Under The Same Sky
800 Words
Selene was given Kael’s quarters.
Not a cell.
Not a guest room.
His.
It was a calculated insult—or a calculated necessity. She hadn’t decided which.
The chamber was carved deep into the mountain’s heart, walls etched with containment runes that pulsed softly like a second pulse. The air smelled faintly of smoke and night-blooming flowers. Everything about the space spoke of restraint. Control.
It made her uneasy.
“You’ll take the bed,” Kael said, removing his cloak. “I’ll take the floor.”
Selene scoffed. “How noble.”
“It’s practical,” he replied. “Your emotions spike when you feel threatened.”
She bristled. “I’m not fragile.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
He met her gaze evenly, and somehow that was worse.
Outside, the moon hung low—dim, watchful.
Selene crossed her arms. “If I stay here, what happens when I lose control?”
Kael paused.
“Then I’ll stop you,” he said simply. “Or die trying.”
The honesty in his voice unsettled her more than any threat.
Night deepened.
They said little. Kael busied himself sharpening blades she suspected were older than the mountain itself. Selene sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to feel the way the runes seemed to breathe in time with her own chest.
Her anger simmered just beneath her skin—at the elders, at Kael, at herself.
The ache stirred.
She inhaled slowly.
The moon steadied.
Kael noticed.
“Good,” he said quietly.
She glared at him. “Don’t sound proud.”
“I am,” he replied. “You’re fighting it.”
“Or I’m suffocating.”
He didn’t argue.
That night, when sleep finally claimed her, it came in fragments—silver light cracking, claws sinking into sky, the moon bleeding brilliance into her hands until they overflowed.
She woke with a gasp.
Pain flared.
The moon dimmed.
Kael was beside her in an instant.
“Selene,” he said sharply.
“Don’t touch me,” she panted.
“I won’t,” he replied, kneeling close enough that his presence wrapped around her like a barrier. “Just breathe. Follow my voice.”
“I hate you,” she hissed.
The ache spiked.
Kael swore under his breath.
“Then hate me later,” he said. “Right now, breathe.”
Against her will, she listened.
In.
Out.
The pain receded inch by inch.
The moon brightened.
When she finally looked at him, his jaw was clenched so tight she thought it might shatter.
“That happens often?” he asked.
Selene nodded.
“How long?”
“All my life.”
Something in Kael’s expression broke—just slightly.
“They did this to you,” he said.
Her throat tightened. “Don’t.”
“They weaponized you,” he continued softly. “And told you it was devotion.”
She turned away, fury and grief warring in her chest.
“If you keep talking,” she said, “I’ll lose control again.”
Kael hesitated, then shifted closer—not touching, but warm.
“I’ll stop,” he said. “But listen to me.”
She didn’t respond.
“You are not a curse,” he said anyway. “You are an imbalance. And imbalances can be corrected.”
Her laugh was shaky. “You sound very sure.”
“I have to be,” he replied. “If I’m wrong, we’re all dead.”
Despite herself, a breath of something almost like humor escaped her.
Later—much later—she became aware of it.
The quiet.
No ache.
No pressure.
Just… calm.
Selene opened her eyes.
Kael was asleep on the floor beside the bed, close enough that she could see the slow rise and fall of his chest. His hand rested palm-up on the stone between them, as if he’d fallen asleep mid-guard.
She stared at it.
At him.
Carefully—so carefully—she reached out and brushed her fingers against his knuckles.
Warm.
Steady.
The moon outside brightened.
Selene froze.
She pulled her hand back instantly.
Kael stirred, eyes snapping open.
They stared at each other.
Neither spoke.
The moon held.
Something unspoken passed between them—dangerous, fragile, real.
“We can’t,” Selene said hoarsely.
“I know,” Kael replied.
“But it helped,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then Kael turned away, placing deliberate distance between them.
“That,” he said, voice rough, “is why this is going to be a problem.”
Selene lay back, heart pounding, staring at the ceiling as moonlight seeped into the room—whole, cautious, watching.
For the first time, the night did not hurt.
And that terrified her more than anything else.
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