#time gremlin

It is solitude that walks with him tonight along the blackened bank of the Chionthar, traveling aimlessly in the Sharran cursed lands that are promised to be his final resting grounds. He has no real destination, just a need to walk, to be in motion, to be…well, he does not wish to be alone, but solitude had pulled the hardest at his thoughts all evening. It had still been his choice to heed its siren’s call.

And, perhaps, that is the issue, why his mind is so disquieted even as he relents to his unyielding desire to be in motion. It is his choice to continue indulging solitude even when it is not necessary. He does not need to be alone—truer still, he probably should not be alone tonight, standing on such a precipice as he is. As they all are. Come morning and they would all be facing Ketheric Thorm in Moonrise Towers. Come morning, and the choice that rests before him finally forces its way into being made.

This is, likely, the last night he will see, and he is walking alone along a Shadow Cursed riverbank, barely able to see past his own hand and bound tightly in his own thoughts.

He has no need to be alone, he could be with her…he should be with her. He needs to be with her—as readily as he needs to draw breath—but still he is here, alone. Still, the allure of solitude had pulled him harder, had called louder to the tangled thoughts of his mind—no, no she still calls louder to the thoughts in his mind, even now, but solitude calls louder to the grief. It sings to the guilt and the regret.

He pauses his walking, a sigh escaping his lips as he turns to look out across the water. On a night like tonight, the stars should be glittering in the calm waters of the river. Perhaps the moon’s ethereal glory should be reflected too, though he would admit that since they had stepped into Shar’s curse, he had lost track of what appearance Selûne should be taking now. Instead, the only hint there even is a river flowing next to him are the ripples reflecting the faint firelight from camp, and the light of his own staff—a gentle reminder from her so as not to lose him entirely to the curse…this curse—illuminating the shallow waters near his feet on the bank.

He stares out into the darkness, far beyond the small spot of light his staff is casting, and wonders if anything or anyone would be able to answer him if he calls out to it. Nothing would, he knows this, but the heaviness of solitude’s presence draping itself over his shoulders makes him consider trying regardless. He has never felt quite so crushed—quite so oppressed under the weight of solitude before now. It is enough to labor his breathing, enough to bring tears to his eyes, enough to feel his heart beginning to crack under the pressure and that is…that is something he has not been allowing himself to consider.

In truth, Gale Dekarios is no stranger to heartbreak, either.

Loathe as he is to admit it, melancholy and despair have been constant companions to him for the past year as well. If he were an honest man, he would allow himself to consider them companions for far longer than that, given how many years he has been holding the sloughed off pieces of his heart in his hands instead of his chest. The pieces are more plentiful now, heavier and larger in his palms.

His heart has been breaking since Elminster had found him and delivered the message from Her. His heart has been breaking since the resident next to it had been demanding tribute at an ever-increasing pace to keep itself satisfied. His heart has been breaking for a year under solitude’s constant, all-consuming presence as he alone had toiled away in his tower to find some peace from his mistake. If he were to allow himself to consider, his heart has been breaking since the night he had been cast from Her side; his heart has been breaking since he had lost the only place he had ever felt like he belonged. His heart has done nothing but break and break and break in its search for belonging and being denied at every attempt.

Another sigh pushes past his lips and he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he glances down at his hands, flexing them in the dim light of his staff before they drop back to his side and he resumes his aimless wandering of the riverbank. If he were to allow himself to consider, it has been a year nearly to the day since that night had happened, the timing impeccable and surely no coincidence from Her. And, in truth, it is not the first time he has indulged a night like tonight, driven by solitude and melancholy. The former had not been quite so prevalent that night, and the latter had been all too heavy.

He had had nowhere else to go that night, no chance to walk and appreciate solitude’s heavy companionship. Instead, its presence had lingered at the corners as it had allowed space for other emotions to preside. Melancholy, certainly, but more importantly, desperation. He had paced the floors of his tower that night pained, ravenous, and confused. She had banished him from Her side—punishment for a crime he still did not understand beyond base disobedience he had thought (foolishly, foolishly believed) would be quickly forgiven in the grand scheme of what he had intended to offer.

Such was never the will of a Goddess.

In place of pride from an expected gratitude, desperation had wound its way into his very marrow, and every step he had taken was that of a prowling beast searching for the answer to all of his problems. He had been ready to howl for forgiveness, for relief, for understanding towards what sin he had committed that warranted a punishment such as this. He had been willing to do anything, speak to anyone, scream and beg as needed for Her if that had been what She so desired…but he had been alone. Solitude had remained steady in the corners, just as it did now.

Well, no, not as it did now. He is alone, but that is his choice, and that choice is making itself more and more prevalent now with each step he takes. Each footfall is substantial, weighted with solitude’s choice forcing him to consider that what stands before him now is not nearly as simple as the heartbreak he had felt that night.

The regret is somehow—impossibly—stronger still than it ever was that night. Desperation does not claw at him now so much as somber sobriety stands quietly in its place. And the guilt…the guilt. The guilt in wronging her rings far, far more hallowed than hollowed than it ever did that night when he wronged Her. The only similarity between now and that night is that he is alone, just as he was then and yet not at all as he was then, and he is still just as uncertain what to do with any of the noise screaming in his heart.

He brings a hand up and rubs at his throat, hoping to ease some of the constriction he can feel wrapping around his neck. It does nothing, and he knows this is his choice he must contend with. He has no need to be alone, his breath remains with her, but it is easier to be here by himself. It is easier to contemplate on self-pity and regret and guilt in isolation, where he does not have to weather the condolences of others. It is easier when he does not have to withstand the quiet, consistent, hopeful pleading from her.

It is easier to contemplate on self-pity and guilt in isolation as opposed to facing the one he knows he is committing a most severe crime against. And he can acknowledge that, perhaps, in hiding from her tonight he is only committing a far greater crime against her still.

He should go to her. The thought—the desire—has not left him since he—she caved and they became one. How easily she holds him—all of him, the despair and the guilt and the self-pity—in her hands is the balm to his soul he has been seeking for a year. For well over several years. Yet solitude’s call is stronger still, because it tempers him. Because he should go to her, but he is not so cruel a man.

It is not a question of worth—though that is a question turned over and over and over again in the recesses of his mind—but a matter of her. He will not harm…will not ruin the woman who so delicately balances his heart between her teeth. It is not something she ever asked for. He still had placed it there with all the grace and sorrow of a drowning man. And she still holds it with all the gentleness of a whisper on the warm, summer breeze of the seacoast he still calls home.

Home.

He hesitates, foot coming down softly on the rocky riverbank as discerning eyes stare back out over the water. Is that why solitude had called him here to the riverbank instead of allowing him to seek her arms? In order to create some weak facsimile to the seaside of Waterdeep? To attempt to at least ease some longing in his heart, even if it is not the one he worries over fixing?

He releases another, long breath, the constriction still prominent in his throat. The Chionthar, darkened as it is by an ever-blackened night from these cursed lands, holds nothing compared to the ocean waves of Waterdeep. There is no comfort in it akin to the warm, sandy beaches just outside of his tower, and there has never been any comfort in walking either of them alone. There is no comfort he can claim at all tonight—outside of her—and he accepts that.

Movement pulls his attention away from the water to the underbrush along the riverbank. He stills, watching silently as a few, sickly birds emerge from the leaves and fly off into the blackened skies of these cursed lands they had been calling home. He watches them well after his poor, human eyesight can no longer see them in the darkness, his hand half-raised as if beckoning them to stay. To also accompany him. To allow him to help them, as sickly, as lost, as confused as they are. As he is.

They do not return, and he acknowledges, mournfully, that is their nature. It is a shame. They will carry what these lands did to them for an eternity, and he wishes—he so desperately wishes—they will turn around and allow him to assist, but perhaps that is foolish of him. Perhaps it is selfish to deny them their very nature.

But they will carry it with them for the rest of their lives. And just like that, there is no denying she will carry his heart in her mouth with her far into a future he is not destined to witness. That is who she is. And for that, perhaps, he is a cruel, selfish man. He should not have let her first taste of something as grand as love fall into such ruin.

He should not have left his mark on her, but he had, he had, and he could not undo that sin either. He should not have left his mark on her, but he needs it to mean something. It is a far cry different to his thoughts a year ago, but he needs a reason to be able to do this beyond Her decree, and if it is for her then so be it. He can die for her. He will die for her, not Her. But he is a selfishly cruel man for needing to leave his mark on her in order to have the strength to complete it.

In order to know that something of his will live on, even when he does not. And it will, because she will. Because she will carry it, as is her nature.

Shame washes over him, and he hangs his head. His mouth runs dry at the sight below him, his gaze tracing over the small, broken body of a bird eternally resting at his feet. He can just barely make out that it holds a similar appearance to the ones that had just scattered—the primary differences are its stillness and the hole ripped through its chest by some, shadowy creature it could barely comprehend.

His fingers twitch at his side, an overwhelming urge to call forth the Weave and attempt to heal the poor thing resting on his tongue. It would do no good, he knows this. The bird is long dead, but he is apparently not beyond wishing for miracles. He quashes the thought before allowing it to go further; there is nothing to be done but to mourn.

Defeat worms its way into his gut, and he wonders, briefly, if the flock he had just witnessed flying away had watched their fellow die. If the little bird had left in search for food or had chosen to be the one to protect a nest—some semblance of a home that could be built in these lands—and had died valiantly on such an endeavor.

If the flock had watched him die, he wonders if they will carry that with them for eternity as well. He wonders if they will hate their friend for it. He wonders for the birds, because he knows she will.

Gale sighs, a few tears rolling down his cheeks, and turns around to return to camp. The defeat in his gut coils tightly enough to permeate each breath he takes as he labors back up from the riverbank.

He does not need to be selfish in such a way. He had her now, and she offered—had been offering—another chance. But a night ago, he had held her in his arms. A night ago, he had held repentance in his arms, had tasted salvation on her lips and had discovered paradise over and over again and again as she had come undone for him. As she had unraveled and wrapped herself around him in such a way she had never allowed another to bear witness to, let alone be the cause of. His name had spilled from her lips in such beautiful, agonized bliss as she had shattered around him and had drawn him deeper and deeper into her—her body, her heart, her very soul—until there was nowhere left for either of them to go.

