Chapter 16

Mirri and I stayed that way for a while - me sitting on the cold ground, her curled comfortably in my lap, my arms wrapped around her as we shared what warmth we could in the night air. Eventually the chill began to seep in and we decided to head back inside, climbing the stairs to the rooms hand in hand.

I still didn’t know what to make of the night. Too much had happened, too many truths uncovered all at once, and I didn’t yet understand what any of it meant. At our doors we paused, shared a hug, and then a kiss that lingered just a heartbeat too long to be considered innocent, before we reluctantly separated and went to our respective rooms.

I closed the door behind me and leaned back against it, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness. Everything had changed. And all I could think was how desperately I hoped I wouldn’t ruin it.

I didn’t know how much of what Mirri had said was true. But she was perceptive - better at reading people than most gave her credit for. And I knew the girls talked. They always did. I wasn’t around for those conversations, and I certainly wouldn’t have been if the topic was me.

My gaze drifted to Ashlara, already asleep in the bed. Was she really attracted to me? If Mirri and I became something more, would that hurt her? Was it even possible to date two people without jealousy tearing everything apart?

Ashlara was fascinating - strong, capable, striking in a way that had nothing to do with softness. As we’d travelled together, we’d found an easy rhythm. She could be surprisingly gentle at times, and at others sharp and prickly, but I trusted her completely. I knew she’d protect me without hesitation. I only hoped that one day she might feel the same way about me.

But did she feel that way? She’d never shown any obvious interest. In me, or in anyone. Sometimes she acted… oddly, but I’d always chalked it up to social awkwardness. Maybe there was more to it. Maybe she simply didn’t know how to act. If she truly was inexperienced, maybe she’d been alone for so long that loneliness had become normal.

The thought made my chest ache. She deserved happiness. As much as anyone. Could I give her that? I had no idea. I didn’t even know where I’d begin.

I let out a quiet breath, kicked off my boots, and climbed into bed. Whatever tomorrow held, it would come soon enough. Maybe then I’d find some answers.

* * *

The rooms at the Lucky Rut were so small that we needed two. Mirri and Serah took one, which left Seth and me sharing the other. I told myself not to dwell on it, but the thought lingered anyway. Would I have preferred to room with one of the others?

Being alone with him for too long made me uncomfortable, and I didn’t fully understand why. It wasn’t fear. I knew, without question, that if he ever tried anything I could snap him like a twig. And he never had tried anything. He was… decent. Kind, even. When we first met he’d been useless, but he was improving. Slowly, painfully so at times, but he tried. He always tried. Even when I pushed him hard. Maybe harder than I should have.

There were moments when I felt proud of him. His courage. His stubborn refusal to give up. The way he kept looking for ways to be useful, even when he stumbled and failed and made a fool of himself. I wondered if Chamberlin had ever looked at me that way - watching me grow, struggling with my flaws, trying to become better than I was yesterday.

But pride didn’t make my chest tighten. Pride didn’t make it hard to breathe.

Something else did. The way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. The way he smelled after training. The way he’d felt in my arms when I held him after he was hurt. That sensation - the tightness, the unease - it scared me. I hated it. I should have been able to master it, the same way I mastered my rage. But no matter how I tried to ignore it or lock it away, it stayed.

Worse, I felt like he could see it. Every awkward word. Every poorly chosen action. He saw my uncertainty, my weakness, and it made me flush with shame.

Mirri never struggled like that. She always knew what to say, how to act, how to bend with whatever situation she found herself in. Effortless. Perfect. And I was… me.

She talked about sex constantly - openly, casually, as if it were no different than discussing the weather. She made it sound wonderful. Powerful. Magical. And I’d even told her… I shouldn’t have said anything. It was stupid, but I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t know how she did it, but when Mirri was around my guard slipped and my mouth betrayed me. She never laughed. Never judged. She just listened, like she was grateful for the trust. Like she was happy to have someone to talk to.

But the things she said lingered. They made my discomfort around Seth worse. Sometimes I found myself wondering what sex would be like. With him. The thought startled me every time. I’d never wondered that about anyone else. Not the boys from the village. I knew what they wanted, and I knew they didn’t care about me. They weren’t like Seth.

I went into the room, set my axe and shield aside, pulled off my boots, and climbed into bed. I didn’t want to think anymore. I didn’t want to feel the sadness that crept in when my thoughts went down this path. So I closed my eyes and **** myself to sleep.

An hour later, Seth got up. He was having trouble sleeping too. He moved quietly, slipping on his boots and leaving the room. I don’t think he realized I was still awake. But when the door closed behind him, the room felt emptier than it had before.

I must have drifted off, because I woke when the door opened again. Old habits die hard - years of distrust meant I woke at the slightest disturbance. Seth slipped back inside and closed the door softly. He leaned against it for a moment, lost in thought. His expression was hard to read. Upset? Relieved? Confused?

His gaze drifted to me and lingered. I kept my eyes barely slit, my breathing slow and even, pretending to sleep. His face softened. There was something almost sad there, and that tightness returned to my chest, sharp and unwelcome. I wanted to reach out. To hold him. I didn’t move.

