The Veil Caves don’t remember names.
They remember pain.
They remember oaths broken in the dark, promises torn from bleeding lips, magic unraveled by those too desperate to live with the truth. The air is thick with it—centuries of whispered confessions, of blood spilled on stone, of lovers severed and kings unmade. No echoes. No magic. Just silence so deep it presses against the skull like a weight.
And yet—
When I step through the hidden passage beneath the eastern crypt, boots silent on damp stone, I feel it.
Her.
Sage.
Not in the air. Not in the scent of moss or decay. But in the silence. In the way it trembles. Like the cave itself is holding its breath. Like even the shadows know what she’s done.
She broke the bond.
Not weakened. Not strained. Shattered.
And now she’s paying for it.
I find her in the central chamber—curled on the cold stone, her body trembling, her breath ragged, her clothes soaked in blood. The ritual circle is cracked. The book lies in ashes. Her dagger rests beside her, the blade black with dried gore. And her skin—pale, slick with sweat—shimmers faintly, like her magic is unraveling, thread by thread.
Kaelen is gone.
He was here. I can smell him—pine, smoke, the wild musk of a wolf pushed to the edge. He carried her. Held her. Fought the fever wracking her body. But he couldn’t stay. The bond is broken. The caves reject him. The moment he stepped back into the tunnels, the wards sealed behind him, cutting him off like a blade through flesh.
And now?
Now she’s alone.
Except for me.
I kneel beside her, my silver hair falling over my shoulder, my storm-gray eyes scanning her wounds. The cut on her palm is deep. The slash on her thigh still weeps. The one above her heart—that one worries me. Too close. Too reckless. But she’s alive. Barely. Her pulse flutters beneath my fingers, weak but steady.
“You’re an idiot,” I murmur, pressing a hand to her forehead. “A glorious, reckless, beautiful idiot.”
She doesn’t stir.
Just breathes—shallow, broken, like each inhale is a battle.
I pull a vial from my coat—shimmering liquid, Fae-made, laced with moonlight essence. It hums in my palm, warm and alive. I press it to her lips.
“Drink,” I command.
She doesn’t obey. Just lies there, lost in fever-dreams.
So I pour it between her lips myself—slow, careful, letting the magic seep into her veins. It flares—silver, then gold—before sinking beneath her skin. Her body jerks. A gasp tears from her throat. And then—
Her eyes snap open.
Silver. Wild. terrified.
“Riven?” she whispers, voice raw.
“In the flesh,” I say, smirking. “And you’re lucky I am. That ritual would’ve killed you if I hadn’t shown up.”
She tries to sit up. Fails. Collapses back with a groan. “I did it,” she rasps. “I broke it. I’m free.”
“You’re alive,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
She doesn’t argue. Just stares at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling, her breath still too fast. “He came,” she says. “Kaelen. He found me. He—” Her voice cracks. “He held me.”
“Of course he did.” I tear a strip from my coat, press it to the wound on her thigh. “He’d crawl through hell for you. Bleed for you. Die for you. And you—” I meet her gaze, “—you cut yourself open to get away from him.”
“I didn’t want to be controlled,” she whispers.
“And now you’re not.” I lean closer. “But are you free? Or just alone?”
She doesn’t answer.
Just closes her eyes, a tear slipping down her temple.
And I know.
She’s not free.
She’s lost.
Because breaking the bond didn’t free her from the truth.
It just left her with nothing to hold onto.
“You need to heal,” I say, standing. “You’re weak. Bleeding. And Malrik’s still out there. He’ll come for you now. When you’re vulnerable. When you’re alone.”
“Then let him come.”
“And if he kills you?”
“Then I die.”
I don’t flinch. Just study her—really study her. The defiance. The pain. The way her fingers twitch toward the journal still tucked in her belt. She’s not just broken from the ritual. She’s broken from the truth.
And that’s the real danger.
Not the fever.
Not the wounds.
But the emptiness behind her eyes.
“You think this is the end,” I say, voice low. “You think breaking the bond means you’ve won. But it doesn’t. It just means the real fight begins now.”
“And what do you know about it?” she snaps. “You’re not the one who bled. You’re not the one who loved him. You’re not the one who—”
“I know about oaths,” I interrupt. “About betrayal. About love that feels like a cage.” I crouch beside her again, my voice soft. “I was exiled from the Fae Court for refusing to bind myself to a mate I didn’t love. They called it defiance. I called it survival. And I’ve spent centuries running from the chains they tried to put on me.” I tilt my head. “Sound familiar?”
She doesn’t answer.
Just looks at me—her silver eyes searching mine, her breath shallow.
