The kick to his already broken ribs was more than enough to wake him. He really hadn't required two of them. Tears burned in his eyes and he coughed, blinking up at those present, trying to make sense of what was going on.
At first, Asher barely registered the warmth seeping into his ribs. His mind was fogged with pain and exhaustion, his body too worn down to recognise the relief for what it was. But then the iron cuffs hit the ground and something shifted. The burning in his wrists and ankles eased, the tension in his limbs loosening, and he sucked in a breath like a drowning man breaking the surface.
It felt wrong. The pain had been constant, gnawing, a thing he had accepted as inevitable—and now it was gone.
His bleary gaze flicked toward the healer, her hands still glowing faintly as she worked. But then— the redheaded female stepped forward.
Asher barely had time to process the sharp shift in energy before the healer crumpled, her body collapsing like a marionette with its strings severed. His heart lurched violently against his ribs, his sluggish mind snapping into sharper awareness.
"Wait—" His voice was hoarse, rasping, but the female was already dragging her away.. "What-"
Asher swayed on his feet as he was hauled up, his body barely holding itself together. The warmth of the healer’s magic still lingered, soothing the worst of the iron’s damage, but it couldn’t touch the deeper wounds—the ones that had nothing to do with flesh and everything to do with the weight of Rivain’s words.
He was setting him free.
Not just letting him go—helping him. Taking his side.
Asher swallowed, his throat tight as he clutched the bag Rivain had shoved into his arms. His fingers curled around the worn fabric, knuckles white, as though it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment. His breath came sharp and unsteady, his mind grasping at anything to say, but there was nothing. No sharp retort. No bitter anger. Just a hollow, aching kind of grief.
He met Rivain’s eyes, searching them for something—some reason, some explanation.
Asher exhaled shakily, blinking hard. He had spent five hundred years waiting for someone—anyone—to stand beside him. To see him. And now, when he finally had it, it was being given with the sharp edge of an ultimatum. Go. Disappear. Become no one.
He nodded, just once, his fingers flexing around the bag. "Thank you," he murmured, the words quiet, as though afraid for Rivain's sake that anyone might hear them.
He stared at his brother for a moment longer, and then he turned before he could break, before the weight of it all crushed him completely. His steps were unsteady, but he forced himself forward, out of the cell, into the open hall. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.
Because if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave.
The night air hit Asher like a wave, cool and sharp against the fever burning beneath his skin. Every breath rattled through him, shallow and unsteady, as exhaustion sank its claws deep into his bones. He staggered forward, catching himself against the rough stone of the outer wall, fingers pressing into the cold surface as if it might anchor him. The world beyond that prison felt impossibly vast, stretching into an uncertain darkness that swallowed him whole. He had never felt so weightless. So untethered.
The bag Rivain had shoved into his arms hung heavy at his side, but not as heavy as the words his brother had left him with. Vespera was released. Unharmed. That should have brought relief, should have loosened the tightness in his chest. Instead, it only deepened the ache.
She would think him dead. That was for the best. It had to be.
He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the stone. He tried to convince himself that this was mercy. That it was kindness. That by vanishing from her life entirely, he had done something right. Because if he stayed—if she knew the truth, if she searched—he would ruin her. He had been told more than once now that he would be the death of her, and that was something he couldn’t live with.
A shuddering breath tore from his chest as he forced himself to move. Every step felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of all he had lost threatened to drag him into the earth. His legs ached, his vision blurred at the edges, but he kept going.
The leylines would take him somewhere, but his heart would stay right here.
At first, Asher barely registered the warmth seeping into his ribs. His mind was fogged with pain and exhaustion, his body too worn down to recognise the relief for what it was. But then the iron cuffs hit the ground and something shifted. The burning in his wrists and ankles eased, the tension in his limbs loosening, and he sucked in a breath like a drowning man breaking the surface.
It felt wrong. The pain had been constant, gnawing, a thing he had accepted as inevitable—and now it was gone.
His bleary gaze flicked toward the healer, her hands still glowing faintly as she worked. But then— the redheaded female stepped forward.
Asher barely had time to process the sharp shift in energy before the healer crumpled, her body collapsing like a marionette with its strings severed. His heart lurched violently against his ribs, his sluggish mind snapping into sharper awareness.
"Wait—" His voice was hoarse, rasping, but the female was already dragging her away.. "What-"
Asher swayed on his feet as he was hauled up, his body barely holding itself together. The warmth of the healer’s magic still lingered, soothing the worst of the iron’s damage, but it couldn’t touch the deeper wounds—the ones that had nothing to do with flesh and everything to do with the weight of Rivain’s words.
He was setting him free.
Not just letting him go—helping him. Taking his side.
Asher swallowed, his throat tight as he clutched the bag Rivain had shoved into his arms. His fingers curled around the worn fabric, knuckles white, as though it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this moment. His breath came sharp and unsteady, his mind grasping at anything to say, but there was nothing. No sharp retort. No bitter anger. Just a hollow, aching kind of grief.
He met Rivain’s eyes, searching them for something—some reason, some explanation.
Asher exhaled shakily, blinking hard. He had spent five hundred years waiting for someone—anyone—to stand beside him. To see him. And now, when he finally had it, it was being given with the sharp edge of an ultimatum. Go. Disappear. Become no one.
He nodded, just once, his fingers flexing around the bag. "Thank you," he murmured, the words quiet, as though afraid for Rivain's sake that anyone might hear them.
He stared at his brother for a moment longer, and then he turned before he could break, before the weight of it all crushed him completely. His steps were unsteady, but he forced himself forward, out of the cell, into the open hall. He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.
Because if he did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to leave.
The night air hit Asher like a wave, cool and sharp against the fever burning beneath his skin. Every breath rattled through him, shallow and unsteady, as exhaustion sank its claws deep into his bones. He staggered forward, catching himself against the rough stone of the outer wall, fingers pressing into the cold surface as if it might anchor him. The world beyond that prison felt impossibly vast, stretching into an uncertain darkness that swallowed him whole. He had never felt so weightless. So untethered.
The bag Rivain had shoved into his arms hung heavy at his side, but not as heavy as the words his brother had left him with. Vespera was released. Unharmed. That should have brought relief, should have loosened the tightness in his chest. Instead, it only deepened the ache.
She would think him dead. That was for the best. It had to be.
He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the stone. He tried to convince himself that this was mercy. That it was kindness. That by vanishing from her life entirely, he had done something right. Because if he stayed—if she knew the truth, if she searched—he would ruin her. He had been told more than once now that he would be the death of her, and that was something he couldn’t live with.
A shuddering breath tore from his chest as he forced himself to move. Every step felt heavier than the last, as though the weight of all he had lost threatened to drag him into the earth. His legs ached, his vision blurred at the edges, but he kept going.
The leylines would take him somewhere, but his heart would stay right here.
