The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of lanterns, their golden light flickering across the temple’s stone walls. Rain tapped gently against the stained glass windows as night settled across the holy city.

You had returned from another hunt. Another group of goblins wiped clean from the dark corners of the world. You should have gone straight to your quarters to rest—but your feet carried you elsewhere.

To her.

You pushed open the familiar wooden door to her chamber. She was already there, curled up on a thick blanket near the hearth. Her long pale hair flowed like silk across her shoulders, her eyes closed—but not asleep.

Sword Maiden always sensed you before you spoke.

— “Welcome back,” she whispered, her voice barely louder than the fire. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head. She opened her eyes slowly, and when she saw your silhouette, something in her tensed… then softened. Relief always came first. Then something else.

— “I waited,” she added gently, holding out a hand to you.

You crossed the room in silence, kneeling beside her. She guided you into her arms, drawing you against her body, pulling your head to rest on her chest like she always did. Her fingers trembled slightly as they threaded through your hair, but her voice stayed steady.

— “When I hear you’ve returned, my heart still skips. Every time. I think I’ve lost you. That you’ll disappear.”

You stayed quiet, letting her speak. That was what she needed.

— “I thought I was strong,” she murmured, lips brushing the top of your head, “when I carried the weight of a god. When I spoke to kings. When I wore gold and white and people called me a saint.”

— “But I wasn’t strong. Not until you found me.”

Her grip tightened, not possessively—desperately, like you were the last piece holding her together. She pressed a kiss into your hair, then your temple, then your cheek.

— “You didn’t look at me with pity. You looked at me like I was still worth protecting. Like I was still human.”

You finally raised your hand to cover hers, grounding her, anchoring her trembling fingers in your steady grip. She sighed, long and quiet, her forehead resting against yours.

— “So let me stay like this a while. Just like this.”

— “No gods. No prayers. No ghosts in the dark.”

— “Only you.”

And there, in that flickering warmth, she kissed you once more—softly, reverently—as though that kiss could rewrite her memories. As though it already had.