They stepped into the portal to continue their journey.
She walked beside him now.
That was new.
Not meters ahead.
Not way behind.
Right beside him.
And that wasn't all.
Her hands weren't clenched anymore.
Her shoulders—looser.
So he wouldn't waste this opportunity.
He started—or rather, continued.
"It wasn't so bad being the State Arcanist."
He tossed a small stone down the path.
"Dante made me teach the novices. Apparently, no one else had the patience."
Spring said nothing, but he kept going.
"They were monsters. Tiny, loud, magical monsters. You haven't seen chaos until you've seen a nine-year-old conjure lightning because someone stole her pastry."
He shook his head, smiling softly. The memory surprised him with its warmth.
"I had to bribe them with sugarfruit just to get them to sit still. One time I walked into the hall and found three of them trying to turn each other into frogs. No spells. Just willpower. And screaming."
Spring glanced at him. The corner of her mouth twitched—
Involuntarily.
He didn't react. Or maybe he noticed, and chose not to.
"But they listened. Eventually. I had to unlearn the Tower's way of teaching. Slow down. Speak softer. They had to be scared—but just enough."
His voice quieted.
"Most of them were like me. Too much magic. Too little control. No one to walk them through it. No one to tell them they were going to be okay."
That hit something in her chest.
He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish.
"I didn't think I'd be good at it. Thought I'd scare them. But they…"
He trailed off. Eyes distant.
"They weren't afraid of me. Not once."
And Spring—
She smiled.
Barely.
A flicker.
Gone in a second.
But he saw it.
Oh, he saw it.
Fall stopped walking.
Spring took two more steps before noticing.
"What?" she asked.
He was staring. Smiling like he'd uncovered treasure.
"…You smiled."
Her face hardened instantly. "No, I didn't."
"You did," he said, stepping toward her. "You smiled. Just now."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes gleaming.
"Was it the candy? Or the image of me wrangling tiny fire-wielding maniacs? Be honest."
"Shut up."
"You think I'm sweet, don't you?"
He was grinning now.
"You imagined it, didn't you? Me surrounded by children. You think that's cute."
"I swear I will kill you."
He circled her slowly, hands behind his back like a noble pondering a riddle.
"I never stood a chance," he murmured. "One smile and I'm doomed."
"Fall."
"You're softening."
Relentless.
"I knew it. I knew you'd crack eventually. Tell me—was it the kids or just me? Be honest, I can take it."
She turned to him, face stone-cold.
And in one second—
Smoke snapped around her, fast as lightning.
Caging.
"Spring!" Fall cried.
He reached out to her—
But there was only heavy air.
She was gone.
The world melted into fog. Thick. Soundless. Endless.
She was gliding, weightless, pulled by the current of the Veil.
No resistance. No desire to stop.
She simply drifted downward.
Then—
A jolt.
She landed in a chair. Wooden. Solid. The fog curled around her ankles.
Slowly, the world began to take shape.
She didn't wonder where she was. Or when.
It felt... normal.
The air smelled of herbs and something faintly sweet.
Shadows danced across the walls.
A hut. Small. Wooden.
Her wrists ached.
She looked down.
Chains.
Thin, gold—twisting up her arms like jewellery.
Locked to the bars of a narrow cage. Ornate.
Like a birdcage built for a human.
And yet...
It was familiar.
Some part of her gave in to it.
Didn't fight it.
Didn't question it.
Here and now—this place, this silence—it felt like home.
And she embraced it.
A soft sound behind her.
Footsteps.
Then a hand—too gentle—placing a silver tray beside the cage.
Fruit. A cup of water. A folded cloth.
Winter.
He knelt beside her with grace.
His eyes were calm.
"You look better today," he said, reaching between the bars to brush her cheek.
She flinched. "I—"
"Shhh." His voice was smooth.
He picked up the cloth.
She recoiled. But he only smiled—like she was being silly.
"You know I'd never hurt you."
She trembled.
He unfolded something silken in his hands.
Then—his fingers ghosting over her cheek—he raised the blindfold.
Darkness.
The silk settled against her lashes.
He tied it slowly, his fingers brushing the back of her neck.
"There," he whispered. "Much better."
His hand moved through her hair. Stroking. Once gently.
The next—rougher. She winced.
"I'll take care of it," he said. "You don't have to think about it anymore."
She heard him move away.
The sound of shifting fabric. Metal.
When he returned, his tone had changed. Cheerful. Proud.
"I found something for you," he said.
She felt it slide over her shoulders. A dress. Silken. Cold.
The weight of it settled over her body.
He adjusted it. Slowly. Carefully.
Fingers brushing her waist. Her spine.
A breath of approval behind her ear.
"You always deserved better."
A pause.
He touched her face again. She flinched.
But he only moved away, humming faintly under his breath.
A spoon pressed to her lips.
She hesitated.
Then opened her mouth.
Sweet fruit. Too sweet.
"Good girl," he murmured. "Isn't it lovely?"
Another bite. And another.
His breath never far from her skin.
"You've been quiet," he said. "That's alright. I don't mind silence.
I'll do the talking for both of us."
She tried to turn away.
His hand caught her chin. Gently. But firm.
"I know you can't see it now, but I'm helping you," he whispered.
He leaned closer.
"But you will see it."
Then—nothing.
Time passed. Or stood still.