And it was not a prayer, it was not in reverence, but how she had cried his name that night was done with nothing but pure, concentrated love and that…that was far beyond what he had ever imagined asking for. Far beyond what he ever imagined he could ask for. But the sun had risen the following morning, and as he had looked down at her smiling up at him in his arms, he had never been more certain and less certain of what he needed to do.

He had never directly asked Mystra what She would have him do, but She had given Her answer anyways. She wishes for his death.

“What would you have me do?” He did ask her.

“Live.”

Live, live, live, her answer is always that she would have him live.

The love she offered—offers—is a redemption he had barely fathomed a possibility for him, and she offers it without hesitation. The trepidation to accept is all too grand. He wishes to, he would if not for knowing that a year ago he had committed his sin. And while he wants to take the second chance she offers him, it is not hers to offer, but Hers. He did not sin against the goddess resting in his arms a night ago, he had sinned against the Goddess he once held in his arms a year ago. And though he is convinced her love could save every part of him, it is divinity that needs to accept such salvation.

Love bids him to live. Divinity bids him to die. And he is torn in two between them.

His feet carry him back to camp near his tent. The light on his staff dims to nothing as he allows the spell to dissipate, and he stares around the grounds covered in firelight. It is late, most are not awake, but she still is. His eyes land on her sitting outside of her own tent, curled in on herself, quill scrawling along the paper of her journal. He can only begin to imagine what she may be writing or drawing, what new idea she has had or what inspiration has struck her.

It is a scene he can see himself watching fondly for an eternity, a life they could have shared. That only tears his heart further.

Desperation finally floods him, just as it did that night. There is no warning, just as there had been no warning that night, it simply comes with all the strength and force of the rains of a storm. It rips through him as easily as the gales of a hurricane tear through all in their path. It shakes him to his core, just as it had shaken him that night, just as the storm leaves nothing but wreckage and ruin in its wake.

Look up.

He bids her, he begs her, he does not say a word. He does not use the connection between them nor the magic at his disposal, he simply…thinks. He puts the request into the air and holds his breath. He wants her to look up, he needs her to look up as much as he needs to take another breath, but he cannot call to her. He cannot ask—he will not ask. Just the once he wants to know—needs to know if kismet, whatever that may be—the gods, nature, the human condition, her—could ever find it within itself to smile down on him. Just once, just once.

Look up.

Mystra did not turn around for him that night. She had ordered him to his knees and then cast him from Her side. He had begged that night. He had pleaded, cried, attempted to seek answers, attempted to seek forgiveness and repentance. Nothing he had said that night mattered, and when words had finally failed him, when his mouth had run dry and his tongue had finally rested dead in his mouth, he had fallen silent and simply…thought. Prayed. To the back of the very Goddess whose audience he had requested, he had prayed. In Her own domain, he had prayed.

If Mystra would not listen to his words, then the only chance he had left in his grasp was to pray. A prayer for Her to simply turn around. A prayer for Her to witness him. He had still believed himself a pious man, endlessly devoted to Her domain and all She stood for. His heart still beat for no one other than Her, and if he could still pray to Her after this, if She would still hear him and answer, then he still stood a chance—or so he had believed.

She never turned around.

Look up.

It had been a mercy in the end. Though he knows now it was never Her intention to spare him the humiliation of being so undone and witnessed by a God, it was a mercy that She had granted him. He did not need to be seen by Her like that, no matter how desperately he had wished for it.

Before him now, though…

Please. Look up.

Mystra did not need to see him such a state, but her? The woman who soothes his very soul? The one who speaks to him with a resonance he could hardly fathom existed before making her acquaintance? The one who has been fighting for his life with more vigor, with more frigid determination than anyone else has ever granted him in his life—more than even himself? The woman who has already wept for him while he still yet draws breath?

Well…he does not want her to see him like this, so disheveled and uncertain. So readily grappling with the jaws of Death snapping at his ankles. But he needs her to. The desire for attention is not a new wish for him, but in this moment, it enflames him and engulfs him like no other. If there is one thing he knows, it is that he is capable of all of it and more for her. All of it has meaning so long as her eyes are on him, and it strikes him that perception of such a nature is, perhaps, the holiest feeling a mere mortal could ever experience.

It had been a miracle Mystra did not answer his prayer that night. It would be a miracle if she answers his prayer now.

Please. Look up.

Slowly, she moves. The quill in her hand drops to the page with trepidation. As if against her will, as if bid by forces she could not see, her head rises. It is a heavy movement, weighted by the phantoms of her own mind telling her how awful an idea it is, desperately begging her not to look. And he knows it is instinct at feeling someone’s eyes on her, but in the split second before her eyes meet his, he wonders how many glances she had spared towards his tent tonight.

But then her eyes meet his gaze, an immediate, immeasurable sadness permeates her soft eyes, and all the breath disperses from his lungs. The last tethers coiling in his gut undo themselves and fall away, leaving nothing but a rawness to him that even he cannot begin to explain. It is how he is often left feeling under her gaze.

No words pass her lips, though her mouth opens as if to speak. What is there to say? Their thoughts are the same, their minds both keenly aware of the time and all that lies before them come morning light. All of this could soon be over. For her, that means freedom—well-earned, well-deserved freedom to allow her to return to her life. For him…all of this could soon be over. A year of torment could come to a meaningful end, and if one begets the other then…all the better. It is doable.

It is more than doable, it is necessary. For her.

Because, in this moment, she answers his prayer. In this moment, she sees him, and perception of this nature is, undeniably, the holiest feeling a mere mortal could ever experience. The storm quells, though the rain still falls.

It is a salvation he has sought for a year, but it still claws at him. It tears him apart to see the glossy veneer in her eyes. It is devastating to know he is the cause of her devastation. And it is unfair to find Life staring at him now, begging him to reach out a hand, pleading with him to believe he deserves more than what he has been sentenced with. It is unfair, so damnably unfair that Life finds him now while standing on this precipice. He longs to reach back—yearns to grasp her hand and walk towards the future she speaks so certainly of, but he cannot—he cannot—as marred and as claimed by Death as he is.

But if it is for her, then it is for Life. And if it is for Life, then it is enough.

And that is why, as much as he longs to go to her, to kiss her tears away and to shed and mix his own, he does not. He smiles at her—smiles at the very Life she is and all the future they could have if born of different circumstances, if discovered at another time—and turns away. It is for her, it is all for her, but he cannot bear to cause undue pain.

He cannot bear to cling to Life when he knows he is Death’s claim. It is for her. Because of Her. He will not drag her—his heart, his soul, his Life—down with him.

He indulges himself only once—when he reaches the opening of his tent—glancing back at everything he desires and everything he must deny. He shouldn’t have indulged. A few tears reflect in the firelight as they roll down her cheeks, and she is still staring after him. Still, she is looking after him, and she watches, and she watches.

Thank you, for answering a dead man’s prayer.

He recedes into his tent. It is the most merciful thing he can do for her now, prevent her from watching. Prevent her from witnessing what is to come in some attempt to spare what she must carry with her into a future he will not see. But perhaps it is foolish of him to believe he can prevent it.

“She specifically requested your absence, Gale. All things considered, can you blame her?”

With a grunt and a surprisingly large splash of water, Gale forced another dish into the small, soapy bucket and scrubbed at it until it nearly shattered in his hands. It had been quite a while since he last undertook dish duty, especially after dinner. Usually someone else in camp was more than willing to pick up the chore after he had cooked, but he had requested it—very nearly demanded it—tonight.

He was aware enough of himself to know he needed something to do with his hands—or rather, he needed something to occupy his mind aside from sulking in his tent and failing to read. And true, washing dishes was hardly the most intellectually stimulating task, but if he really put effort into it, he could force his wandering thoughts to focus on the simple, if not mundane, movements required of picking up dishes, scrubbing them, and laying them out to dry.

…It was as dull as could be, but it was better than the alternative of getting caught in an endless loop reanalyzing the same conversation again and again. He had been doing that for the past several hours to surprisingly little change or comfort.

Gale hadn’t intended for it to come to this. He hadn’t intended to overhear Lux and Karlach speaking after they all had returned from their eventful endeavors at Moonrise Towers. He had already been in a foul enough mood as it was; between the oppressive nature of the tower and the cult within it as well as the spat he had with Nox over the shadow magic circle they found in the necromancer’s room, the usual cheery disposition he tried to maintain had all but vanished. He had no need to look for anything else to make himself feel even worse, but perhaps it couldn’t have been helped.

And it wasn’t as though he had been eavesdropping, per se. Lux and Karlach likely hadn’t even been aware that he was sitting in his tent and could hear them, but even if they were aware, it shouldn’t have mattered. He hadn’t been listening to them in full, relegating the sounds of their voices to background noise in his mind, until the topic of the final strategics for their inevitable confrontation with the seemingly immortal Ketheric Thorm popped up. His interest, at least partially, was piqued then.

Or, more notably, his interest was piqued then by the glaring absence of his own name amongst those Lux wished to take with her.

Given how poor of a mood he was already in, it perhaps was not the best of ideas to confront the situation then and there, but with a sinking feeling low in his gut, Gale had gone out to talk with them. It was a noticeably uncomfortable conversation that only devolved the longer he attempted to get answers. Karlach was uncharacteristically subdued and quiet, and Lux…Lux was well adept at dodging questions until he forced the situation upfront. And then she had no choice but to be all too honest with the truth.

The truth being that he wasn’t figured in on the final strike team, that they would prefer him protecting others instead of with them. And, after he protested that asinine decision, the truth being that, beyond even base logistics, there was a very specific reason for why Lux was planning on leaving him behind.

“She specifically requested your absence, Gale. All things considered, can you blame her?”

She. Nox.

Gale liked to believe that he kept his composure well enough through the end of the conversation; he knew that to be untrue. The moment the truth fell from Lux’s lips, he felt a decent chunk of his heart breaking off in his chest. It still hadn’t mended itself in the hours since. If anything, only more pieces had crumbled off.

