Chapter 45 Bonds and Reckonings

The weeks leading up to the lunar eclipse were filled with tension—of the soul, of the spirit, and of the body.

There was training to be done. Scars to harden. Mistakes to process. Every step, every breath, felt like it was counting down to a moment that could decide everything.

Kai’s absence weighed heavy in every corner of their new home—on the walls, in the silence before sleep, in the way no one quite laughed the same. It clung to them in the mornings like cold dew, impossible to shake.

And no weight was heavier than the expectation they carried.

It was early morning when Fara stepped alone into the courtyard. The sky was still painted with the last hints of night, the air crisp and dry. Her breath fogged in front of her, each exhale disappearing too fast, like time slipping away.

She gripped her spear-staff in both hands and began to move—slow at first, then faster, arcs of fire trailing each strike. Her form was tighter than before, her footwork sharper, her shoulders lower, more defensive. Each rotation of the staff cracked through the air like she was trying to carve the sound itself in half.

Two tails swayed behind her, each twitch pulsing with stored magic. The energy bled into her movements, every pivot and thrust a little more dangerous than the last.

She had to be faster.
She had to be stronger.
If the temple sealed again and Kai was still inside, she wouldn’t forgive herself for the rest of her life.

Inside, Skye sat at the kitchen table, flipping through an old scouting manual she’d borrowed from the guild’s archives. She didn’t really need it—her instincts had kept her alive this long—but the ink on the pages felt like a reminder of everything she hadn’t done when it counted.

She replayed the moment outside the temple again and again. The pounding on the stone. The way the entrance had vanished before her eyes. The fact she hadn’t been able to stop it.

Her tail curled tightly around her ankle. She read the same sentence three times before realizing she hadn’t absorbed a single word.

Across the demi-human district, Revoli was perched on a high stool in Cherish’s forge. The air was thick with heat and smoke, the smell of metal and ash settling in her hair. Barrels of powder lined one wall, crates of small tools the other.

Cherish, massive and sweat-slick from the fire, slid a reinforced bomb casing across the worktable with a grunt. “Make it count, little firebug.”

Revoli ran her fingers over the cold metal, nodding once. “Accuracy, not flash,” she murmured, recalling Kai’s words from months ago. She clipped it to her belt, the weight of it feeling like a promise.

That evening, the guild hall was loud—lanternlight glowing golden against the dark wood, the smell of ale and roasting meat heavy in the air. At one table, a crowd erupted in cheers over a newly returned adventuring party.

“They call themselves the Dawnbringers,” Lena told the girls when they stepped inside. “Fresh from the western frontier. Slain a wyvern just last week. Supposedly undefeated.”

The three exchanged glances but didn’t comment.

Lena’s gaze softened slightly. “Go ahead. Let people see you. Remind them you’re still here.”

The encouragement didn’t land. Skye didn’t want eyes on her. Fara hated the low murmurs she could already hear at the edge of the crowd. Revoli kept scanning the shadows, half-expecting Kai to step out of one.

The leader of the Dawnbringers stood as they passed—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a golden half-mask and a crimson scarf. His stance was stiff, calculated.

“Welcome,” he said with a smirk. “The brave girls from the fog temple. Heard you lost your man inside.”

Skye’s ears flattened. Fara took a step forward.

“And what’s it to you?” she asked, her voice low.

“Nothing,” he replied, sipping from a silver goblet. “Only that weak leaders tend to fall first.”

Before the tension could sharpen, Lockwood appeared beside them.

“That’s enough,” he said, his tone cutting through the noise. “They’re elite now. You’re still on probation. Watch yourself.”

The man raised his goblet in mock respect. “Of course, Commander.”

Lockwood led them away without looking back.

“I don’t like him,” Revoli muttered.

“Neither do I,” Skye said.

Fara didn’t answer, but her tails flicked sharply. She recognized that kind of arrogance. And she’d seen it break before.

That night, Revoli slipped quietly into Kai’s room. She wasn’t looking to snoop—not at first. She just wanted to lie where he had, to breathe in the faint trace of his scent still clinging to the blanket.

But when the bottom drawer creaked open, her eyes landed on the journal.

She picked it up, whispering to herself, “Sorry, Kai… I just want to feel closer to you.”

The door opened before she could change her mind. Skye stepped inside, Fara behind her.

Revoli froze. “I—I wasn’t doing anything!”

Skye’s gaze drifted to the journal in her hands. She didn’t scold, didn’t judge—just walked forward slowly. “Is that his?”

Revoli nodded. Fara joined them at the bed. “Then we read it together.”

They sat shoulder to shoulder as the candlelight flickered, turning page after page. Each line felt like Kai was speaking to them directly.

“Sometimes I think if I wake up, I’ll have nothing waiting for me. Not even anger. Just cold silence.”

“My son once said, ‘I love you, Tata. I’m sorry Mom hurts you.’ And that was the only time I let myself cry in front of anyone.”

“I never had a home. I made it. With them. And they never saw it.”

“She never kissed me without a reason. Affection meant I’d done something right… or she wanted something. She made me believe I was less than a man. I believed it.”

“I used to think strength was not crying. But I’ve been broken so many times I don’t know how to piece myself back together.”

“The kids were my anchor. But even they started to see me as a shadow. I don’t blame them.”

“This world—this dream—I don’t care if it’s fake. It’s the first time I’ve felt seen. And I’m terrified they’ll find out who I really am.”

Skye’s throat tightened. “He carried all this alone… and still took care of us.”

Revoli hugged the journal to her chest. “He gave us a home while his was still in pieces.”

Fara’s voice was low. “He saw value in us before we saw it in ourselves.”

Skye closed the book and rested it against her heart. “We owe him more than we ever thought.”

They lay down together on his bed—Revoli curled at one side, Fara at the other, Skye in the middle with the journal pressed between them like a heartbeat.

The day before their departure, Lockwood called a meeting.

“The mist came with the last eclipse. It came when Kai vanished. That’s not a coincidence,” he said. “And I’ve heard rumors the Dawnbringers have ties to a faction we thought long dead.”

“Gregory?” Skye asked quietly.

Lockwood didn’t answer.

The morning of the eclipse, the house was silent. Armor straps tightened without a word. Weapons checked twice. The obsidian charm lay on the table, pulsing softly—a reminder that their tether to Kai was still there.

Breakfast was simple but familiar: eggs, sliced meat, spiced beans. The kind Kai used to make. His seat at the head of the table stayed empty.

“I miss his voice,” Skye murmured.

“I miss his grunts,” Revoli said, trying to smile.

“I miss his heart,” Fara whispered.

They left the house together.

The obsidian charm glowed with purpose.

Their bond had never been stronger.