Chapter 6 — A Mortal Hand Against Forever

Not peaceful.

Just quiet enough for me to notice everything I’d been avoiding.

Rain tapped the windows. Epitaph rested beside the bed. Seris sat across from me, pretending to read the same page she'd been staring at for minutes.

I watched her.

She turned a page.

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Looking at me like I’ve committed a crime.”

“You have.”

That got her attention.

She lowered the book.

“Oh?”

“You didn’t tell me.”

Her expression barely changed.

That was answer enough.

“The longevity rite,” I said.

Seris sighed.

“Who told you?”

“That’s your first question?”

“It’s important.”

“Seris.”

“Zyrion.”

I hated when she used my own tone against me.

Earlier, one of the healers had made a careless comment while checking my wing.

Humans aged faster. Seris wouldn’t have that issue, apparently.

Not if she accepted the Council’s longevity rite.

The words had stuck.

So had what came next.

She’d refused it.

I looked at her.

“You could live for centuries.”

“I could.”

“Maybe longer.”

“Maybe.”

“And you said no.”

“Yes.”

She said it like we were discussing tea.

I pushed myself upright.

“Why?”

Seris shut the book.

“Because there’s a price.”

“There’s always a price.”

“This one’s worse than expensive medicine.”

“What is it?”

Her eyes shifted toward the window.

“The rite ties the recipient to the Council’s celestial network.”

I stared at her.

“What does that mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like.”

“Seris.”

She rubbed her thumb against the book’s edge.

“The Council extends a human life by feeding Aetherian magic into their soul structure. But that magic has to stay connected to the source.”

My stomach tightened.

“A contract.”

“A permanent one.”

“What kind?”

She smiled without humor.

“The kind they don’t let you resign from.”

There it was.

The Council again.

Always offering gifts with chains hidden inside them.

“What would they be able to make you do?”

“Depends on the wording.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

Pain shot through my side.

Seris immediately stood.

“Don’t.”

“I’m fine.”

“You can barely stand.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I’m saying you’re an idiot.”

Normally I would've laughed.

I didn’t.

“You should take it.”

She went still.

I realised what I’d said too late.

“No.”

“Seris—”

“I said no.”

“You could have hundreds of years.”

“And spend them owned by the Council.”

“We could find a way around the contract.”

“We?”

“Yes, we.”

She stared at me.

I kept going because stopping would've meant thinking.

“You understand old celestial law better than anyone I know. Cassian knows military contracts. I have Epitaph. If there’s a binding clause, we cut it.”

Her expression hardened.

“With the sword that can damage souls?”

“If we have to.”

“No.”

“Then we find something else.”

“Zyrion.”

“You’re throwing away centuries.”

“And you’re acting like they already belong to me.”

That stopped me.

Rain tapped against the glass.

Seris stepped closer.

“I knew what my life was when I was born.”

“That doesn’t mean you should accept it.”

“Accept what? Being human?”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“It sounded like it.”

I looked away.

Her voice softened.

“What’s actually bothering you?”

Nothing.

Everything.

I didn’t answer.

Seris waited.

She was good at that.

Seris weaponised silence.

Finally, I muttered, “You’ll get old.”

She didn’t laugh.

That made it worse.

I stared at my hands.

“Aetherians change slowly. I could look almost the same in a hundred years.”

“I know.”

“And you…”

“Will look fantastic at eighty.”

I glared at her.

She smiled.

“Seris.”

“What? I plan to age beautifully.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I know.”

Then why was she smiling?

Because she always did that when I was close to saying something I didn’t know how to say.

“You could die before I even start looking older.”

Her smile faded.

There.

I’d said it.

The sentence had been living somewhere inside me for years.

Once it was out, I wanted it back.

Seris sat beside me.

Not touching.

Just close.

“I could.”

I swallowed.

“And you’re alright with that?”

“No.”

That surprised me.

She looked down at her hands.

“I’m not excited about dying, Zyrion.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

She breathed out slowly.

“I don’t want the Council deciding what my life is worth. If I get three hundred years by handing them the right to choose how I spend those years, what did I gain?”

“Time.”