She didn't know how long she'd sat there—blindfolded, dressed in velvet, the taste of fruit still clinging to her teeth.
Hours? Days?
There were sounds.
A blade, slowly sharpened.
The creak of floorboards.
A muffled scream.
The dragging of something heavy.
"Winter?" she rasped.
No answer.
Only the brush of steps behind her.
Then—his breath. Right at her ear.
"You don't need anything else," he murmured.
A pause.
"Just me."
His hand brushed her jaw.
Fingertips tracing her skin like he was memorising it.
And before she could react—
He kissed her.
Soft. Controlled.
It meant something. But only to him.
Her body locked.
And then—
Tears.
They slipped out before she knew she was crying.
Silent. Burning.
The blindfold caught them.
Soaked in them.
And still they came.
He pulled back slightly—still too close.
Still too calm.
But she was already shaking her head.
"No," she whispered.
It came out small. Fractured.
But she kept crying.
Because it felt wrong.
Even in the dark, even blindfolded—some part of her remembered what love was.
And this wasn't it.
He only stroked her hair again.
Slow. Patient.
"You'll see. You will love me," Winter said.
Silence followed.
Suffocating.
She didn't know which was worse: the quiet… or his voice.
She dreaded the idea of him coming back.
But this silence—
Not silence.
Void.
She couldn't hear.
Couldn't move.
Couldn't feel her body anymore.
The velvet dress, the chains, the floor beneath her—
Gone.
Or maybe still there.
She just couldn't tell.
The blindfold pressed softly against her eyes.
Even that began to fade.
Her own breath no longer registered.
No hunger.
No thirst.
No time.
Only stillness.
Her thoughts slowed.
Then scattered.
Then stopped.
She wasn't cold.
Wasn't warm.
She wasn't anything.
Just floating inside herself.
Weightless.
Hollow.
She almost gave in.
Then—
Something.
A hand.
Solid. Warm.
It grabbed her from behind.
Pulled her.
Hard.
The world vanished.
Gone.
Spring gasped as she landed, the fog peeling away.
Fall held her close—too close—his voice rough and steady:
"You're alright."
She couldn't move.
The expression on her face was far gone.
"What happened there?" he asked, concerned.
She didn't answer.
He pulled her to her feet, all in silence.
Never stopped looking at her. And his concern only deepened.
But he didn't press.
Fall didn't know exactly what it was, but it had to be something personal. Raw.
The Veil never attacked you at random.
It showed you truths you weren't ready to face.
And it never lied.
That's why…
He thought this could only be about one person and one person only.
They walked in silence. Again.
But this time, it was unbearable—for him.
She had just started softening. Just started coming back to him.
And the Veil took that from him.
He said nothing.
Didn't push.
But his steps were slower beside her now, like he was holding something in his throat. Something he couldn't shape into words.
By nightfall, they found shelter among the trees.
Two fallen logs faced each other—like they'd been waiting for company.
Fall moved wordlessly, heading off to gather firewood.
Spring hesitated.
She wanted to help. She really did.
But her limbs wouldn't move.
Her mind was still trapped in the vision she couldn't shake.
Fall knew.
He just disappeared into the trees.
The moment he was gone, her thoughts collapsed in on themselves.
What if it was true?
No. It couldn't be.
Winter had always been calm. Gentle. Careful.
At least with her.
He was cold with others—snappy, instinctual.
But in the vision… he'd been more. So much more.
Calculated. Poisonous.
It felt too real to be a lie.
She hugged her arms, her breath shaky.
The chill of the woods didn't help—
But the real cold came from inside her.
When Fall returned, he moved as always—efficient, quiet.
He lit the fire fast, and the sparks offered comfort the air could not.
She glanced at him.
He met her gaze briefly.
And in that single look—
He saw everything.
The fracture.
The doubt still bleeding beneath her skin.
He sat beside the fire, poking it with a stick.
"It's what you saw, isn't it?" he said softly.
Spring didn't answer.
Just stared into the flames—like she wished she could crawl inside them and burn the memory away.
Fall stayed still for a long moment.
Then leaned forward. Elbows on his knees. Hands clasped.
"I've been thinking about it since you came back from… whatever that was," he said, eyes on the fire.
"You looked terrified.
Not like before.
Not like when you saw me... you know. All demony."
A beat.
"This was different.
Worse."
He hesitated.
"I haven't seen you like that in a long time."
Still, she said nothing.
But the silence was a response all on its own.
Fall set the stick aside.
Looked at her—gently now.
His sharpness dulled.
"You're not weak, Spring.
Whatever it showed you… it doesn't define you.
It's just a shadow. An idea. That's all.
It wasn't real."
Her voice came out raw.
"What if it was? The Veil doesn't lie, does it?"
He didn't answer right away.
The fire cracked softly between them.
"Well," he said, "then we don't let it win."
His gaze didn't leave hers.
"We take the truth… and make it answer to us instead."
Spring blinked. Slowly.
"…That's not how truth works."
He leaned in, voice lower now.
Almost conspiratorial.
"Good thing I've never liked reality.
And it never liked me back," he murmured, his eyes full.
"You should know that by now."
An old knot in her chest felt like unravelling.
"…You're so annoying now," she whispered.
"Charming," he corrected, that smug edge sliding in.
"With a flair of psychological wreckage."
She almost—almost—smiled completely this time.