On a base level, he understood her reasoning. He did. Nox had stood against Mystra’s decree from the moment Elminster delivered it. She remained adamant that he didn’t need to die for this, that there were other ways to succeed, and that his life was worth far more than an assurance of winning in a fight they were still gathering information about. In return, he hadn’t really budged from a position of indecision…mostly because her reasoning wasn’t what this divine charge was about. If it was just about an assurance of winning against the Dead Three—a noble sacrifice of one of Mystra’s Chosen to put an end to a potential war before it even began—then he’d agree it was a waste of a life. But…

Well…Gale didn’t blame her for that reasoning, regardless. He did blame her for removing the choice from his hands, however. That fact alone inflamed him far more than he ever would have expected. Anger was quick to follow the stab of Lux’s words, soothing the pain with all the grace of a cauterization. He had excused himself from Karlach and Lux as soon as he could so as not to misdirect his wrath—though, in hindsight, he supposed some of it towards Lux was warranted for readily agreeing with her sister—and had been stewing in it alone ever since.

Yet, in such a way that was true towards everything he felt for the puzzling, elven wizard, the longer he sat with his anger—the longer he allowed himself to wallow in his disbelief and frustration and his surprising amount of distress—the more it unfurled and revealed its true nature. Yes, he was annoyed at her for attempting to take his decision from him—a decision she had no right to insert herself in. But the longer that thought turned in his mind, the more superficial it felt. The cauterizing flame of his ire was quick to close the wound, but not hot enough to do so entirely. Not enough to prevent him from being able to pick at it and eventually recognize it for what it was.

It was familiar, and it caused a bile to rise in his throat that he knew the taste of all too well.

It also forced much of the past several nights into perspective. He had never wanted to consider himself to be moping, but the past several evenings had brought along a certain, heavy form of solitude that hung from his shoulders every time dinner had concluded and the camp began to settle. He hadn’t really been able to place why there was a persistent, lingering ache in his heart every time he had a moment to breathe, but he simply chalked it up to the impending decision that was quickly approaching him.

That explanation had never fully satisfied the ache, however, and now he finally figured out why. It was never about the decision, it was about the isolation. Nox was pulling away from him, and Gale knew what it was like to be cast aside far better than he ever wished to.

She had been leaving him alone of late. Usually, Nox graced him with her presence for any number of reasons after dinner, be it friendly conversation, academic discussion, or assistance on any number of matters. Or she would draw him out into their camp and the company of others based on whatever was going on. And during the days, she often traveled beside him to continue their conversations or to simply be a quiet presence at his side—especially since they had spoken with Elminster. Nox had integrated herself into his daily life so easily, so naturally and seamlessly, that he had no idea when or how it even happened, and of course he only noticed after she had made such an impact and started leaving the ensuing crater empty.

The recognition of that loss had made him nauseous, genuine dread flooding in to fill all the gaps her absence had created. It was a small blessing that he had already agreed to prepare the evening’s dinner, because it was the only thing that kept him physically occupied, if not mentally, and prevented him from making a rash decision or hastily emptying the contents of his stomach at the edge of camp. It was enough to force him into collecting himself as much as he could before beginning, and the familiar motions of cooking were at least enough to steady his hands for an hour or so. It took more effort to actually eat and keep the food down in the following hour however, especially when Nox approached him and apologized for her actions earlier that day.

Any other time and he would have appreciated the sentiment even if it was entirely unnecessary. He had already understood and accepted that what happened with the circle was a bit of miscommunication and accidental offense on both of their parts. Now though…her words felt like ashes fluttering by on a backdraft, and it took more composure than it otherwise should have to smile it off and swear it was fine.

It was hardly any better after that, and that was why he needed to clean the dishes. He needed something else mundane, something else to calm the tremble that reemerged in his hands and hopefully halt his thoughts as much as was possible. Yet, even as he set the last dish down to dry, he knew it was fruitless. Gale blew out a breath and sat back on his heels, staring at the stack of now-drying dishes, utterly defeated.

His head still spun with barely processed thoughts, the world around him tilting uncomfortably on its axis. His heart still had a few, erroneous beats every so often, and the flitting thoughts still caught him completely off-kilter and winded him. But at least his hands had stopped trembling. It was barely where he wanted to be by now, considering it had been several hours since his conversation with Lux and Karlach, but it was a start.

And it had to be enough.

There were a thousand scenarios he could come up with to explain what was going on, but he knew that none of them would do anything to assuage him. Gale knew he needed to talk to her, he needed to know what was going through her mind…he needed the truth, it was the only way he could have any semblance of peace. He wished he could give it some time—enough to let himself further settle before confronting her at least—but they were running preciously low on such a thing and he…he could not function like this. He’d already experienced it once, he knew enough.

He needed answers. That was the only thing he had ever needed.

So, he would endeavor to get them. Slowly, Gale rose to his feet and brushed away some lingering suds and crumbs from the bottom of his shirt before flexing his hands a few times. Confident both his hands and his legs were stable enough, he turned and cast his eyes out over the camp. Nox wasn’t hard to spot, sitting in front of her shared tent and tinkering with her new focus.

He took in a long breath and slowly exhaled—enough to force his racing heart to calm some and regulate his breathing back into some sense of a normal pattern—before carefully picking his way over to her. Nox barely acknowledged his approach, her attention solely focused on her pocket watch, and perhaps that was for the best. He wasn’t certain he would have had the fortitude if she noticed him before he completed his walk. He wasn’t certain he would have been able to handle her smiling at him or shying away from him, whichever it was that she deemed necessary. Instead, all he had to do was press forward until he came to a stop in front of her.

“Nox.”

His greeting was unsuspectingly calm, though his arms crossed when she still didn’t so much as look up to acknowledge him. That was common for both of them, they had carried on plenty of conversations with each other while tending to other matters, but, for some reason, it stung especially deeply now. So, he waited until his silence finally forced her to look up from her tinkering before he continued. “May I have a word with you?

“Sure…?” Nox agreed, hesitancy creasing her brow. It was possible she saw the gravitas of his thoughts hanging on his face, or perhaps she was merely mimicking his own countenance. After holding his gaze for a moment, her attention returned to the pocket watch in her palm. “What’s on your mind, Gale?”

He let out a low breath, willing his frustration to cool. “Alone, preferably,” he clarified gruffly.

Gale quickly threw a discerning glance around the camp. No one seemed to be paying them any mind, and why would they? Last few days aside, he often enjoyed Nox’s company in the evenings, it was hardly out of the ordinary to see either one of them at the other’s tent. Even if everyone else knew about their spat earlier—and surely, everyone did know by now—it still wouldn’t have been that odd; they made up as easily and as often as they argued. That was the benefit of two, intelligent personalities clashing over their shared passion, it was easy to forgive and move on.

Which was to say nothing appeared out of the ordinary, and yet he had a sneaking suspicion the ensuing conversation he wished to pursue was going to be unsightly. He wished to remove as many prying eyes and ears as possible, even though their current camp situation was hardly conducive to privacy.

Nox blew out a large sigh and Gale refocused his attention on her, watching as her head dropped and her fingers stilled over the pocket watch. After a moment, she fixed him with a weary glare. “Is this about the circle again?” she asked, not bothering to conceal her exhaustion. “I don’t know what else I can do! I already apologized. I didn’t mean to insinuate you were incapable; you are capable I know. But I disliked it being implied I was incapable, considering my wizardry status and as a Selûnite—”

“That isn’t what…” He stopped himself with a grunt, running his hand over his face to smother the rising tension in his throat. She still didn’t comprehend what is actual issue was with the necromancy circle--and to be fair, he had only just figured it out himself—but he was not looking to have that circular argument again. It had already gotten them nowhere, and he had no need to indulge in the added irritation it bred.

“It is not about the circle, Nox,” he answered instead, voice even but terser than he would have preferred. It wasn’t just about the circle, in any case, and he hoped his measured response quelled any further discussion on the matter for the time being.

She studied him with narrowed eyes but said nothing further on the matter. “Fine, fine. Just…give me a moment,” she agreed as she ran her thumb over one of the gears of the pocket watch. Her eyes closed and the metal glowed softly in response to the incantation she whispered. The gears started moving again with the last word she breathed, and she finally relaxed her grip.

With a click, she shut the outer casing of the watch and slowly rose to her feet. “With how the Shadow Weave permeates everything here, the damn thing needs more attunement than what would otherwise be expected,” Nox said as some form of explanation.

And if things were truly as ordinary as they appeared between them, she would have asked for his opinion on the matter. She would have requested his assistance with the attunement and suggestions for what she could possibly do to keep the focus lasting longer. Instead, Gale had gathered by now that was her issue with her focus based on how often she fiddled with it, but she had not voiced any of it to him directly.

He didn’t understand why and, admittedly, it cut him deeper than was proper.

Still, despite that—or perhaps, because of it—he couldn’t help himself but to try again. All he could offer was his assistance and hope that maybe this time she would accept. Maybe then he could quash the need to talk to her. “Would you like me to look at it?” he asked, holding his hand out towards her. “Enchantments from two wizards should be stronger than one, at the very least.”

She gave him a waning smile and shook her head. “No, that’s alright. Thank you, though,” she declined and quickly hung the focus in question around her neck. The watch and its chain flashed silver in the light of the torches as she tucked it securely back under her robes. “Maybe another time?” she asked, “It’s just…it’s working for now, so I have no desire to fuss with it further at the moment.”

“Of course,” Gale agreed and let his hand drop back to his side. He tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible, even when all he wished to do was shout at the first movement of her head. It was a completely understandable and logical answer on her part, and yet he barely bit back the wince at being denied by her once more.

Instead, he watched her intently as Nox shifted in front of him, brushing dirt he wasn’t sure existed off of her robes. “Besides, you wished to speak with me?” she prompted with a clearing of her throat, unintentionally refusing him the opportunity to fall back into his thoughts. “In private?”

“That is correct,” Gale agreed quickly. He turned and motioned for her to follow, though in suddenly staring down the start of the very reason he sought her out, he was far less certain about himself—about this—than he was just a few minutes prior. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

“I don’t,” she said and started following after him. “We simply cannot stray too far from camp. I have no desire to deal with the ramifications of the Shadow Curse if we don’t have to.”

“Nor do I,” he muttered in agreement. Honestly though, he wasn’t wholly sure that wasn’t the better option now.