Fear kept me still. He thought I was asleep. This was his moment, not mine. I couldn’t risk saying or doing something foolish.

Eventually he pulled off his boots and climbed into bed. Minutes later his breathing evened out, deep and steady. I lay awake long after, staring into the dark, wondering why I felt this way - and what it meant that I did.

* * *

I woke to the soft sound of movement. Ashlara was already up, gathering her things with the efficient, no-nonsense motions of someone who’d slept just enough and not a moment more.

My dreams lingered as I stirred - warm, gentle things, full of care and closeness and an unfamiliar sense of peace. I felt lighter, like a weight I’d carried for years had finally been set down without me noticing. I sat up and smiled at her.

She grunted, frowned as if the expression surprised her, and left the room.

I swung my legs out of bed, stretched the stiffness from my back, pulled on my boots, and followed her out. In the hall I nearly ran into Mirri as she stepped from her room. She smiled when she saw me, bright and unguarded, and it all rushed back at once.

The dreams were real. The night in the alley. Mirri in my arms. My reflection in the water - young again. Her words. The things she’d said about Ashlara. About Serah. About me.

Heat crept up my neck and into my cheeks. I suddenly had no idea where to put my hands or where to look. I didn’t know how to do this. I hadn’t dated in decades, if you could even call what I’d done dating. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I didn’t want to make a mess of something fragile before I even understood it. The feeling was like trying to keep my head above water while the current pulled at my feet.

Mirri didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. Instinct took over and I held her back, my heart hammering so hard I was sure she could feel it through my chest. We stayed like that for a long moment, the hallway quiet around us.

She pulled back just enough to take my hand. Her fingers were warm and steady.

“Come on, hero,” she said with a grin. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

* * *

The next few days passed much like the last few days. Only they were different. Very different.

We walked. We trained at lunch. We walked again. I practiced the guitar and the focusing exercises. Mirri was grace and warmth and quiet brilliance, and I was clumsy and self-conscious, painfully aware that everyone knew why. And I was terrified of screwing it all up.

Ashlara was quieter than usual. When we trained, she hit harder and corrected less. There was an edge to her movements that hadn’t been there before. I tried to talk to her, but she was hard to reach on a good day, and now she seemed to be actively avoiding me. I couldn’t tell if she was angry, hurt, or just retreating into herself.

Serah, somehow, seemed untouched by it all. Or at least she didn’t care to show it. She remained distant and regal, polite but aloof, watching everything with those sharp, knowing, amber eyes. My own awkwardness only made it harder to bridge that gap.

That night, after we made camp, I pulled out the guitar and ran through my scales. My fingers moved more confidently now, sliding along the strings without quite so much hesitation. I shifted between random chords, forcing my hands to learn the transitions, trying to build muscle memory.

“Are you ever going to actually play that thing?” Serah asked, her voice cutting through the quiet as my fingers plucked at the strings.

I stopped. “You… want me to play a song?” I asked, suddenly acutely aware of everyone around me.

“Isn’t that what it’s for?” she replied coolly. “You’ve been making the same unpleasant noises for a week.”

She wasn’t wrong. No one wanted to listen to endless scales every night. I swallowed and nodded to myself. I should be able to play something by now. There had to be a song I knew well enough not to butcher.

I closed my eyes and searched my memory. There was only one that surfaced - simple, familiar, burned into me from years ago. A song from another life.

I took a breath and began picking the strings, slow and deliberate. The notes came out clean, repeating in a steady pattern. As I played, small variations crept in, and with them a sense of calm. My shoulders loosened. My fingers stopped shaking.

I kept my eyes on the strings, focused on the movement, changing chords every few measures. And then I started to sing. I wasn’t sure if I could stop the words if I tried. But I didn’t want to. This was a taste of my childhood. Something I’d lost. Something I hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

“So close, no matter far… Couldn’t be much more from the heart… Forever trust in who we are… And nothing else matters…”

The words slipped out quietly at first, low and steady. It felt like opening a door I’d kept shut for a long time. A piece of my past I thought I’d lost for good.

When I reached the chorus, I shifted into strumming. The chords were fuller, slower, heavier. Then I drifted back into picking, into the melody that felt like home. I made it through the interlude, then stumbled a little through the instrumental break. By the outro, I’d recovered, and brought it all to a gentle close.

When the last note faded, I finally looked up.

Ashlara had stopped sharpening her axe, her hand frozen mid-stroke. I had no idea how long she’d been watching. Serah regarded me with an unreadable expression, one brow slightly raised. Mirri’s eyes were wet, her cheeks streaked with tears, and she was smiling so hard it looked like it hurt.

For a heartbeat, no one said anything. Then Mirri burst into applause, clapping like she’d just witnessed something incredible.

Ashlara stood and walked away without a word.

Serah gave a short nod and the faintest smirk.

I sat there, guitar still in my hands, heart pounding. I didn’t know if I’d played it well. I knew I’d stumbled. But I’d played a song. I’d finished it. And that small victory filled me with a quiet, stubborn pride.

Maybe this was something I could do after all.