Kiss of Summer

Healing

The wind softened by morning, and with it, a hesitant peace settled over the mountaintop kingdom. Summer stood beside Keiran as they walked the high path carved into the cliffs, the black stone beneath their feet worn smooth by time. Below them, the valley spread like a sleeping beast—vast and raw, scattered with darkened fields and villages cradled in mist.

The people came out to see her.

At first, they were wary—thin-faced farmers and weatherworn children, clutching woven baskets and old hopes. Their eyes, once dulled by hunger, shimmered faintly as Summer passed. She offered soft smiles, touched small hands, and let her presence bloom gently, like the first thaw of spring.

“They’ve lived in famine for nearly a decade,” Keiran said beside her, his deep voice roughened by wind and something else. “The storms began after the Goddess turned her face from us.”

Summer glanced at him, her golden eyes searching his. “And why did She turn away?”

Keiran said nothing.

As they moved through the narrow market lanes, a small stone shop with colorful handwoven scarves and carved wooden toys caught Summer’s eye. A young woman stood behind a counter, arranging baskets of dried herbs and soaps. Beside her, two children—a boy and a girl of about seven—played with sticks fashioned into swords.

“Morning, Myra,” Keiran said with a rare softness.

The woman looked up, her warm brown eyes lighting up when she saw him. “Lord Keiran,” she said with a gentle nod. “You’re walking among us today.”

“I wanted her to see the heart of our people,” Keiran replied, gesturing to Summer.

Myra smiled at her. “Then she’s come to the right place.”

The boy ran forward, fearless and grinning. He grabbed Keiran’s hand, tugging at him to look at a lopsided wooden dragon he’d carved. “Look! I made it fly like you, Uncle Keiran!”

Keiran crouched down, taking the toy with surprising care. “You’ve improved, Kael. The wings are stronger this time.”

Kael beamed with pride.

But his twin sister, Lira, stood back, clinging to her mother’s skirts. Her wide dark eyes flicked to Keiran warily, then to Summer.

Summer crouched beside her. “Hello, Lira. That’s a lovely braid you have. Did your mama do it?”

Lira nodded once.

“I like the flower tucked inside. You must have a good eye for beautiful things.”

A small smile curved the girl’s lips, and she peeked up shyly at Summer.

“I’m Summer. Would you help me pick a scarf? I’m afraid I don’t know which colors suit me here.”

Lira glanced at her mother, then took Summer’s hand and led her inside.

Keiran stayed outside, speaking quietly with Myra, who watched her daughter with a hand over her heart.

“She’s not quick to trust, not after the last winter,” Myra said.

“She has good instincts,” Keiran said, watching Summer through the shop window.

Inside, Lira held up a pale green scarf threaded with golden strands. “This one. It’s soft and warm like the sun.”

Summer wrapped it around her neck, her eyes lighting up. “Perfect. Just like you said.”

They emerged a few minutes later, Lira now clutching a small braid of herbs that Summer had promised to wear in her hair.

Instead of leading her next to the gathering hall, Keiran turned back toward the higher ridge path.

He led her to a hall built of obsidian and ironwood, where elders and children huddled together beneath a hearth that barely warmed the great space. A mother with a feverish babe bowed to Summer, her lips murmuring a blessing as if uncertain the words would be heard.

Summer knelt beside the child, cradling the flushed cheeks in her palms. She closed her eyes and whispered—not a command, but a plea. A moment later, a breeze stirred the air inside the room, and a golden warmth brushed over the child’s skin. The babe sighed in relief, the fever breaking.

Gasps and hushed voices filled the hall.

Keiran watched from the shadows.

“You could bring life back to this land,” he said quietly when they were alone again.

Summer turned to him. “I want to. But I’m one third of the Goddess’s will. I can soothe. I can heal. But I am not whole without them.”

Keiran’s jaw tightened. “You’ve done more in a single day than I have in a decade.”

She stepped closer, studying the burden in his eyes. “Your people are strong. They haven’t turned cruel, even in their hunger.”

They continued walking, and Summer began to laugh when a flock of moon-chickens—squat birds with gleaming feathers—trailed after her through the market. She bent down, feeding one from her hand, her face glowing with joy that lit every dark corner around them.

“You belong among them,” Keiran said, almost to himself.

She looked back at him. “So do you, if you let yourself.”

Night began to fall, casting hues of violet and cobalt across the cliffs. The lioness returned from the forest, padding at Summer’s side, her golden eyes a mirror of the sun. Summer knelt beside her familiar, pressing her forehead to the beast’s.

With the lioness near, her power surged. She felt the stirrings of the Goddess stronger than she had in weeks. The sky shimmered above, the first stars peeking through the twilight veil.

And Keiran… he stood watching them, feeling the tremble of something vast and sacred.

The Goddess had not abandoned his land.

She had hidden from him.

Because of the blood spilled, the bargains made, the ancient greed he had once embraced.

But Summer’s presence was changing that. Not through domination or control—but with light. With faith.

And Keiran, the sky lord wrapped in storm, began to fear what he might become if he let himself hope.