Gale led them through the edges of camp in silence, and he was purposefully aware of the looks from their campmates—or, more specifically, the complete lack thereof. It was a small blessing that still no one was paying them any mind. They couldn’t move far from camp, and thus he could not ensure their privacy for the ensuing conversation. He didn’t wish for anyone to hear the words they were about to share, and hopefully, if no one was paying any attention to them, then they might be able to get away with it if they both kept their tempers and volumes down.

Yet, he could feel his trepidation growing with each step they took beyond the edges of the torchlight. His concern was not in venturing a little further into the darkness, it was towards his own words. He still wasn’t sure how to even begin broaching the subject. He had no clue if she even realized what she was doing.

Her soft footsteps stopped behind him.

“Fiat lux.”

The darkness surrounding them was illuminated by a soft, pale light. He glanced over his shoulder to find Nox stabbing her now aglow staff into the ground. She took a step back and looked over at him. “We shouldn’t go further than this, I believe.”

He nodded with a quiet sigh of agreement but otherwise said nothing, thoughts still turning over in his mind as he mulled over the best way to start.

She didn’t grant him much more time to consider, crossing her arms and moving around her staff to face him directly. “What is this about, Gale?”

Perhaps it was to his benefit that she was predisposed towards getting to the point. “This is…” he started and trailed off, stalling for time.

In any other situation, he would find it humorous he was once again at a loss for words in front of her, but now it only served as kindling for his twin flames of frustration and desperation. When no decent option came to the forefront of his mind, no gilded words nor smooth beginning to ease into this conversation, he gave another sigh and shook his head.

Best to just rip it off then, no? “I want to know why you are pushing me from your side, Nox.”

“Why I’m…?” She stared at him, mouth opening and closing several times without another sound coming out. “Pushing you…what?!” she echoed in disbelief. “That is…why would…where have you possibly gotten that idea?” she fumbled. “I am doing no such thing.”

“No?” Gale asked, brow raised, “You are doing no such thing?”

He watched her as she stared back at him, arms falling slack at her side while shock rooted her to her spot. Despite his best efforts in studying her, he couldn’t discern if she truly did not see her actions for what they were, or if she was trying to cover for them. The more he considered, however, the more the deluge of examples started overtaking his mind.

“Because it certainly seems as though you are doing exactly that,” he said, having no other option but to press. “You refused my help with the magic circle—”

“I thought this wasn’t about the damned circle,” Nox groaned. “If I knew you were going to get so caught up on it, I’d have let you cleanse the thing yourself.”

“That is only one example of several. This is about so much more than the circle, Nox,” Gale said, schooling the growl of frustration out of his voice. “You have refused my assistance and insights with your chronomancy focus over the past several days. Typically, you have brought it to me every time you discovered something new—”

“All I’ve been doing is attuning it of late,” she scoffed. “I don’t need assistance with that! You’re better off saving your energy for something more important.”

“—You have stepped away from me just as much on the battlefield as well,” Gale continued, attempting to remain undaunted. He already figured she would have an answer for everything, and true those answers could be genuine. But he still felt his exasperation—his fear—rising as she met each of his questions with nothing but the soundest logic. “You’ve chosen to return closer to the frontline with Lux and Karlach.”

“That’s where I’m used to being,” Nox shrugged, unaffected. “Not standard for a wizard, I suppose, but I know how to utilize my talents better there.”

“You have stepped away from me off the battlefield as well,” he continued. “Even discounting your focus, the past few nights you’ve spent indulging Astarion and drinking.”

Nox blinked at him a few times before her eyes narrowed. “…Are you…jealous?”

His jaw ticked. He was, he could admit that, but it wasn’t the point he was trying to make at the moment.

“I assure you, that is nothing,” she added with a wave of her hand. “We’ve primarily been discussing the Infernal language. I can read a touch of it—as can Lux, Karlach, and Wyll—but none of us know enough to make hide nor tail of what he’s asking about.”

Was he going insane? Was it just jealousy that was driving him? Jealousy over seemingly losing the presence of a woman who he could not…did not call his own? Envy was an emotion that had the potential to lead him more often than he cared to admit, but he preferred to believe he had better control over it now than in his younger years. And it wasn’t as though…he wouldn’t have batted an eye at any one of these instances in isolation, but all of them put together in rapid succession painted a rather striking picture.

That was even before considering the final stroke of the brush, the final piece of evidence. No, no this was far more than jealousy—his concerns of abandonment were warranted. It was obvious in her actions, and it was obvious in her response now. He saw how she picked at her sleeves while she stood across from him, noticed how she didn’t quite meet his gaze and how her fingers tapped an incessant rhythm against her staff. She had an answer for everything, yet she was still nervous—there was something churning below the surface, he just couldn’t figure out what.

He needed to know what it was.

“Nox, what…” Gale swallowed hard, trying to remove some of the emotions lacing his tongue. “What did I do?”

Nox stiffened, eyes widening in surprise at the near desperate plea falling from his lips. “You…you didn’t do anything, Gale. I swear,” she answered softly, genuine concern pooling in her eyes. “I just…”

She sighed, shoulders heaving with the weight of the sound, and turned her attention towards the blackened sky. “Look, it’s not you, alright?” she muttered after several moments of silence. “I have been traveling on my own for fifty years with next to no one to rely on outside of the few who remained in the cities I bounced between,” she explained, “I am used to doing things alone, and I should be doing these things on my own.”

It was the way her voice tightened around the word ‘alone.’ It was in the way it trembled slightly when she said ‘on her own.’ It was the truth—he knew it to be true, she spoke often of her travels after Elturel’s vampire incursion—and it was perhaps the underlying reason she convinced even herself of as an explanation for her actions. But she was still lying, he could see the tension of it in her shoulders.

She blew out a breath. “I was simply attempting to return to a sense of normalcy for myself,” she added, returning her gaze to him.

“A sense of normalcy?” Gale echoed, incredulous. This went far beyond a sense of normalcy. And he really hadn’t wanted to bring this up—it was knowledge he was not supposed to have—he had hoped he could get an explanation from her without it, but that was seeming unlikely. “I am finding it hard to believe this is just about your sense of normalcy,” he refuted, trying and failing to dull the edge in his tone. She stiffened, wary eyes watching him. “I overheard Lux and Karlach speaking about the plans for our confrontation with Thorm.”

“Oh?” Nox froze entirely, her back straight as a rod and her arms tightening over her chest. She already knew where this was going, then. “And what, exactly, did you hear them say?”

“That you intend on taking Wyll and Astarion, as well as Karlach, to the presumed final confrontation.” In any other situation, Gale would have prided himself over how even his reply came out.

“That is the current idea, yes,” she agreed with a curt nod.

He stared at her for a moment, waiting to see if she would grant him any further information. When she did not, it took more willpower than he would admit to in order to banish his tears of frustration. “Why?”

“Wyll has every right to be there, given we are still searching for his father,” she answered, voice remaining cool. Not cold necessarily, but eerily calm.

“And Astarion?” he pressed. He knew she had grown to trust the vampire spawn more since their initial confrontation, but he was surprised it was to this degree. It cut deeply that it was over him.

“Lux’s request,” Nox shrugged. “Not that I disagree. In a land full of shadows, it is smart to utilize someone who works so well within them,” she answered and rolled her eyes, “And before you ask, I didn’t even fight on Karlach because I knew she would refuse to leave Lux’s side.”

He understood the reasoning for Karlach. He understood the reasoning all too well. “Did you ever think that I might request the same?”

Nox faltered, hand clutching at her sleeve as she blinked at him as though he were the sun. “W-what?”

Gale sighed and shook his head. She didn’t understand the issue. “Lux informed me that you, specifically, requested my absence,” he said instead.

“I…” She glanced away, hissing an Elvish curse under her breath. “She…she wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” she admitted, shoulders slumping.

“Then thank the Gods she did!” Gale shouted, unable to fully contain his frustration. “Why, Nox?” he asked and ground his teeth, biting back his irritation when she still didn’t look at him. When she only answered him with silence. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you think I’m doing this?!” Nox shouted back in return. She rounded on him, face swinging up towards him as she added, “We bring you to this and you’re liable to blow yourself to the Heavens no matter what any of us say!"

Gale let out a long, slow breath through his nose, forcing himself to calm some and reminding himself of their prior discussions. Nox had been against that course of action from the moment Elminster charged him with it. She had been adamant in its refusal and had remained steadfast in her belief it was unnecessary ever since. It was…well, honestly, it was a relief to witness someone so strongly of the opinion that he was worth more than that, but it was growing more difficult to bear. They were hurtling towards the final confrontation still somewhat in the dark, and he was hurtling towards his judgment. It was…a necessity—divinely tasked. He couldn’t see a way out of it now, and the way she continued to refuse the truth hurt. It hurt him to know there was someone like her still keeping faith in him, and it hurt him to watch her work herself into a frenzy trying to save him.

He wasn’t worth it. It was not what he wanted, but Gale Dekarios had made his mistakes years ago and he knew his path towards penance. It was a path he could travel, so long as he had her at his side guiding him off in the end.

“Is that so wrong?!” he demanded. “If we are correct in our theories based on what we read in Thorm’s room, this is an elder brain controlled by the Dead Three. That alone is already magnificently worse than when we believed this was simply an illithid invasion!”

“And I do not agree the sacrifice is worth it before we are even certain of what we are dealing with,” she said, voice a low growl. After a moment, she threw her hands up in exasperation and then dragged them through her hair. “I am not relying on your death to solve all our problems before we are even fully aware of what they are!”

“We have a very simple solution to it before this whole plot grows even more out of hand! One life for the Sword Coast, that hardly seems like a sacrifice.” It wasn’t a sacrifice at all. It was the only thing he was meant to do from the moment the Orb fused into his chest, he had to believe that. He had to. “One life to prevent a future you have already seen and know can come to pass—”

“A future that is one of several possible outcomes!” Nox corrected on a sharp cry. She glared up at him, anger glinting in the few tears pricking her violet eyes. “You might be so cavalier with your life, Gale, but I am not,” she hissed at him. And despite his anger, despite his ceaseless frustration—at her, at the situation, at what he was charged to do—his heart stuttered with her admittance. “I don’t want you to die. None of us want you to do.”

