Page 101 of Unravelled
“I figured you’d come back here first,” he said simply, stepping aside to make space for her.
Mira nodded, closing the door behind her. “Good guess.”
She moved toward him, taking the items without ceremony, her fingers brushing his in passing. The touch didn’t spark tension the way it might have weeks ago. Whatever weight had once stretched between them had shifted into something simpler. Friendship.
“Thank you,” she added, almost as an afterthought.
Tharion only nodded, already turning away to shrug off his outer layers. She tossed her crossbow onto a nearby chair as they dressed in silence.
“The resistance is mobilizing and marching on the palace” Tharion said as he strapped on his greaves. “Scouts say we’ve got less than an hour.”
Mira paused, her hand halfway to the buckle on her vambrace. The words didn’t sit right. Cold slipped down her spine like a premonition.
“No,” she murmured, half to herself. “That’s not who this is.”
Tharion looked over, frowning. “What?”
She shook her head, finishing the strap with more force than necessary. “It’s not the resistance. It’s the Kharadors.”
Tharion adjusted the last strap. "Are sure?"
Mira met his eyes, "They've crossed the border." His brows drew together, sharp and uncertain.
When she moved to retrieve her crossbow, his voice came again, quiet but firm. “I'll go with you.”
Mira slung the strap over her shoulder, turning toward him. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
Tharion gave a smile. “I wasn’t offering to be one.” She blinked. “I’m offering an ally,” he added, voice steady. “I'll watch your back, if you watch mine.”
She held his gaze for a beat longer as she tucked a knife into her belt. Then she offered her hand. Tharion clasped it without hesitation.
“Deal.” she said quietly.
There was warmth in her tone, trust, quiet and steady. They stood in the center of the room, the setting sun slanting through the windows, catching on the worn edges of their leather armor. Not friends clinging to the past. Not lovers mourning what might have been. Just two warriors, standing side by side, ready to face whatever came next, together.
Mira let out a breath, low and even. “Let’s go.”
28
The steps of the palace were alive with movement, soldiers tightening armor, sharpening blades, preparing for what was to come. The air was thick with the scent of steel and sweat, with the tension of those who knew the next few hours would shape the fate of the kingdom.
Carved from ancient stone, the grand staircase leading to the palace was wide enough for an army to ascend in formation. Its edges were lined with statues of past rulers, their marble visages watching over the city as they had for centuries. Though time had worn down the sharp details of their faces, their presence remained, silent witnesses to the rise and fall of kings.
The palace walls, carved from pale stone and inlaid with veins of lapis and quartz, glowed as if they had captured the last remnants of daylight, pristine, whole, unscathed by the suffering that festered just beyond their reach.
Mira and Tharion arrived just as Ren’s voice rose above the murmurs of the gathered royal guard.
“…we fight for our people, for our home, for every life that stands behind these walls!” His voice carried, steady and unyielding, cutting through the crisp evening air.
“The Khadradors think they will take what is ours, that we will falter. But we will not! We do not yield. We make our stand, and they will know that Bharalyn is not theirs to claim!”
A roar of approval swept through the assembled warriors, the clatter of weapons and pounding of fists against armor ringing in unison. Mira felt the fire of his words stir something deep in her chest.
Ren’s gaze swept over the crowd, searching, until it landed on her. The noise faded away. His eyes locked onto hers, steady and fierce, and in them, she swore she could hear him. It was almost as if he had spoken aloud.
Strike true, be safe.
Her heart tightened, but she did not look away. She answered.