“You didn’t break the bond because you hate Kaelen,” I say. “You broke it because you’re afraid. Afraid that if you stay, if you love him, if you trust him—you’ll lose yourself. That the vengeance you came for will burn away in the heat of his touch.” I lean closer. “But here’s the truth, little Moonblood: you’re already lost. The moment you let him hold you. The moment you kissed him. The moment you let him bleed for you—you stopped being just a weapon. And that terrifies you.”
Her breath hitches.
“So you cut yourself free,” I continue. “But freedom without purpose is just another kind of prison.”
She turns her head, staring at the cracked ritual circle. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”
“Then let me help you.”
She laughs—hollow, broken. “And what do you want in return? A favor? A kiss? A century of debt?”
“Yes.” I smile, sharp and dangerous. “One kiss. One century of debt. That’s the price.”
She doesn’t move. Just watches me—her eyes narrowing, her pulse fluttering in her throat.
“You’re serious,” she whispers.
“Deadly.” I reach into my coat, pull out a small silver vial—etched with Fae runes, filled with swirling mist. “This is a Fae oath. Binding. Unbreakable. You drink it, and the magic seals the contract. One kiss. One century. And in return—I’ll heal you. Protect you. Help you find the truth. Not the lies. Not the secrets. The real truth. The one Malrik and Kaelen are both hiding.”
Her breath stops.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you die here. Alone. Forgotten. And Malrik wins.”
She doesn’t look away. Just stares at the vial—its swirling mist, its ancient power. “You’re not doing this out of kindness.”
“No,” I admit. “I’m doing it because I see something in you. Something dangerous. And I want to see what happens when you’re unleashed.” I lean closer. “So what’s it going to be, Sage? Die in silence? Or live with a debt?”
The silence stretches.
Heavy. Thick. Like the breath before a storm.
And then—
She reaches for the vial.
Not fast. Not reckless.
Slow. Deliberate. Like she knows exactly what she’s signing.
She uncorks it.
And drinks.
The mist vanishes down her throat. Her body arches. A gasp tears from her lips. And then—
Light.
Not fire. Not magic.
Pure, silver light—bursting from her skin, from her eyes, from her very bones. The runes on her arms flare. The sigils beneath her gloves ignite. The wound above her heart seals. The blood on her thigh stops weeping. The cut on her palm closes.
And the fever—
It burns out.
She collapses back, gasping, her body trembling, her eyes wide with shock.
“It’s done,” I say, taking the vial. “The oath is sealed. The debt is yours.”
She looks at me—her silver eyes blazing. “One kiss. One century. That’s the price.”
“That’s the price.” I smirk. “And don’t worry. I’ll collect. Eventually.”
She doesn’t smile. Just sits up—slow, careful, testing her strength. “Why help me?” she asks. “You could’ve left me to die.”
“Because I know what it’s like to be trapped,” I say. “By blood. By duty. By love that feels like a noose. And because—” I step closer, “—I think you’re going to burn the world down. And I want a front-row seat.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just stands, her body steady, her magic humming beneath her skin. “Then let’s go.”
“Go where?”
“To the truth.” She picks up her dagger, wipes the blood on her coat. “Malrik loved my mother. Kaelen knew. But there’s more. I can feel it. And I’m going to find it—on my own terms.”
I nod. “Then you’ll need this.” I hand her a small obsidian key—etched with Fae runes. “It opens the Archive of Whispers. Beneath the old city. Where the Fae kept their darkest secrets. Where even Malrik hasn’t dared to look.”
She takes it. “And if he’s waiting?”
“Then you’ll have me.” I offer my arm. “Shall we?”
She doesn’t take it.
Just walks past me, toward the tunnel.
But I follow.
Because I know—
This isn’t the end.
It’s the beginning.
The tunnels are silent as we move—her footsteps steady, mine like a shadow. The bioluminescent moss pulses faintly, casting blue light on the slick stone walls. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look back. Just walks—her body healed, her magic restored, her mind a storm.
And I know.
She’s not running anymore.
She’s hunting.
We reach the hidden passage. I press the key into the sigil. The stone groans open. Moonlight spills through—cold, silver, full of secrets.
She steps out first.
Into the night.
Into the ruins.
Into the war.
And I follow—because I made a choice.
Not for her.
Not for Kaelen.
But for the chaos she’ll bring.
And when she turns to me—her silver eyes blazing, her voice low—I know.
“One kiss,” she says. “One century. But don’t think this means I trust you.”
“Oh, I don’t,” I say, smirking. “But you will.”
And then—
We vanish into the dark.
Because the truth is waiting.
And it’s going to burn.