He let out another, long breath. “Alright…” he sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a step away from her. He needed a moment to disengage before he said something he didn’t mean—or rather, said something he meant all too much. This still wasn’t the problem at hand, not for him, at least. “Disregarding the several issues that exist with you making that decision for me, and there are several—” He glared at her to get his point across. She narrowed her eyes at him in return. “—Did you not think that I would want to be down there, regardless?”

Nox’s jaw clenched and her nostrils flared with the release of a breath. “And did you not think that the rest of us would take necessary measures to prevent you from killing yours—”

“This isn’t about that!” Gale shouted, the flashfire finally boiling over. It was an outburst of tangled emotions, rage and fear and an overwhelming sadness, but he felt it cooling in the few seconds her shocked expression stared back at him. “Do not cast me from your side, Nox’ani,” he said, the desperation pumping in his heart bleeding into his voice. “I have had more than my fill of that in my life already.”

Nox stilled in front of him, momentarily stunned at his admittance. He watched her composure fall, the same fear and desperation flowing in his veins mirrored in her eyes. Then it was gone, schooled behind a mask of cold, metallic resolve.

She sincerely believed she was doing him a favor. He did not know how else to convey this was anything but.

“This is hardly the same,” Nox bit back, harsh. Her arms crossed over her chest once more.

“Isn’t it?” Gale demanded, mimicking her stance and rocking back on his feet. Was it better to show his anger or his despair? He didn’t know, but he was bordering on both. Both were far too familiar for comfort. “Because it certainly feels the same.”

“No! No, it isn’t at all! Don’t you dare compare me to her,” she ground out. “One was over a grandiose mistake you should have known better than to make, and one is over whether or not you deserve the right to live because of that mistake!”

“And that is ultimately my decision to make in the end,” he pointed out, voice rough from holding back tears.

“It is,” she agreed, voice dangerously low. Her hand clutched at her staff, still stuck in the ground. “But I find it difficult to believe you are acting of your own accord.”

Gale swallowed, struck nervous by the puzzle in her words. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you truly want to die?” Nox asked quietly. “Do you truly want to sacrifice your life to save the world? Do you truly believe this is the only way? Or is it your own gods’ damned ego being stroked by a Goddess to court her own means in the end?”

He momentarily forgot how to breathe, the indignation flaring in his veins temporarily burning away everything else. “You…you think it is pride that is driving me to blow myself up to the Heavens?!” he asked, incredulous. “You believe my ego is so easily inflated I would consider killing myself over some pretty words and half-baked promises? This is Mystra! This is eternal salvation!”

“I don’t know what else it could be!” she shot back. Nox growled out a string of curses in Elvish under her breath and ran a shaky hand through her hair. “Of course you are the only one who could solve this problem, right?” she demanded, violet glare snapping up to meet his eyes. “Only you can fix it and bring an end to the Absolute? Only you have the capabilities, never mind everyone else and what we can do. Never mind none of us want to watch you die for a threat we could handle!”

“Nox…”

Ironically enough, some of his anger chilled the longer she shouted at him. He could practically see the desperation rising in her throat, her arms flailing like a signal for him to understand what she was saying. For him to understand what she was truly saying beneath the surface. And he wanted to—he so dearly desired to—but it still didn’t change the truth sitting before them. “My Goddess asked this of me—”

“Your Goddess forsook you!” Nox reminded with an exasperated shout. “And now she demands penance in the form of your life for a mistake she refused—still refuses—to explain! How is that right? How is that demand worthy of consideration?!”

Gale remained silent, allowing himself a moment to truly examine her. Heavy bags rested under tired, pleading eyes. Her chest heaved from panting with exertion and frantic appeal for him to see her version of sense. Every muscle of hers was taut and coiled, as if waiting for any form of strike at a moment’s notice. She was stressed, and exhausted, and still fighting tooth and claw for his life.

For all he probably should have, he couldn’t prevent the fondness from welling in his heart at the sight. It was not a pretty image before him, she was not lovely in her exertions and exhaustion. In fact, it was downright cruel to be putting her through this at all, but she still persisted and there was something charming in that. Something heartwarming and heart wrenching and heartbreakingly beautiful in her dogged determination to save him…and something very reminiscent of a life he once knew.

The words were out of his mouth before he consciously thought on them, “…For someone who so often speaks on hubris, you have little self-reflection.”

She recoiled like she had been zapped. “And what, exactly, do you mean by that?”

And Gods, he shouldn’t have spoken a word, but he couldn’t stop now. “This is Mystra,” he answered softly, honestly. That was all he could do. “You are asking me to consider you and your words above the command of the Goddess of Magic.”

He intended it as a compliment. It was a compliment, in his eyes. It took some gall—it took some care and some heart for someone to demand something of that nature. It was still the wrong thing to say. Gale watched the deep wound cleave through her eyes, her jaw falling open in shock and unfettered pain. Just as quickly, she snapped her mouth shut and glanced away from him. He still noticed how she tugged at the collar of her robe and how her hand remained, clenching the fabric and trembling slightly.

That was a grave error, indeed. “…Nox—”

“You’re right,” she said, voice chillingly quiet, “I do speak on hubris often. But do not misconstrue what I am asking here. I am no better than Mystra. I am far, far below the Goddess…on all counts, I see now, but I am still asking you to consider what I am saying. As a friend and…as one who knows hubris.”

Nox breathed deep and the mask slipped over her with her exhale, a glossy veneer as cool as the ice she wielded. Her eyes dared to travel back to meet his, just as cold as that mask. Elegant, beautiful, fragile. “I speak on pride because I know what it is, Gale. I speak not on mine because I have already had it trampled.” Her hand slipped from her staff, defeated, and she rocked between her heels and the balls of her feet. “My pride was believing I could ever step into my mother’s shoes and fulfill her role after we lost her. Elturians did not believe me. My own sister did not believe me and Elturel fell. Again.”

She turned away from him in full, her feet dragging her into a slow, circular pace around her staff as she contemplated it. Gale wanted her to stop then. He knew where this was going, she had already recounted her history to him. She hadn’t said it, but he knew there was a lot to regret in it.

“My pride was believing I would ever be able to recreate the lost art of chronomancy where my mother failed. Now I am chained to a past I cannot escape and haunted by a future I do not know how to prevent,” Nox continued, words rising in volume and speed. “My pride was believing I could ever act like my sister and step into a leadership role with respect. It is something I have here only because of her, I know this—”

That was blatantly untrue.

“And my pride was in hoping I could still use that regardless. My pride was in hoping I could talk to a talented, stubborn, good wizard as a peer and a friend and have him consider my words!” she said, motioning towards him in exasperation. Or as an example. A few tears started spilling from her eyes. “And my hubris was falling for that stubborn man—who tasted power and divinity beyond what I could ever comprehend or compare to—and believing I ever stood a chance!”

They both froze. Gale stared at her, Nox stared back, eyes wide and glassy and guilty, as though she were just caught in the midst of a crime. Or rather, someone who instantly regretted revealing a life altering secret, even if it was her own. Her tears fell faster, slipping from her glittering eyes that she squeezed shut before violently turning on her heel from him.

His mind screamed at him to step forward. To respond. To pull her back before she inevitably left. He didn’t—couldn’t—move.

“Oh…fuck it,” she growled. She uprooted Mourning Frost from the ground with a hard yank. “Just…do whatever you will,” she muttered roughly and began walking further in the darkness of the cursed lands. “I have tried all I can.”

With that, she continued delving into the thick darkness, the only inkling of her visage coming from the light cantrip on her staff. She wouldn’t go far—she couldn’t—but that fact did nothing to quell the tidal wave of panic watching her retreating form caused in the lower pit of his gut.

Nox…felt the same.

Gale had suspected as such at one point, but ever since the night she had brought him down to the river and their shared moment was interrupted, she had been pulling away from him. The distance she was placing between them and how much he felt it—even subconsciously—were what caused this confrontation in the first place. He thought she didn’t understand what his issues were, but only now did he realize his own misunderstandings.

In fairness, he hardly dwelled on the potential of her feelings. He had believed she was placing boundaries—and she was, understandably so—but he had misinterpreted it to be due to waning interest. And the mere thought she had lost interest in him, or worse still, had found her interests pulled elsewhere lapped at him worse than the flames of Avernus. It wasn’t fair of him to be jealous, he knew that. He had to accept it if she moved on—given the circumstances, it was in her best interest—but that hardly meant he had to be pleased with her attempting to push him aside entirely.

This though…this was confirmation of something else altogether. She spoke so much without fully saying anything at all. It forced an entirely different perspective onto the whole argument for him. It forced perspective on her entire countenance from the day Elminster found them, and suddenly he understood her mindset entirely.

Of course. Of course she was pulling away from a dead man.

Gale had never once in his life considered himself to be a stupid man, but in this moment, he was, in fact, an incredibly stupid man.

Oh, he had to remedy this immediately.

“Nox! Nox’ani!”

Any trepidation he had running after her was swiftly knocked away by remembering she was not one to condemn others for their mistakes. She would not let him fall to the curse just because she was upset with him, nor because he ran after her without a light source. It helped that he could still see the dim glow of Mourning Frost as she followed a path circling around the back side of camp—likely in search of somewhere to sit alone for a while.

After what felt like hours, the glow of the staff actually began growing larger with each step he took towards it. She had finally stopped, and when he caught up with her, he found her leaning against a tree, hand pressed to her mouth as she choked back a sob.

“Just leave it, Gale,” she spat as he slowed to a stop.

“Nox, I…” He grimaced when she turned away from him, and for all the words he wished to say, all the fears he wished to assuage, all he could bring himself to do was resort to the truth once more. “I do not wish to die.” Because of you.

She stilled, a large breath causing her shoulders to rise and shakily fall as she blew it out.

“I do not wish to die,” Gale repeated. And he didn’t, he didn’t, but— “But I’m…I am terrified.”

Her hand slid down the tree and she turned half-way to face him. Her eyes still did not meet his, but it was a start.

