows, her robe parting like dusk beneath moonlight as she drew him closer. "Then, remember every inch of me," she whispered.
He did.
His touch was slow—learning the edges of her with fingertips and lips. He kissed the hollow of her throat, the curve of her collar, pausing where her breath caught. She arched beneath him not from need, but from the sacredness of being seen without sight.
Cael whispered her name like a prayer, each syllable unspooling years of silence. "Velastra…" It landed like a vow in the dark.
And she responded with the only answer she'd ever wanted: her body, her presence, wrapped around him like fire softened into warmth.
They moved together, not as conqueror and consort, not as warrior and wounded. But as equals.
No pain this time. No blood. Only softness.
Velastra clung to him, not as possession but as anchor. She kissed his brow, his eyelids, his scars. And he touched her like someone memorizing the only map that mattered.
The stars bore witness, cold and distant.
But here, in the warmth between two bodies, something lit that not even exile could extinguish.
When it was over, they lay in silence—her head tucked beneath his chin, his arms coiled protectively around her.
"I didn't think I'd ever feel whole again," Cael whispered.
"You aren't," she murmured. "But neither am I. Because only by being together, we are whole."
He laughed softly, the first time, pulling her tighter. "Don't let Orion find us like this."
Velastra couldn't speak as the sound of Cael's laughter had taken her soul. It was one of her greatest memories. A tear rolled down her cheek.
Then, after savoring the moment, she moved closer to him.
"He won't," she said, pressing a kiss to his chest. "We still have time," she whispered, nuzzling closer. "Time for more warmth. More of us."
And above them, the stars did not move.
But in the hollow between breaths, a new kind of stillness settled.
Not the silence of punishment.
But of peace.