“They make you feel close to him,” he states, and I nod despite him not having asked me a question.
“They do. Beyond the Southern Cross and the Great Bear, I could never remember the constellations. But I recall him pointing them out to me, telling me their stories. He used to say they were a map for the soul.”
Solan hums softly, still tracing idle patterns against my skin. “A map for the soul,” he repeats, the words heavy with thought. “It’s a beautiful idea. Perhaps these stars are guiding us too.”
“Maybe.” I tilt my head to meet his gaze. His golden eyes glow faintly in the dim starlight, full of warmth and intensity. “Do they mean anything to you? In your world?”
His expression softens as he considers my question. “In my world, the stars were considered… warnings, signs of what might come. But here, they feel different. They don’t hold the same weight of fate.” His fingers still on my lips for a moment, then slide down to rest lightly against my throat. “Here, they feel like a reminder that there’s more. That no matter what happens, there’s something vast and unchanging beyond all this chaos.”
I smile at the sentiment, feeling a flicker of comfort. “That’s a nice thought.”
“It’s you,” he murmurs, leaning closer. “You remind me there’s more. That there’s still a future worth fighting for.”
Solan’s fingers return to my face and trace along my jawline, slow and deliberate, the warmth of his touch grounding me. The gentle pressure steadies the current of emotions surging between us even as his gaze searches mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch.
And no bullshit, I’m close to damn swooning. Have you ever heard prettier words? ’Cause I absolutely have not.
“You’re my tether,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough like gravel smoothed by time. “No matter what happens, no matter where this road takes us—you’re my anchor. My reason.”
I don’t know what to say to that. His words are heavy with meaning, a weight I’m not sure I can carry but also can’t imagine letting go of. Instead, I lean in, letting my lips find his in a kiss that starts as soft as a whisper.
It deepens quickly. Solan’s hand moves to cradle the back of my head, tilting me closer. His lips part against mine, and the taste of him sends a shiver down my spine. It’s not frantic or hurried; it’s deliberate and consuming, the kind of kiss that demands everything and gives me everything in return. His other hand slips around my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat matching my own.
I lose myself in the feel of him—the heat of his mouth, the roughness of his palm against my lower back, the quiet, desperate sound he makes when I sigh into the kiss. It’s overwhelming and perfect, and it’s everything I didn’t know I needed until now.
But reality crashes back too quickly. A branch creaks somewhere in the distance—likely Calythra shifting his weight in the tree—and I pull back, reluctantly breaking the connection. My forehead rests against Solan’s as we both catch our breath, the night air cool against my flushed skin.
“We can’t,” I whisper even though my body protests the words. “Not here.”
His golden eyes flicker with frustration, but he nods, pressing one last featherlight kiss to my lips before pulling back. “You’re right,” he concedes, his voice tinged with regret. “But don’t think I won’t find a better time.”
I laugh softly, brushing my fingers over the soft skin of his jaw. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Solan grumbles, a low sound of frustration that makes me laugh. “It’s unfair,” he mutters, his hand sliding down to rest on my hip. “You make me forget everything else.”
“I know,” I admit, still smiling. “But we have bigger things to worry about right now.”
He sighs even as his gaze softens. “The rebellion,” he says, and it’s clear the shift in focus is as much to ground himself as it is to inform me. “What else do you want to know?”
“Everything,” I admit, settling against him, his arm once again my makeshift pillow. “But start with what you think is most important. You know a hell of a lot more about this world than I do.”
Solan’s brow furrows slightly as he considers my question. “The Riftborn… they’re not a united front. Not entirely, I don’t think. They’re made up of different groups—some of them fiercely independent, others willing to work together for a greater cause. The problem is, their goals aren’t always aligned. Some want to overthrow the realm completely, dismantle its structure, and start over. Others just want equal rights for those not born here.”
“Like you. And me.”
He nods, his jaw tightening. “Like us. But even within the rebellion, there’s disagreement. Some believe those not born of this world, like the two of us, shouldn’t be part of it. They thinkthe merging of worlds is a curse and that outsiders don’t belong here.”
“That’s… comforting,” I mutter, though the sarcasm in my voice does little to mask my unease. “And yet Calythra wants to take us to them?” Confusion prickles through me, tightening my chest. “Even the nameRiftbornimplies they’re fightingforpeople like us—those who came through the merges, no matter the species, so why would any of them be against humans or anyone else not born here? Doesn’t that go against everything they’re supposed to stand for?”
Solan’s expression darkens, his golden eyes glinting with the weight of unspoken knowledge. “You’d think so,” he says, voice low and measured. “But the rebellion isn’t a single mind moving in perfect harmony. It’s a fractured body with too many voices. Some fight for the freedom of everyone not born here—humans, Pyronox, and any other species pulled into this world. Others… they see certain groups as a threat. A danger to their fragile cause.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I snap, frustration bubbling over. “We’re all in the same boat. All thrown here without a choice.”
“It is,” he agrees softly, brushing his fingers over mine to calm me. “But fear makes people do ridiculous things. When survival is on the line, some believe unity is strength. Others….” He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “They think isolation and exclusion will protect what they’ve managed to build.”
I shake my head, the explanation doing little to settle my confusion—or my anger. “And we’re supposed to trust them?”
“We’re supposed to survive,” Solan answers, his voice firm but tinged with something vulnerable. “That’s the choice we’re left with.”
