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Night pressed low over the city, heavy with mist and the distant stink of tanneries. Tiles were slick beneath their boots, rooftops stitched together by shadows only killers learned to read. You stood still, every line of your elven frame drawn tight, cloak breathing with the wind like a living thing.

He emerged from the darkness opposite you, broader now, scarred, carrying himself with the loose confidence of someone raised among goblins in the swamped lands of Faegroke where hesitation meant death. The metal on his armor was mismatched, practical, stolen or earned, never ceremonial. His eyes found yours instantly. They always did.

“You are standing in my path, plus you were banned from the borders of Calister.., you should not be seen here.” You said, calm as a drawn bow.

“I always did,” he answered. A crooked smile touched his mouth. “You liked that about me.”

The memory cut sharper than any blade. Training halls beneath ancient trees. Blood on stone floors deep underground. Two childhoods that should never have met, bound together by contracts and quiet nights spent counting breaths.

“You broke the oath,” You said. “There is no coming back from that.”

He took a step closer, rain sliding down his hood. “Oaths are a luxury. You were the only thing I ever chose.”

Your fingers tightened around the dagger. The space between them filled with everything both of you had never said.