Maxwell & Amelie

  “It is done. We have seen him. We have beheld the Corrupted One.

  There are no words in any tongue that can give shape to what we faced. I thought him a man once, long ago, when the tales were still spoken over firelight in Hilfen. I thought him a tyrant, a warlord, some wielder of forbidden arts who set himself against the will of the gods. But no man could become this.

  He rose from the fissure like a wound made flesh, a figure without boundary, neither whole nor broken, shifting from bone to shadow to fme in the span of a breath. Eyes, too many eyes, burned with a light that was not light, but hunger. His voice was not a voice at all, but the turning of the earth itself, the groan of the sky as it strained to hold him.

  Athelos charged first. Brave, loyal Athelos. His sword rang once upon that abyssal hide, and then he was gone. Unmade. Not sin, not torn, but undone, as though he had never been. There was no scream. Only silence.

  Regulus ughed then, a high, broken ugh that has not ceased even now, hours ter. He speaks only in fragments, echoing the Corrupted One’s words back to us, scribbling with blood on the parchment I gave him to map our way. Cynthia tried to silence him, but her hand faltered. She is shaken, more shaken than I have ever seen her. She will not look at me.

  As for me... what am I now? A fool. A betrayer. A hollow vessel of despair. For the Corrupted One showed me more mercy than I deserve: he spoke my name. He showed me Sarah, and our child, standing at the gates of Hilfen. And then he showed me their ashes, drifting on the wind that will sweep the world when he wakes in full.

  I thought I came here to save mankind. Now I see the truth. We are already lost. Our march, our courage, our sacrifices... they were not defiance. They were offerings. He has fed on our hope as easily as he will feed on the marrow of the world.

  The others still look to me for command. They do not yet see what I have seen. I cannot tell them. To speak it aloud would be to break them utterly. And so I write here, in these final pages:

  The Corrupted One cannot be sin. He cannot be bound. He cannot even be resisted.

  All that remains to us is despair. And in despair... he is sovereign.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2156 Post-Separation (PS).

  I left Cliff by the fire, the weight of his story settling over me like a shroud.

  The Sword-Saint. Cliff’s revetion echoed in my mind, a profound and unsettling truth that seemed to reorder the very foundations of the world as I understood them. A storybook hero, not just a legend, but a man. And Cliff, the gruff, wounded swordsman who now sat tending a fire for us, was a living link to that legend, a relic from an older, more dangerous time.

  My feet carried me toward the ke, though my mind was a thousand miles away, lost in the telling of the Halcyon Years. The cool evening air did little to soothe the frantic energy that buzzed beneath my skin. I needed stillness. I needed the pcid, unthinking calm of the water.

  The ke was a mirror of polished obsidian, reflecting the bruised purples and oranges of the dying day. I walked along its edge, the soft sand giving way beneath my boots. In the distance, Amelie was a solitary silhouette against the fading light, her form small and fragile where she sat huddled on the shore, hugging her knees to her chest.

  She had not moved since she had left the camp. The trauma of Fogveil clung to her like a second skin, a shadow that even the setting sun could not chase away. The weight of what she had been forced to do, what the Mistmother had made her do, was a burden I could not comprehend, yet I felt its echo in the sorrow that radiated from her.

  Cliff’s story about the boy, about justice and cruelty and the harsh lessons of the world, now seemed less like a fable and more like a warning. He had told it for my benefit, to ease my own feelings of weakness, but now I saw a deeper purpose. He was preparing me. Preparing me for a world where even heroes are haunted, where legends are writ in pain.

  I slowed my approach, not wanting to startle her. My own heart ached with a helpless sort of sympathy. What could I possibly say? What comfort could I offer to someone who had been made a monster against her will? The thought of it, the memory of her serene, hollow eyes as she held that burning child... a fresh wave of nausea washed over me.

  "Amelie?" I called out, my voice feeling small in the vast quiet.

  She did not turn, but her shoulders tensed, the only sign she had heard me.

