Once her wet heat was pressed up against me, it was like I lost all reason. She snapped her hips down and I rammed myself into the hilt, both of us moaning as I lost myself in the sensation.
Wet. Hot. Soft. Tight.
My hips moved on their own, and she answered me, darkness calling to light, two sides to one coin, two lives joined into one.
She was breathing fast now, and her head was thrown back as she moaned between pants, and she was encouraging me with every other breath—long, low moans of my name, and desperate cries formoreandharderandfasterand it was all I could do to keep my head.
And then suddenly everything snapped tight, and I was falling, falling—I pushed my fingers between us to stroke her, wanting her to join me—her voice broke as she called my name—our magic bursting outward in a wave that rattled the trees and startled birds into flight—and then there was no more talking, except for the sound of us panting in unison.
For the first time, I didn’t feel like a creature of shadow pretending at humanity. I felt like a man. Her man.
After a long silence, Elena spoke again, mischief in her voice. “Dario, I wasgoingto ask you what’s next for us,” she said, andthen laughed as she continued: “but I think the first thing we need to donextis go clothes shopping.”
I laughed, using my shadows to cover us both, now that I had ruined our clothes in my…ardor. I lay down again, pulling Elena close as I pondered.What’s next for us?
For so long, my life had been a series of battles, a struggle to survive, to find meaning in the darkness.
But now, with her by my side, the possibilities felt endless, each one more alluring than the last.
We lay tangled in the grass long after, my shadows spread beneath us like a second blanket, her silver hair fanned across my chest. The sun was sinking, painting the canopy in gold and crimson.
Her earlier question resurfaced, tugging at me. “Elena,” I said. “I think,” I began slowly, “that I want to create a life filled with meaning, with purpose. And I want to build something. Something of our own. Not a temple. Not a kingdom. But a place where both light and shadow belong. A haven.”
Her eyes shone. “A home.”
The word settled in me like a stone dropped into still water, ripples spreading outward. Home. Not a forest of exile. Not a temple of duty. A home, built by our hands, for whoever needed it.
I pressed a kiss to her hair, whispering against her temple, “Yes. A home. I want to see the world beyond Solaris, but… more than anything, I want to share it with you.”
Her smile widened, a warmth in her gaze that made my heart race. “Then let’s do that,” she replied softly. “Let’s build something new together, a life that belongs to us.”
We lay there until the stars began to show, speaking of mountains and seas we had never seen, of libraries we might plunder, of children’s laughter in a place we had yet to build. Dreams, fragile and bright, stitched between us with every word.
And when silence finally fell, it was the kind of silence that promised more—that whispered of dawns yet to come, of journeys yet to be taken.
For the first time in a hundred years, I looked at the future and did not see darkness.
I saw her.
And a hundred more years of quiet, unbreakable joy.
Epilogue: A shadow in the deep
The tower clung to the cliffs like a parasite, half-carved into the stone, half-raised from blackened timbers and bleached bones.
No map showed its location; no sailor dared approach the waters that churned beneath it. Only the most reckless gulls wheeled above, and even they veered away when the tide carried the scent of sulfur and blood.
Inside, the air stank of seawater and rot. Broken glass littered the floor—remnants of potions and elixirs shattered in his first days of fury after the battle. The walls were lined with shelves of ancient leather books, their ink faded to whispers of ink and dust.
Charts and scrolls covered every surface, marked in his neat, meticulous hand: diagrams of skeletal structures, organs half-human and half-beast, transmutation circles etched in black ink and dark blood.
Rindais sat hunched over a central worktable. A gash on his forearm pulsed as he pressed his fingers against his skin, but he hardly noticed the sting anymore.
Pain had become a constant companion since he’d staggered away from that final battle with Elena and Dario, retreating into the dark corners of the world to nurse his wounds and, more importantly, his pride.
His pale skin was mottled with bruises, his once-pristinerobes burned and frayed. Every breath was shallow, rattling with the damage Elena’s light had inflicted. Every exhale was laced with rage.
He traced a fingertip over a page of one of his own journals, a grim smile curving his lips as he reread his notes.The shadows cannot be commanded. But perhaps they can be imitated. Bent. Refined.