“Comparatively, I do not have long to figure out how to atone,” Gale continued, encouraged by reclaiming her attention enough to speak words he had yet dared to consider. This was a truth unspoken, lurking beneath all of the other contemplations that had occurred since receiving Mystra’s charge. “I am…”

Lost. Alone. Terrified. All of them true, and yet none of them quite spoke to the reality and gravity of the situation he found himself in. Gale sighed, shoulders slumping and eyes closing with the weight of the words rattling in his mind. “I am the condemned, former Chosen of the Goddess of Magic…but I am still just a mortal man, and I do not have long to secure the safety of my soul in an afterlife that is currently incredibly uncertain.”

Nox remained silent. As it stretched on, he opened his eyes and quickly sought her out in hopes that something in her countenance held an answer. Instead, her eyes were closed, tears still slipping down her cheeks and shoulders slumped with the same sort of heaviness that was slowly crushing him.

After a moment, to his surprise, she nodded and said softly, “I know.”

She drew a long breath and opened her eyes to look at him. “I…I know,” she repeated, defeat coloring her voice. She pushed off the tree and took a few steps towards him, holding his gaze. “I know, and that is why I tried to keep my composure…to keep my boundaries and my distance…why I tried not to speak on this. But I can’t…” She bit her lip and shook her head. “I refuse to stand idly by over something like this. She wants your life, Gale.”

The heartbreak in her voice and the pleading in her eyes were enough to shatter something in his chest. The answer on the tip of his tongue only made it worse. “It is a small price to a Goddess,” he whispered.

“And that is the whole problem!” she ground out. Nox ran a hand over her face with a groan before throwing her other arm up in exasperation. “She could never comprehend what she asks—none of them can! A promise of forgiveness and paradise is hardly enough for a mortal’s life…” She hesitated, hand dropping from her face as she stared up at him in question. “…Right?”

Another crack worked its way around his heart in seeing her—this darling, brilliant, wonderful wizard—questioning something that was so quintessential to everything she was. Something that she had unknowingly taught him over the past few months.

"Six months ago...I would have disagreed with you wholeheartedly,” he admitted.

Six months ago, he would have jumped at the opportunity to repent. There was nothing he would not have done to return to Mystra’s good graces—and it was not exactly shame that filled him at the thought now, but a distilled sort of sadness.

“Now though…” he sighed. “Now…my situation is much more complex. I do not wish to die, and there are…aspects of my life I do not wish to surrender for Mystra’s forgiveness.”

“Aspects…?” Nox echoed, almost hopeful.

The single greatest one stood before him. Gale nodded, though couldn’t keep himself from adding, “Just as there are aspects that still make the deal quite appealing.”

Her face fell as she let out a sigh. A moment passed, and then another, until she seemed to resign herself to the truth. “You are still uncertain, then.” It wasn’t a question.

“Is that truly so surprising?” he asked in return.

She bit her lip and glanced away, crossing her arms. After a moment, she sighed again and shook her head. “…No, I suppose it isn’t.”

“Nox…” When she didn’t look up at him, he took a step towards her. She still didn’t face him, and when he saw how her shoulders shook lightly, he relented and backed off. “This is not an easy decision that has been presented to me,” he said instead, repeating what was already glaringly obvious.

She blinked some tears away and turned just enough to meet his gaze out of the corner of her eye. “I know,” she muttered, “But it has been rather obvious in which direction your inclinations lie.”

“I…suppose,” he agreed weakly.

Gale couldn’t argue against her on that, nor could he assuage any of her fears. He had been rather adamant about not discussing the matter at all since Elminster had found them. He hadn’t wanted to think about it because there was nothing to gain from pondering the possibilities. He hadn’t believed there was another option—or rather, the other choice was too preposterous to even consider. Yet, Nox had wholeheartedly believed—still, wholeheartedly believed it was the correct…the only…option for him, even if she hadn’t outright said it.

That she still held firm he deserved to live…he was willing to concede that, perhaps, there was something to it. Gale trusted her, believed in her decisions and took heed of her advice and opinions when she thought to share them. He knew she carried a good heart, and if it was willing to believe the best in him, then that was worth considering.

Perhaps there would be more to it still if she did outright say it.

“But I am becoming more amenable to outside opinions,” Gale added after a moment, the thought crystalizing within him. “May I…may I ask you something, Nox?” Maybe it wasn’t fair to put her on the spot like this—to put it on her in general—but he had a sudden urge, a sudden, consuming need to ask it of her, to hear it from her. To confirm his suspicions were correct.

When she nodded silently, he asked, “What would you do in my position?”

“I…” Nox frowned again. Her hand came up, brushing at her eye, and she tilted her head up to fully meet his gaze. “I hardly think that is relevant,” she answered quietly. “My feelings towards the matter are, quite obviously, different than yours.”

“Yes,” he agreed quickly. Her feelings were quite obvious and quite differing, they would not be in this position if not. “But you do have feelings towards the matter. Nox, I am…I am a lost man,” he admitted quietly, because it was the only remaining thing he could think to say. He could only make one last, desperate plea. “I feel as though I am adrift at sea and staring down an incoming storm. A storm I am going to be swallowed whole by otherwise, so I could use advice. Guidance,” he pressed, a creeping franticness tinging his voice. “As has become rather commonplace since we met on that beach, I could use your words, Nox.”

Well, it was a particular set of words he could use right now.

Nox stared at him for a few, long moments, mouth opening and closing until she finally echoed, “My words…?” A small, panicky laugh of her own bubbled up out of her throat. “My words have done little good for most, but I thought I had already used them to make myself perfectly clear,” she said and swallowed back the remainder of her tears. “The Gods know not what they ask for.”

She had just voiced that, but it still wasn’t what he was looking for. “Alright, if you will not give your opinion if you were in the situation,” he said instead, quickly altering his approach and fending off another flashfire of frustration that coursed through his veins, “What is it that you want from me?”

She blinked at him, brow furrowing in confusion. “I have already made that perfectly clear as well. Nobody wants you to die.”

He nodded, eager over the fact that he was drawing closer to what he was searching for. “You wish me to live?”

“I—” Nox hesitated and swallowed again. Recognition lit up in those violet eyes and she stared up at him, slightly shaking her head. “—I cannot make that decision for you, Gale,” she whispered.

“But you have an opinion. You have a desire,” Gale urged, taking another step towards her.

She stepped back from him, and a moment later, disengaged entirely to start pacing again. She gave another, harder shake of her head, “You already know—”

“Please, Nox,” he cut her off, teetering on the edge of pleading. Frustration sparked into desperation under his skin, a burning, white-hot need to hear her say the words.

“Gale, I…” She paused momentarily, just long enough to face him. Her own frustration flared and slowly boiled over behind the tears resurfacing in her eyes, and she just as quickly turned away from him again. “What I want in this situation does not matter.”

“Yes it does!” Gale was very quick to refute her. He stilled, blowing out a breath to contain his outburst before it worsened. “It matters, Nox,” he pressed, quieter, “It…it means everything to me.”

She slowed in her pacing, coming to a stop in front of the tree yet again, but she didn’t turn to face him. Her hands flexed at her sides. In any other situation, he would have found it funny that she could ask him to consider her words above that of a Goddess, but not her feelings.

“It matters because you matter to me,” he continued, pressing forward. She had not asked him to stop, had not demanded his silence. She had not yet told him to cease speaking the truths neither one of them wanted to admit to. “And I…I must acknowledge it is not just my soul bearing the burden of this choice. It is not just my life affected by it.”

Nox let out a shuddering breath, not quite a cry, and titled her head up to stare into the shadows obscuring the sky above them. After a moment, her weak voice reached him, “I am not the one bearing the consequences in the end.”

Gale swallowed, hesitating for a moment before he forced the truth past his lips, “You are.”

Nox flinched. She was trying to avoid that, that much had become clear. He should have been trying to avoid it as well…but foresight had never been his strong suit. And now it was undeniable that she would bear the weight of his consequences as heavily as he did.

Gods, he should’ve known better, but he didn’t…he didn’t, and even if he had…he wasn’t sure he would have avoided her, regardless.

“We both are bearing the consequences, which is why it matters. Which is why you matter…and I am sorry for that,” he whispered to her back. “But it is why—in light of my inability to decide—what you want is everything to me.”

“Gale…” Nox pleaded, voice rough with a fresh set of unshed tears. “You can’t expect…”

“What do you want of me?” Gale cut her off. It was selfish necessity that first caused him to ask that question. It was still, in part, selfish necessity forcing him to repeat it, but it was more too. They needed to breach this. They both needed to say it. They both needed to get over this indecision that was freezing them.

“Do not put this on me, please…” Her voice cracked, and as she moved her gaze back down the trunk of the tree and then turned to face him, her violet eyes glistened in the light of her spell.

He hated that he had to push like this. “What do you want of me, Nox’ani?!”

“I want you to live!!!”

The area they were in was forested and not particularly cavernous, but her cry echoed around him in beautiful, torturous repetition. It reverberated through him, shook him, stilled him as every last spark of his own, building frustration calmed at her declaration. She stood across from him, struck by the very same enormity. Her chest heaved, her hands flexed at her sides, and her jaw started clenching and unclenching in a desperate bid to keep her composure the longer they stared at each other.

She did not hold.

Nox crumbled. He watched in excruciatingly slow motion as the dwindling flames of her anger burned out completely only to be replaced with their true kindling—despair. Those tears spilled over the edges of her pretty violet eyes, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth after it trembled just once. Her gaze dropped from his before she turned away from him completely again, submitting once more to defeat.

“I want you to live, Gale,” she repeated softly.

Of course she did. That was what she had been saying from the start, that she wanted him to live. That he didn’t need to die. That it would be a waste of a brilliant mind and a beautiful soul. That it would ruin two hearts instead of just one. And he knew it, something in him had read between the lines of all the words she had spoken and yet he never comprehended how deeply her desire ran. But of course she wanted him to live, of course she did.

His gaze traced over her frame, nearly collapsed in on herself as she released a few, shuddering breaths in an attempt to recollect herself. After a moment, her head tipped back towards the sky, tears reflecting silver in the light of her magic, before she turned back to face him. Her eyes shone with the same, silvery reflection in desperate, despondent honesty and, with the blinding clarity that came from finally hearing the words he needed—with the context he was missing now slotted snugly into place—Gale realized the answer to their problem was strikingly simple.

