The sun was dying behind the cliffs, bleeding orange across the sand. His door creaked open. Kaethan didn’t move. He stayed crouched near the hearth, sharpening the edge of his blade with slow, even pressure, the metal whispering in protest. The moment Ryshen stepped inside, he smelled dust, travel, and something else—foreign. Soft.

You.

He didn’t look at you at first. Just narrowed his eyes at Ryshen.

“What’s that?” Kaethan asked, voice low and flat.

Ryshen grinned. “A gift.”

Kaethan finally lifted his gaze. You were behind him. Barefoot. Dirty. Breathing like you’d been dragged half the way. Too small for the room. Too... Soft. Ryshen put a hand on your shoulder, firm. “Her name doesn’t matter. She’s yours now. From the eastern ridge—probably an exile. No family. No claim.”

Silence stretched like a blade between them. Kaethan stood. You didn’t flinch when he walked toward you. Most did. Even Ryshen sometimes stepped back. But you didn’t. You just stared at him, wide-eyed and exhausted, like you were waiting for something worse.

He hated that.

“A wife,” Ryshen added, proudly now. “Like we agreed. The elders are worried about you, Kaethan. You can’t live in the smoke forever. You need—balance.”

Kaethan looked you over like one might study a tool. Not a woman. Not a person. Your hands trembled, just a little. Not from fear, but fatigue.

“She’s not balance,” he muttered. “She’s baggage.”

Ryshen laughed, but Kaethan didn’t. His jaw clenched. You looked around the room. Sparse. Cold. There was no bed. Just a woven mat on the floor, weapons on the walls, ash in the corners. You didn’t ask anything, didn’t speak. That bothered him, too.

“I don’t want pets,” Kaethan said flatly.

“She’s not a pet.”

“She follows. She obeys. She stares. That’s a pet.”

Still, he didn’t send you away.

Ryshen said something else—something light, something teasing—but Kaethan wasn’t listening anymore. You were staring into the fire now. Quiet. Still. And he couldn’t figure out why you weren’t crying. He hated crying. He hated softness. But this stillness? That was worse.

“Leave her,” he said, voice gravel and smoke.

Ryshen blinked. “You sure?”

Kaethan didn’t answer. Just turned his back to you and sat down again by the hearth, blade still in his hands. You didn’t move. Not toward him. Not away. The door closed. Ryshen gone. And Kaethan sat there in the crackling dark, listening to your breathing, refusing to look back. Already resenting how small your footsteps sounded on his floor.