  I took another step closer, my boots sinking into the damp sand. "Cliff and I... we've got the fire going. Dinner's almost ready." It was a clumsy offering, a mundane anchor in a sea of madness, but it was all I had. I watched the back of her head, waiting, hoping for a sign, a word, anything.

  The silence that answered me was a thing of substance, a cold, heavy presence that pushed me back more effectively than any shield. Her shoulders, hunched against a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air, remained turned away from me.

  What a stupid thing to say. Dinner. As if a hot meal could cauterize a wound carved into the soul. I knew then that there were no words, no simple acts of kindness that could reach her where she was. She was adrift on a sea of horror, and I was standing on a shore she could not see.

  I took a slow step back, then another, the soft crunch of my boots on the sand feeling like a monstrous intrusion. And with a final, helpless gnce at her desote form...

  I surrendered.

  /-0-\

  Amelie heard him retreat back towards camp, lingering in her periphery for a brief moment before vanishing.

  The silence left in his wake was heavy, and oppressive.

  She knew she should have said something – responded in some way to the kindness and concern he was attempting to show. And yet... she simply could not bring herself to speak.

  Everything around her felt indistinct, as if she was gradually fading from existence, her physical connection to the world having come undone. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing. Not even her own emotions.

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to shout at the top of her lungs, until her throat gave out, and her consciousness dimmed.

  But no sound came. Instead of overwhelming sadness and grief, there was simply... nothing. She felt numb, and lifeless. As if someone had sucked all of her feelings out, leaving behind an empty shell of a person.

  Her ever-analytical mind told her she was likely in shock. That the reason she did not feel much of anything, was because her brain had yet to fully process what had transpired, and what it meant for her and her future.

  But when would it hit her, then? That second wave of anguish and heartbreak she knew must be coming?

  She tightened the embrace on her legs, pushing them even closer to her chest. The chill breeze felt crisp against her skin, but even that sensation was distant and muted.

  That poor child...

  A violent bout of nausea suddenly welled up inside of her. She untangled herself from her legs just in time to retch, as she regurgitated the contents of her stomach onto the sand. It came in several waves – spewing forth like an awful flood of half-digested food and bile.

  Once it finally stopped, she was left a shivering mess, vomit gathering in little pools around her. She continued to dry-heave for some time afterwards, her stomach cramping as it attempted to eject food that was no longer there. Some of it had gotten on her clothes, creating dark patches on the fabric that reeked of sick.

  In the midst of this suffering, the muted thuds of boots on sand reached her ears, and she heard Maxwell approach once more. He said nothing as he slowly started to disrobe, removing his clothes before stepping to her, heedless of the stench.

  "I'm going to lift you up now, okay?" he whispered, getting down on one knee next to her trembling form.

  She gave no response.

  He took her silence as assent, and pced an arm around her shoulders, rising from the ground with her in tow. Once he had her on two legs, he moved her closer to the water, where he began stripping her of her clothes, one yer at a time. It was slow going. He took great care not to upset her as he worked her out of her cloak and dress with mindful solemnity, his face an expressionless mask.

  In the end, they were both standing naked before each other in the ke, water reaching midway up their thighs. He then proceeded to gingerly rinse her body and hair of filth, his touch soft and comforting. He did not attempt to converse with her as he did this; he merely allowed the silence to bnket them, the outside world incapable of intruding upon its sanctity.

  At no point did he make untoward advances, or ogle her exposed body. He did not stare, nor make unnecessary contact beyond that which was necessary to perform the task at hand. He moved with purpose and confidence; his eyes affectionate as he washed her clean from top to bottom. Once done, he looked her over one st time to check for any remnants of sick, before nodding and moving them back to shore.

  A tiny crack of emotion appeared on Amelie’s otherwise vacant heart.

  Once out of the water, he took hold of his discarded shirt, and moved to dry her body. The light tugs on her head as he dragged the fabric along her wet hair served as tiny reminders that she was, in fact, still alive, and not some detached spirit floating aimlessly about the material world.

