chapter 4
1032 Words
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Chapter Four: The Breath Between Stars
Evening in Duskfall was heavy with silence. The kind of silence that didn't ring hollow, but divine. The moon dipped low, its light now weak, no longer bleeding red but watchful, ever vigilant.
Seraphina was attracted to the sanctuary garden again.
It was tucked away behind the manor—a secret place that was cloaked in climbing ivy, heavy moss, and night-blooming lilies that would only open with the illumination of full moonlight. The stone pathways were cracked, the old benches weathered, and yet the one place in the world unencumbered by expectation.
She sat beneath the old moon tree, folding her cloak about her, exhaling quietly in plumes. The wind this evening carried whispers. Or maybe that was merely the echo of the Moon Goddess's voice in memory.
Her thoughts were a maelstrom of impressions—Richard's kiss, Alfred's control, and Almond's quiet pull that caused her to be seen, not desired. For once, she merely wanted to breathe without someone reaching for her.
And that was when he came.
Not boisterous. Not sudden.
Almond.
She sensed him before she saw him, his presence easing into the room like moonlight itself.
He didn't even seek permission to sit with her.
He simply did.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
And Seraphina was grateful for it.
"I used to come here quite frequently," he said eventually. "Before the war. Before the mark. When I needed to feel the earth beneath me again."
She looked at him. "You still do it?"
"Every night."
"Even now? In spite of all this?"
"Especially now."
She nodded, her eyes traveling up through the branches. "I thought that if I came here, maybe I'd hear her again."
"The Moon Goddess?"
Seraphina nodded.
"She doesn't always talk in words."
He pulled out a small stone from his pocket, blue-veined and round.
"My mother used to say the Goddess talks in feelings. In timing. In the weight of your chest when you encounter the right person. Or the quiet that settles when you are safe."
She looked at him.
"Do I make you feel safe?" she breathed.
He hesitated.
"Yes," he said. "But more than that. you make me feel still. Like the noise inside me finally quiets."
Her chest tightened.
"Then why is that scaring me?" she gasped.
"Because when everything is still, you're forced to listen to your own heartbeat."
She wrenched her face away, her eyes snapping wildly. "What if I don't like what it says?"
"Then I'll help you listen again," he said quietly. "Until you do."
---
She hadn't expected tears.
They came.
Not broken, not loud. Simply soft, washaway tears that rolled down her cheeks as she leaned forward, ever so slightly, toward him. Almond didn't move. Didn't touch to wipe them away. He simply remained, there, solid.
And when she rested her head on his shoulder, he didn't shift.
The garden was enshrouded in moon. A gentle breeze stirred her hair.
"Everyone desires something from me," she whispered. "Power. Destiny. Obedience. Even love. But you."
He shifted slightly.
"I need you to see you don't owe me anything," he said. "Not affection. Not decisions. Just moments. One moment at a time."
Her throat ached.
"What if I want to give you more than a moment?" she whispered.
He didn't answer at first.
Then, in controlled slow motion, he turned to her entirely. They were inches apart, their faces.
And for the first time, Seraphina saw the underlying hunger in Almond's calm—like the tide just below glass.
He lifted his hand, slowly, tracing his knuckles down her cheek. "Then give me one breath."
She did not move.
He leaned in.
Their mouths brushed barely—a whisper of a kiss—not nearly enough to take, but enough to remember.
And then he pulled away.
And stood.
Seraphina gazed up, taken aback by the sudden distance.
But Almond's face was empty now.
"I would remain here for all eternity," he replied, voice on the verge of breaking, "but something's amiss."
She blinked. "What?"
He took her hand.
"Your mark. It's shining once more."
---
They entered the manor by the back passage.
But every step was weighed down.
The hallway lights flickered as they made their way towards the east corridor. A chilly wind blew through despite the windows being closed. And when Seraphina touched the banister, the wood sparked at her fingers.
Almond preceded her.
"Behind me."
They made the turn—
And stopped.
The mark upon her back was no longer white.
It glowed under her cloak. Blinding silver. The runes writhed like living things.
And on the floor, in front of the main altar, were ashes—new, warm, and full of feeble red light.
Seraphina breathed sharply.
Warning.
"What is that?" she whispered.
"A ward," Almond replied gritted. "Someone has used fire-magic here. Recently."
He crouched, brushing his fingers through the ash. “But it’s not wolf. It’s… something older.”
Her breath hitched. “Shadow wolves?”
“No. Worse.”
Her vision swam. The room tilted. The glow of her mark spread to her fingertips.
“Almond,” she whispered, stumbling.
He caught her before she fell.
“Your body’s reacting to it,” he said, lifting her into his arms. “It’s too soon. You’re not ready.”
“I need. to understand…”
“You need to rest.”
She wanted to protest, but the fire in her chest blinded her now. The Goddess's voice sounded empty in her ears.
"The dark stirs. Guard the breath. The breath that balances."
Almond carried her up the stairs, supporting her gently. He did not take her into her own room, but his. It smelled of herbs, pine, and the warm undertone of sandalwood. He sat her on the bed, covering her with the blanket.
"You are mine," he whispered.
Then knelt next to her, holding her hand as if it were holy.
---
That night, Seraphina dreamed of a tree of silver that sprouted up from flames.
Its roots coursed red with shadow.
And beneath, three wolves roamed.
One was scarred.
One wept.
One waited.
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- Writer
