He didn’t move for a heartbeat. Then another. And then?—
His whole face changed. The worry, the tension, the age carved by grief and battle— it all lifted, and in its place came light. Pure, undiluted light. His eyes softened like the sun rising over the Icelands, and before I could even take another breath, he closed the space between us.
Two strides. That was all it took. Then his hands were at my waist, strong and warm and anchoring, and his mouth crashed down onto mine.
The kiss was everything I couldn’t remember—and somehow, it was everything I did.
It wasn’t soft, not hesitant. It was a claiming, a reunion, a prayer in motion. His lips moved against mine with hunger and reverence, like he was trying to memorize every angle, every gasp, every part of me he thought was lost.
My fingers tangled in his hair as he deepened the kiss. His arms wrapped tighter, pulling me flush against his chest, and the feel of him—solid and alive and mine—unraveled something deep in me.
He tasted like desperation and promise. Like all the things we never got to say. Like ash and victory and the wind of the Pyme peaks still clinging to his skin.
My body remembered this even if my mind didn’t. The way he held me like I was breakable but indestructible at once. The way our mouths found a rhythm older than either of us. The way his breath hitched when I bit his bottom lip—just enough to remind him I wasn’t afraid.
When we finally parted, we were both breathless.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered against my skin.
“You did,” I breathed back. “But I came back. For you.”
His thumb brushed along my jaw, reverent. “Fraysa herself couldn’t have crafted a more perfect seffy.”
“You’re biased,” I murmured.
“Utterly,” he agreed, and kissed me again—this time slower, deeper, like he meant to stay in that moment until the world forgot time existed. Like it was the first and the last time.
We stood there, breathless from the kiss, our foreheads pressed together, the heat of it still seared into my lips. My heart hadn’t slowed; it beat with a kind of frantic knowing, like something ancient was waking inside it. Like it remembered what I almost lost.
Mallack's hands trembled at my waist. Not from weakness. From restraint. From everything he wasn’t saying. He stepped back slowly, his gaze locked to mine, and in it was everything he wasn't able to say. I read torment and awe dancing in his eyes. Then, with deliberate purpose, he dropped to his knees in front of me.
The world stilled.
This was not a gesture of apology, or even adoration. It was something else entirely. Reverence. Surrender.
“Mallack?” I whispered, startled by the crack in my voice.
His head bowed for only a breath, then lifted. He reached for my hand and placed it atop his head. His skin was warm beneath my fingers, warmer than it should have been. Alive with something... divine.
“You’re mine,” he said, hoarse with emotion. “From the moment I saw you—trulysaw you—I’ve belonged to you.”
I couldn’t speak. The words tangled in my throat. He reached for my other hand and placed it over his heart. I felt it pounding wildly beneath my palm, like it was echoing my own.
“I tried to live without you,” he said. “I tried to carry on. For our son. For duty. But a part of me was always down there in the dark with you.”
I shook my head as tears blurred my vision.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he continued, voice raw. “I’m not asking for vows. I’m not demanding fate. I just need you to know, Daphne, I would kneel a thousand times over if it meant you’d stay.”
His words settled deep into my bones. Deeper than anything ever had. I didn’t know how I knew it—whether it was memory, instinct, or something whispered into my blood by the gods themselves—but Ididknow: the Leanders had three sacred mating rituals.
The first was the binding of the bodies—a public vow, often blessed by an elder or priest, where the couple swore their love and devotion to one another before witnesses.
The second and third were performed in private.
The second was a ceremony of submission, where both partners offered themselves wholly to the other. It was the binding of the minds, an act of trust and surrender, deeper than any physical bond.
The third was the binding of the souls, performed at one of Fraysa’s shrines. Together, the couple would light a candle from the Eternal Flame and swear that they would find one another in the next life, and the next—that their souls were joined from now until eternity.