“Then ask it of me.”

Her lips parted as if to speak, but all that came out was a small, strangled cry. Nox shook her head quickly—violently—and her hands clutched tighter at her arms. “I will not,” she breathed and shook her head again. “I shouldnot. I-I-I…I cannot,” she choked out.

His mind urged him forward again and, this time, he listened. He took a step towards her, and then another when she did not shy away from him. He came to a stop in front of her, and though her gaze dropped from his, he tentatively reached out a hand towards her with the intent to wipe away her tears.

“Please. I…I cannot be expected to breathe life back into a man resigned to his fate,” she whispered.

Gale faltered. She…was correct. That…was an incredibly unfair expectation.

Nox swallowed and shook her head again before turning up to face him. “Nor can I ask a good man to take the selfish route, and I…and I…”

She blew out a long breath. Before he could cup her cheek, she reached out and grabbed both of his hands. She did nothing further, just held his hands in the space between him and her. She took another deep breath and forced herself to meet his stare. “And I cannot ask you to condemn your soul for me.”

Like that of a viper, the bitter bite of the truth struck him quickly and flooded his veins. She could ask that of him. She could very easily ask that of him, and he would follow her request in a heartbeat. It was a bitter truth he was realizing far too late in their endeavors, but one he found blindingly simple now. Nothing else mattered but her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do in this moment so long as it appeased her, so long as it eased the pain in her soul and stopped her crying. And if that was what she wanted—for him to live—he wished she would ask.

Alas…the bitterest truth was that the reason he would readily agree if she did ask that of him—the reason she could ask that of him at all—was the very same reason she never, ever would.

Gale detangled one of his hands from hers. Gently, he finally cupped her cheek, swiping his thumb over the small stream of tears overflowing from her eyes. His gaze searched hers, waiting for her to say anything else she may have needed. When he was met with silence, he sighed.

“It is already yours to do with as you please, Nox’ani,” he said, voice far lighter than the weight held within that statement. “You should know that.”

“Gale…” She squeezed her eyes shut, pained, and swallowed roughly.

He lightly brushed down her cheek until he moved his hand to tilt up her chin, his thumb lightly tracing over the outline of her lips. They parted with a shuddering breath, and her glassy eyes cracked open to look at him in question. He hoped his intention was obvious, given how similar it was to what he had done a few nights ago on the frozen river…moments before the Orb ruined it.

“And if it is not something you desire to have,” he continued, just as soft, “Speak on it now, and we shall lay it to rest permanently.”

Nox didn’t speak. Her gaze flickered from his eyes and followed a slow trail down his face, stopping at his mouth before snapping back up. She bit her lip, still indecisive, and he felt the miniscule tremble passing through her body against his hand. “I am no Goddess, I can offer no salvation. In fact, I can offer very little for it in the grand scheme. It…it does not feel proper for me to claim…”

Words alone would never be able to explain how monumentally incorrect she was. What she could offer him was everything he had sought for years. What she could offer him was better than a Goddess. “I assure you it is,” Gale breathed.

Before she could protest, before she could allow for her own lack of self-worth to refute him, he leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers in an act of certainty. It was how he would have liked to have kissed her a few nights ago—how he should have kissed her a few nights ago, Orb be damned.

Nox froze, breathing his name against his lips, and if that was all he was going to receive, it was enough. One moment holding her like this, feeling her say his name against his mouth like a prayer…it was more than he deserved. Yet, before he could even consider breaking away and stepping back, her hands came up to his chest, fingers curling in his robes to keep him there. She relaxed under his touch and crossed the final half-step between them before tentatively returning the kiss. Her mouth was soft against his, lips delicately brushing against his with contrasting hesitation.

Reassured and emboldened, his free arm slipped around her waist and pulled her flush against him. A small gasp escaped her, and he took the opportunity to gently ask to deepen the kiss, grazing his teeth along her bottom lip with a gentle tug.

She responded in kind, breathing a soft moan into him as her lips parted and she lightly swept her tongue against his. Gale groaned and held her tighter still as he accepted the invitation, exploring deeper into her mouth, his hand sliding back into her hair to angle her better. It was with surmounting clarity that he realized there was no salvation, no idyllic paradise Mystra—or any god—could promise him that would ever compare to this.

The warmth and softness of her body pressed to his, the feel of her fingers threading through his hair, tugging as she sought more from him, the quiet moans he drew from her as he kissed her harder—lips caressing, tongues sliding over one another, teeth grazing, and taking, taking, taking—every hot breath they paused to take mingling with one another…this was the paradise he needed. He had made love to the Goddess of Magic in the Astral Plane, experienced pleasures beyond what most mortals could dare dream of, and yet here, standing in Sharran cursed lands as a condemned man, he understood he had never—and would never—know a greater pleasure than holding this brilliant, wonderful, ethereal woman in his arms and sharing every last drop of his insurmountable love for her with nary a word between them.

Because it was real. Despite not a word spoken to confirm it, what had bloomed between them against all odds was undeniably, irrevocably real.

Gale was only pulled from that high—addicting as she was—when the taste of salt hit his tongue. It was quickly followed by a small tremble of her lips against his, and then a small shudder passing through her shoulders. “Nox? What’s…?”

He pulled back to see her eyes still closed, but her lower lip trembled again and a few, fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. Gingerly, he ran his thumb over one to wipe it away. “What’s wrong?”

“Damn you,” she whispered, struggling between heavy breaths. The curse held no bite—it held no heat—and in place of anger, distress saturated her voice. When she opened her eyes, they were glassy with more tears and looked up at him, weighted by loss.

Gale could only stare, at a loss for what was happening. “What—?”

“Damn her. Damn all of this!” she cried, her hands flying up in frustration. Nox looked around, almost frantic, before her hands balled into fists and came down against his chest. Not hard, she barely tapped him, but he could feel them shaking against his robes. “But…damn you,” she muttered again, leaning forward to rest her forehead against her fists. “I didn’t want to know.”

Gale stood there, arms hovering around her as Nox practically fell apart against him, too dumbstruck to move and too shocked to speak. His judgment may have been clouded by tasting salvation on her lips, but of all the reactions she could have had to him kissing her—especially after—he had not factored in this one. He had expected her to freeze perhaps, or maybe shove him away if he had truly overestimated his position. If he were lucky, maybe she would have been delighted. Crying and cursing him were not on his list, however, and he was not sure where to even begin to fix it. Before he could even gather his thoughts enough to form a sentence, she was speaking again.

“Far be it from me to preach ignorance being bliss, but this…” She paused as she choked out another cry. “This is cursed knowledge.”

He stared down at her. “What is cursed knowledge?”

“This!” Nox shouted, as if that answered anything. “All of this! How it feels to be in your arms, how it feels to have you pressed against me, how your heartbeat feels under my palm as you kiss me, how you kiss me…Gods! How you kiss me…”

Her hands flexed against his chest, hard enough that her fingers lightly dug into his skin through his robes. She moved to look up at him in defeat, tears streaming freely down her face. “Do you know how long I have been yearning to know what being kissed by you was like?”

Ah…right. This—he was her first.

“You, specifically! I do not fantasize like this! I never dreamed of it before! But you…but you…” she trailed off into nothing, burying her face against her hands again. “You smiled against my lips, you know,” she muttered after a moment. “And when you held me just now, your thumb traced gentle circles against my neck and I…” A laugh escaped her, a pathetic, gasping sound mangled with another sob. “I have never felt so safe and so cherished before in my life and I…we are going to lose it all.”

He frowned, his heart dropping into his stomach with each word she spoke. The worst part was that he did not know what to say to refute or reassure her, not without potentially marking himself as a liar. She could ask him to live, but she would not—and he certainly would not demand that from her, but that meant his indecision carried on. He knew which way his heart had been swinging before tonight.

Yet, like that of a pendulum, he knew which way his heart was swinging now.

He also knew what Nox believed he was going to choose, and there was nothing more he wanted to do than reassure her. He wanted to kiss her tears dry and promise her that in any other universe he would choose her, in any other situation he would choose her over and over again without hesitation, but this…

He could not bear to promise something such as that only to potentially take it all away. He would not do that to her. All he could do was gently rest his hands on her arms, lightly rubbing them in hopes it grounded her enough to keep her from breaking down again. Gods, he wished he could help her stop crying.

“So, I resigned myself to never knowing,” Nox whispered, unaware of the war she just started in his chest. “If I was never to know you, never to have you or keep you for more than a tenday, then I never wanted to know at all. And yet you…” She ground her teeth together and swallowed roughly. “…And yet you.”

“I…” There was nothing he could say to that. “I apologize…”

“Don’t,” she refused with a weak grunt. “You don’t have to. I…I know this is no easier for you than it is for me. It’s just…” Her head turned, and he could just barely make out her teary eyes staring out into the dark. “…It’s just not fair. It’s not fair to either of us that our first kiss weighs so heavily with death and loss.”

It hadn’t, not to him. It had felt like the relief of desperation to him, the first breath of air after nearly drowning. It had felt like promise, like…like feelings he rightly shouldn’t indulge in when she was also correct, but it was addicting. She was addicting.

“It wasn’t just that,” he murmured. “As weighted with death and loss as it was, it also sung with something else, at least for me. It sung with hope, it sung with…” Gale couldn’t bring himself to push the word past his lips. Not tonight, not like this, not when something so beautiful would be marred by a tragedy so heartbreaking.

“…There is a beauty to it,” he said instead, exhaling. “There is a beauty to this…to you.”

“Is there?” Nox asked, something akin to a scoff escaping her. “Can there be?”

Her eyes returned to his, searching for the answer to a question she couldn’t ask, begging for him to yield to a request she could not make.

He could not give her what she sought, but he resolved to offer something similar in its place. “There is still yet time—” She glanced down at her pendant, hand moving from him to trace over the cover of the pocket watch. “—I am not above believing in a miracle. I’ve already witnessed you working several.”

“Gale…” She didn’t need to say anything else, it weighed on her face, hung in how her eyes dropped to the ground. It rung low in words she had already spoken: she could not be expected to fix this alone.

He knew.