  From the bck void of her mind, a tiny voice arose to tell her she should feel embarrassed by all this. She was entirely nude, after all. Exposed in every sense before his eyes. Yet, there was not a single part of her that felt ashamed. If anything, the attention was... nice. And it was not just her that was without clothes. He too stood bare before her, his pale skin on full dispy. It did not seem to bother him much, unlike the time they had visited the bathhouse in Taft together.

  Before long, Maxwell finished his work, stepping away to discard his now sodden shirt. Another fissure opened in Amelie’s stone core, creating visible cracks on its exterior that let slip pinpricks of light and emotion. Then... he suddenly began to move off, back towards the camp, leaving her there on the beach.

  "A-Ah..." Amelie started, the unbidden sound emerging on its own from somewhere in the back of her throat.

  "Don't worry; I'll be right back," he replied, without breaking his stride nor turning around. "I'm just going to fetch some dry clothes from our pack.”

  The answer set her confused heart at ease, which had begun beating faster as soon as he moved away from her.

  True to his word, he returned moments ter with a fresh change of clothes. It was nothing remarkable – just a simple wool gown and a pair of linen undergarments – but it was enough. He left it in a neat pile on the grass, before picking up his own clothes and turning to leave once more.

  "I'll see if I can’t find some herbs for tea. You're welcome to join me... if you feel like it," he said, trying for a smile despite the tense atmosphere. He almost succeeded – it came off a tad bit forced, but Amelie was thankful for the attempt.

  "I'll... I'll be there," she whispered, her own voice sounding foreign to her ears. It was so weak, and frail, and devoid of warmth. Surely this could not be what she usually sounded like?

  "Happy to hear it. It's, uhh... just an offer, though. Don't force yourself."

  She shook her head.

  "Good. Good," he nodded, and then he was gone.

  Amelie let the silence wash over her once more as she got dressed, her movements sluggish and heavy.

  What was happening to her? Why did she feel so... wistful, and empty? Why was she not bawling her eyes out like a child? Where was the sorrow, the heartbreak, the guilt and shame?

  She went to join Maxwell without much thought given to her actions. In a way, it was almost like sleepwalking. Her body acted of its own accord, without any intervention from her brain.

  She found him again by the fire, dressed in his usual attire, using precise wind manipution to gently stir two wooden cups of herbal tea. It did not smell particurly delicate, but she supposed that was to be expected of scavenged herbs steeped in hot water. And yet, despite this, she found herself deeply touched by the act, for it showed that he cared, and wanted to comfort her in whatever way he could.

  He knows.

  It was a simple thought, and not one she would have paid much attention to under normal circumstances. But in that moment, it exemplified something so much grander than the making of tea.

  A cascade of emotions tumbled through her body. Maxwell knew. He knew her, and he knew exactly what it was like to feel this way, because he had suffered much the same horror.

  He knows, because he was broken too.

  Tears welled up in her eyes. Her breathing grew rugged, and heavy. The dam in her chest finally burst anew, letting slip a maelstrom of emotion.

  He has lost more than anyone. Even his own memories. So he knows. He understands.

  A subdued sob forced its way up her throat, and past her lips. Maxwell turned his head at the sound, and noticed the change in demeanor. A sad smile ghosted across his lips.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I would never think less of you for crying, you know.”

  She gave no response. Instead, she fell to her knees in front of him, and wept.

  Broken sobs of pain and anguish tore through her body. Tears streamed down her face, nding with soft thuds on the ground below. She was utterly helpless to resist the weight of her grief.

  She had done something unforgivable to that child. Hurt her in a way she could never recover from. And she had done it with a smile on her lips, and joy in her heart.

  Comforting arms lowered themselves around her trembling body, pulling her close. A soft hand came to rest on her gown, stroking a reassuring pattern across her back.

  “I hurt her, Maxwell...” Amelie cried, her face burrowed in his shoulder. “I hurt her so bad...”