“For what?”

I looked at her.

She looked back.

“For anything.”

“For you?”

The question landed so softly I almost pretended I hadn’t heard it.

My heart did something deeply unhelpful.

“I didn’t say that.”

“No.”

Seris’s mouth curled slightly.

“You definitely didn’t.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“The face.”

“My face?”

“The one where you know exactly what I mean.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

I laughed despite myself.

For half a second, it was easy again.

Then I noticed her hand resting between us.

Human.

Warm.

Temporary.

I hated the word the moment it entered my head.

Seris followed my eyes.

Then she did something incredibly unfair.

She took my hand.

I froze.

Her fingers threaded through mine like this was normal.

Maybe it could've been.

In another life.

“You keep mourning things before they’ve happened.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“You do.”

She squeezed my hand.

“You mourn people before they leave. You worry about battles before they start. You look at good things and immediately ask how they’ll end.”

“That’s called planning.”

“No. Cassian plans.”

I frowned.

“Then what do I do?”

“You panic quietly.”

“That sounds insulting.”

“It’s meant lovingly.”

Lovingly.

There were words you could survive on a battlefield that became incredibly dangerous beside a rainy window.

Seris looked down at our hands.

“If I have fifty years, then I have fifty years.”

“You’ll have more than that.”

“Probably.”

“Definitely.”

“See? Panic.”

I groaned.

She laughed softly.

Then her eyes met mine again.

“If I get old, then I get old. If my hair turns white, you’re allowed to make fun of me.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I’ll make fun of you, then.”

“You already do.”

“Exactly. Nothing changes.”

“Everything changes.”

The words came out quieter than I meant.

Seris stopped smiling.

I felt her thumb move over my knuckles.

“You’re scared.”

I almost denied it.

Almost.

“Yes.”

Her eyes softened.

That was somehow worse than pity.

“I don’t want to watch you disappear.”

“You won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No.”

She shifted closer.

“But I can promise I’m here now.”

I stared at her.

The room suddenly felt smaller.

There were things I’d buried under missions, jokes, prophecies, and excuses.

I wanted to tell her I didn’t care if she got old.

That was the problem.

I wanted the chance to see it.

I wanted to know what her hair looked like when it turned silver.

I wanted to hear her complain about her knees.

I wanted that stupid cottage.

And, for the first time, when I pictured it, someone was sitting on the porch.

“You know,” I said quietly, “if there ever was someone I’d want—”

The door opened.

“Good news, nobody died—”

Cassian stopped.

Seris and I were sitting close enough that our shoulders touched.

Her hand was still in mine.

I released it so fast you’d think it was on fire.

Cassian’s eyes went to our hands.

Then to me.

Then to Seris.

His expression became completely blank.

Too blank.

“Oh.”

Seris sighed.

“Cassian.”

“No, no. Please. Continue.”

“Nothing was happening.”

“Absolutely.”

I pointed at him.

“Not one word.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

“Your face has.”

“My face is innocent.”

Seris laughed.

I hated both of them.

Cassian walked in carrying three paper bags.

“I brought food.”

Seris looked suspicious.

“Where from?”

“The ceremonial kitchens.”

I stared.

“You stole them?”

“Borrowed.”

He put the bags on the table.

The smell of honey and cinnamon filled the room.

Seris peeked inside.

“Pastries?”

Cassian smiled.

“Thought we could honor tradition.”

For a moment, all three of us laughed.

Just like the archive and the river.

Like nothing could touch us.

Cassian handed me one, then looked between Seris and me again.

He knew.

He absolutely knew.

And for once, he was kind enough to pretend he didn’t.

Later, I’d remember that kindness and wonder when exactly it stopped being enough.

Seris bumped my shoulder as she took a bite.

I looked at her hand.

The same hand that had held mine.

Warm.

Alive.

Here.

I tried to listen to what she’d told me.

Stop mourning tomorrow.

For one evening, I almost managed it.

I didn’t know that the future I feared losing to time would be taken from me far sooner.

And when it was, I’d spend thousands of years wishing I’d stopped staring at the ending long enough to tell her what I wanted while she was still there.