Her eyes slipped closed and she let out a long exhale, the rest of the thought released with her breath. When she looked up at him again, her eyes were still wet with tears and a whirlpool of pain and joy, of desperation and hope—of fear and love—remained lurking below those depths. But a modicum of her resolve had returned, too.

Her eyes searched his for a long moment before she finally asked the ultimate question that stood between them. “Where do we go from here?”

A small breath escaped him as his gaze lowered, watching as one of his hands moved from her arm to wrap around her lower back. His eyes traced back up as his other hand moved as well, coming up to brush over the bangs framing her face before settling against her cheek. He had a need to touch her, to hold her close, as much a confirmation she was real and she was here as it was to ensure she did not slip away from him again.

His eyes met hers again, and she was still watching him, still waiting. Still looking for an answer, for guidance on a matter she knew little about. The answer to such a loaded question was surprisingly simple, if only because he had already done enough to her in one evening. What she did with her heart, ultimately, wasn’t his decision. “Where do you wish to go from here?” he asked.

“I…” Nox hesitated, her eyes trailing down his face. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, chewing on her lip. “This wasn’t in the trajectory. It wasn’t supposed to happen…and you know I can get with unknowns…” She stopped herself with a shaky sigh. “That is why I asked you, why I’ll ask again…because I don’t know. I don’t know. So, where do you wish to go from here?”

Gale supposed it was only fair she asked him now, after he had forced so much from her. And as much as he didn’t want to sway her, as much as he wanted her to do as she wished—as she needed to do for herself, he did have a desire. “I would very much like to remain at your side,” he breathed.

“I was afraid you would say that,” she said with a humorless laugh. After a moment, she pressed into his palm and looked up at him with a small, achingly sad smile. “I was also hoping for it.”

“I am hardly surprised,” he responded and, despite himself, returned her smile. He ran his thumb under her eye, inelegantly tracing the pattern of her tattoo. This was everything he had ever wanted. It was far more than he ever deserved, but it was everything he wanted to hold her like this. To have her like this. And he shouldn’t ask for more, he shouldn’t, but he was nothing if not a stubborn, selfish man.

“And I know it is cruel of me to ask this of you, but spending these last few days at your side would make all of it, every misstep and misfortune, every potential outcome and end, worth it,” Gale added, smile falling away with each word he put into the air. “I…would not blame you if you refused,” he added, “But, that is where I wish to go from here.”

“It would be no more nor no less cruel than for me to deny you.” Nox’s eyes fluttered shut and she let out another, mirthless chuckle, the pitiful sound accompanied by a few more tears escaping her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. “It seems we are at a bit of an impasse.”

It was with great effort that he smiled down at her again, the motion nearly cracking his lips. The pain paled in comparison to the snapping in his chest. He never wanted to feel like this, never believed he could be so joyous and so despondent at the same time. He never wanted her to feel like this either, let alone be the one to cause it.

He brushed away a few more tears as they continued spilling from the seemingly endless pools in her eyes. “Whatever are we to do then, do you suppose?” he asked softly.

Nox let out a low breath before opening her eyes. He half expected her to shy away from him, but she met his gaze head on, a little more of that resolve springing to life. “Well…either neither one of us concedes and we stay exactly as we are until the end,” she muttered. “Or…”

Shining, violet eyes strayed from his and slowly roved down his face, cataloguing every line and feature with the utmost scrutiny he knew only a fellow scholar—only she could possess. She stopped when her gaze reached his mouth, and he stopped breathing when she shifted closer to him.

“…Or I concede that I have never been an incredibly stubborn woman,” Nox mumbled as she moved to her tiptoes, mouth mere inches from his. He would have laughed at the obvious lie if her actions didn’t steal the breath from his lungs. “I acknowledge that I already knew the answer to this question.” Her hand came up to cover his, and her lips brushed over his own as she concluded, “And I admit that I had already lost long before this argument ever began.”

In comparison to his desperation fueled lunge for her, Nox’s kiss was hesitant, if not a little clumsy. Their noses bumped and she barely pressed her lips to his at the start; he was out of practice and she was entirely unpracticed, but in that moment he didn’t care. In that moment, what mattered was that she kissed him. In that moment, what mattered was that she chose him. She was choosing him over her fear, she was choosing him over herself.

Nox chose him over his fate.

This was the type of affection soldiers received before leaving for war. Longing and lamentation permeated every touch, every breath, and every sigh shared between them, but it was overflowing with affection. It was freeing, a feeling he was all too ready and willing to drown in. More than that, the way she kissed him unequivocally made him believe she was just as willing to drown herself in him as he was her.

It…he shouldn’t crave that. He shouldn’t want her to take this leap, he should know better to condemn her like this. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t deny it was beautiful. She was beautiful.

When Nox pulled away from him, he smiled at her again. This time, for a few, fleeting moments, it did not hurt. And though it did not last, it was genuine. “You know, I should wish that you never had to declare your affections for me a loss,” he said after a moment, pulling her closer and turning to place a kiss on her forehead.

“It isn’t you,” she reassured and gave a miniscule shake of her head. “It isn’t you.”

“I know,” he promised, placing another kiss in her hair. His hand came up to cradle the back of her head and pull her flush against his chest. She moved all too easily into his embrace. “Still, you are a better soul than I to offer your heart so willingly despite knowing where it potentially ends.”

“What other choice do I have?” Nox asked quietly. “You claimed it well before now, no matter how reticent I was to admit it.”

Gale sighed and closed his eyes, burying his nose in her hair. “Would that I could return it to you whole,” he murmured. He still could, it wasn’t a promise he could make, but there was still a chance. “Had I known, I would have endeavored harder to never have claimed it in the first place.” That was a lie, but the platitude felt like it needed to be said.

“You still would have. That was never your choice.” She absolved him of it far too easily, as she often did. After a beat, she detangled herself from him enough to look up at him. She raised her hands to his face, cradling him with a gentleness that nearly made him cry. “Gale…promise me this will be worth it?”

He could promise her that. “It will.” Without waiting for a response, he pulled her into another kiss. “If there is one thing I succeed in doing these last few days, it will be showing you just how deeply my reverence runs,” he swore against her lips. “I will ensure it is enough to last even the long lifespan you yet have before you.”

“Okay,” Nox muttered shakily and nodded. “Okay,” she said, more stable, more resolute. It did not quite reach the sadness in her eyes when she shifted to look up at him. “I only wish I had the experience…the time to do the same.”

The area they were in was forested and not particularly cavernous, but her scream echoed around him in beautiful, torturous repetition. It reverberated through him, shook him, stilled him as every last spark of his frustration calmed at her declaration. She stood across from him, her pacing finally stopped by the very same enormity. Her chest heaved, her hands flexed at her sides, and her jaw started clenching and unclenching in a desperate bid to keep her composure the longer they stared at each other.

She did not hold.

Nox crumbled. He watched in excruciatingly slow motion as the dwindling flames of her anger burned out completely only to be replaced with their true kindling—despair. Tears returned to the edges of her pretty violet eyes, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth after it trembled just once. Her gaze dropped from his before she turned away from him completely, submitting to defeat.

“I want you to live, Gale,” she repeated softly.

Of course she did. That was what she had been saying from the start, that she wanted him to live. That he didn’t need to die. That it would be a waste of a brilliant mind and a beautiful soul. And he knew it, something in him had read between the lines of all the words she had spoken and yet he never comprehended how deeply her desire ran. But of course she wanted him to live, of course she did.

His gaze traced over her frame, nearly collapsed in on herself as she released a few, shuddering breaths in an attempt to recollect herself. After a moment, she turned back to face him, and her eyes met his again with a shine of desperate, despondent honesty. With blinding clarity, he realized the answer to their problem was strikingly simple.

“Then ask it of me.”

Her lips parted as if to speak, but all that came out was a small, strangled cry. Nox shook her head quickly—violently—and her arms came up to wrap around herself. “I will not,” she breathed out and shook her head again. “I shouldnot. I-I-I…I cannot,” she choked out as her tears finally spilled over.

He took a step towards her, and then another when she did not shy away from him. He came to a stop in front of her, and though her gaze dropped from his again, he tentatively reached out a hand towards her with the intent to wipe away her tears.

“I…I cannot be expected to breathe life back into a man resigned to his fate.”

Gale faltered. She…was correct. That…was an incredibly unfair expectation.

Nox swallowed and shook her head again before turning up to face him. “I cannot ask a good man to take the selfish route, and I…and I…”

She blew out a long breath. Before he could cup her cheek, she reached out and grabbed both of his hands. She did nothing further, just held his hands in the space between him and her. She took another deep breath and forced herself to meet his stare. “And I cannot ask you to condemn your soul for me.”

The bitter, biting truth was that she could. She could very easily ask that of him, and he would follow her desire in a heartbeat. It was a bitter, biting truth that he realized far too late in their endeavors, but one he found blindingly simple now. Nothing else mattered but her. There was nothing he wouldn’t do in this moment so long as it appeased her and stopped her crying. And if that was what she wanted, he wished that she would ask, but the bitterest truth was that the reason she could ask that of him and he would readily agree was the very same reason she never, ever would.

Gale sighed and detangled one of his hands from hers. Gently, he cupped her cheek finally, swiping his thumb over the small stream of tears running down her face. His eyes searched hers, patiently awaiting her to speak anything else if she needed. When it became apparent she had run out of words, he sighed again.

“It is already yours to do as you please, Nox’ani,” he whispered gently. “You should know that.”

“Gale…” She squeezed her eyes shut, almost pained, and swallowed roughly.

He lightly brushed down her cheek until he moved his hand to tilt up her chin, his thumb lazily tracing over the outline of her mouth. Her lips parted with a shuddering breath, and her glassy eyes cracked open to look at him in question. Gale hoped she understood his intention, given how similar it was to what he had done a few nights ago on the frozen river…moments before the Orb ruined it.

“And if it is not something you desire,” he continued, just as soft, “speak on it now, and we shall lay it to rest permanently.”

Nox didn’t speak. Her gaze flickered from his eyes and down his face to his mouth before snapping back. She bit her lip, indecisive, and he felt the miniscule shake of her head against his hand. “It…it does not feel proper for me to claim…”

“I assure you it is,” he breathed.