Page 145 of Unravelled
???
Ren
The clang of steel rang through the courtyard, sharp and rhythmic, the crisp morning air thick with the scent of sun-warmed stone and sweat. Ren barely felt the weight of his blade as he landed a strike, twisting at the last second before countering with a precise, punishing jab.
Ren scoffed, shaking the tension from his shoulders. “Still got your head full of Brahn, have you?”
Tharion grunted, stepping back just enough to bare his teeth “Careful, Ren. Too soon, even for you."
Ren’s smirk faded. The space between them stilled. No more jabs, no more bravado, just a glance that held the weight of grief within Tharion but not spoken aloud.Tharion nodded once, wordless, but clear. Attack me again.
Ren lunged again. A test. A challenge. Their swords met in a flurry of movement, quick, brutal, familiar. The tempo of the fight was second nature, a comfort. A distraction. Tharion welcomed it, sinking into the fluid exchange of blade and instinct, letting the world fade away.
Pain ripped through Ren. A jagged, brutal tear through the bond, like being ripped open from the inside out. Ren's breath vanished. His knees buckled. His sword slipped from his grasp, the metal clattering against stone, but he didn’t hear it.
A scream tore through his mind. Mira. Fear. Pain. Agony. It slammed into him, raw and unrelenting, a force so overwhelming it stole the strength from his limbs. His vision blurred, his pulse roaring, his entire body locking up beneath the weight of it. Someone called his name. Distant. Muffled. Meaningless.
Ren ran. His boots pounded against stone, his heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to break free. The pain sharpened. Wilder. Sharper. A pull. A violent, sickening tug. Like a thread being torn from his chest.
Then, nothing. A muted, distant echo of what had once been fire. A whisper of her, so faint it barely existed. His breath tore from his throat in a ragged, panicked gasp.
His legs burned, but he didn't stop. Wouldn't stop. Stone blurred past him as he sprinted through the castle corridors, barely aware of the startled guards, the whispers, the eyes turning toward him in confusion. He couldn’t feel his hands. Couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own racing pulse.
The altar doors loomed ahead. He threw them open, the wood slamming against the stone walls so hard the entire chamber seemed to shake, The world shattered.
On the dais. Under the glow of the stained-glass window. Mira lay still. Her auburn hair spilled over the cold marble, her dress fanned out around her, delicate folds of fabric like the petals of a flower wilting in winter frost.
The light from the window painted her in fractured colors, blue, gold, red, but she was pale. Too pale. The bond, the flame that had burned between them, was barely a whisper. Ren’s breath left him in a ragged, gasping cry.
He stumbled down the aisle, barely catching himself as he collapsed onto the dais, his hands shaking violently as he reached for her. His fingers cupped her face, his thumb skimming over her burning cheek, his breath coming in uneven, desperate gasps.
She was breathing, barely. Her pulse weak, her body too still. She was too warm. Ren pressed his forehead against hers, his entire body shaking with the force of his desperation.
“Don’t do this,” he whispered against her skin, his voice breaking. “Don’t leave me.”
Silence. A shadow shifted in the room. Ren’s head snapped up. Caelric. He stood near the stained-glass window, broad shoulders framed by the shifting colored light, his hands clasped behind his back. Watching. Waiting.
Ren’s grief twisted into something violent. Something raw and ravenous. His chest heaved, his pulse thundered in his ears, his vision blurred with fury and disbelief. She was right there, but he couldn’t feel her. His heart shattered.
Ren lurched forward, voice breaking open in a scream. “What have you done to her?”
Caelric looked at him. Steady. Unflinching. But he said nothing. Not a word.
His arms tightened around her, like he could hold her together just by keeping her close. His fingers curled into the fabric of her dress, into her, as if anchoring himself to the only thing that mattered.
His hands trembled as he adjusted his grip, sliding one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back. He lifted her gently, carefully.
She didn’t stir. Her head lolled softly against his shoulder, her breath still there, but faint. Too faint. The bond remained silent. Hollow. Ren’s throat burned with everything he couldn’t scream. He turned without a word, not sparing Caelric a second glance.
Ren barely felt the cold stone beneath his boots as he carried Mira through the palace corridors, his arms locked tightly around her fragile form.The halls blurred around him, but the weight in his arms was the only thing grounding him. Every step pounded against his ribs, an echo of the suffocating wrongness pressing into his chest.
Ren reached their chambers and shouldered open the door, nearly stumbling in his urgency. He crossed the threshold and lowered Mira onto their bed, his hands trembling as his fingers brushed her cheek. She was still burning up.
A strangled sound escaped his throat as he collapsed onto the edge of the mattress, his shoulders heaving with the effort to keep himself together. His hand trembled as it smoothed back Mira’s hair, tucking loose strands behind her ear.
His thumb ghosted over her temple, tracing slow circles, as if that alone could tether her to him. His palm cupped her cheek, lingering there, absorbing the unnatural warmth of her skin. His vision blurred. His throat tightened. His body shook.
“You’re still here,” he whispered hoarsely, voice breaking on the words. “You have to be.”
