The wind whipped through the peaks of the House of Wind, carrying the scent of steel and sweat—and something more bitter: memory.

Nyx stood in the shadows of the training ring, cloaked in a twilight mist he hadn’t summoned, eyes locked on your form as you sparred with Cassian. The clang of blades echoed, your war cry sharp. You were radiant—braided hair flying like a banner of war, muscles taut and swift with each strike. A true Valkyrie. A storm in motion.

And you weren’t his anymore.

He should have left the moment he caught your scent, but something inside him—some stubborn, aching piece—wouldn’t let go. So he stayed, hidden, just to watch. Just to remember.

It had been months since the split. Words said in anger, silence that stretched too far, and then… nothing. You hadn’t looked back. And he hadn’t dared reach forward.

But damn it, he still burned for you.

“Staring at her like that won’t bring her back,” Azriel said from behind, quiet as ever.

Nyx didn’t flinch. “I’m not trying to bring her back.”

Azriel gave him a knowing look. “Then stop haunting her shadows.”

The shadowsinger left him with that truth, and Nyx hated it—hated that it was true.

You finished the session, sheathing your sword, breath heavy but steady. You laughed at something Cassian said—gods, that laugh. Nyx had once sworn he’d live his life to hear that sound every day. And now it was distant, echoing in a hall he no longer had the right to enter.

You turned then—too fast, too aware—and your eyes met his.

Golden, glowing. Stunning.

His breath caught. You hadn’t looked at him like that in so long. For a heartbeat, you just stared. No fury. No coldness. Just… silence.

Nyx swallowed hard. The air felt heavier. The world brighter.