  "I know," he whispered, tightening his grip. "I'm so sorry, Amelie...”

  The sound of her sorrow did something to him. She could tell by the way he started quivering. Her anguish cut into him like a knife, unearthing simir wounds that were far from healed. The guilt and shame began tearing at him as well, filling him with a profound sadness.

  And so, before long... he too was crying.

  /-0-\

  It was the sound of birds chirping that pulled Amelie from her sleep, her mind jostled awake by the never-ending chorus of birdsong that pierced through the early morning silence. Opening her eyelids, she allowed her brain a moment to wake before she turned her head, taking in her surroundings. Faint glimmers of sunlight peered out from behind gray clouds, bathing the world in a cool gleam that burned against her sensitive eyes.

  At once, she was confused. When had she fallen asleep? And for how long had she been dormant? But then, the events of st night came rushing back to her, and she felt her face flush a violent shade of crimson.

  He bathed me in the ke. And he hugged me so tightly.

  She fought against the blush as she thought about that which had transpired. She had known Maxwell for some time now, and in those months, she had never allowed herself to be quite as vulnerable as she had been st night. It felt... strange, to know she had opened her heart so candidly.

  Letting out a sigh, she made to get up from the bedroll, before noticing that her head seemed to be resting against an unfamiliar support. Moving her eyes, her shock deepened when she realized it was pced against Maxwell’s chest. At some point during the night, she must have shifted to using him as a makeshift pillow.

  For a moment, she struggled with this newfound discovery. This type of situation was hardly unfamiliar to her, as the two of them had shared a bedroll for as long as they had known each other. And using his chest as a pillow was something she had done many times in the past.

  Yet... for some reason, it seemed more intimate now than before. As if a certain threshold had been reached with the events of the previous day, elevating their retionship to new heights.

  How was she supposed to treat him now? Was she to push him away? Wake him up? Go back to sleep? Kiss him?

  Mixed with all the confusion was the undeniable notion that it also felt strangely... pleasant... to be with him like this. The feel of him so close to her. The rhythmic sound of his breathing. The warmth of his body.

  If nothing else... it beats waking up alone, I suppose, she thought to herself as she noticed that his right arm had been trapped beneath her neck, and was currently resting against her backside. It has been... a very long time... since I have felt so at ease.

  She closed her eyes again, and allowed the sensations to wash over her, blotting out the boundless pain and sorrow she felt lurking in the recesses of her mind, like a beast on the prowl. It would be back to haunt her ter. That, she felt certain of. But for now, it seemed content with waiting. It had the rest of her life to torment her, after all.

  Some time ter, her impromptu pillow finally began to wake from his slumber, and she had the distinct pleasure of watching him go through the exact same motions as she had. Confusion at waking up at an unfamiliar time, crity as he remembered the events of st night, and then finally embarrassment at the realization of the current situation.

  “Uhh... Good morning," he coughed, a faint dusting of red on his cheeks. His purple- tinted eyes seemed preoccupied with looking at anything but her.

  "Good morning," she said, tilting her head upwards.

  He looks... strangely cute from this angle.

  "Sleep well?" he asked.

  "Yes... Surprisingly so, in fact. I have said it before, and I shall say it again: you make for an excellent pillow.”

  “Ehh... Thanks? I suppose?” he said. It was clear he had not expected her to say that. “I... quite enjoyed being your pillow?”

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  “Good," she mumbled, shifting around for a more comfortable position with her head yet resting on his chest. “Because I am not particurly inclined to get up yet.”

  “A-Ah... Well, then.”

  A prolonged lull followed the statement. There was a subject to be discussed, of course, but neither felt the need to rush into it. Sometimes, a lengthy silence could do more for a conversation than a million words.

  In the stillness, she noticed that Cliff was nowhere to be seen. He had seemingly made himself scarce - his bedroll was empty, and his bde was missing. He had left behind his robe, however, indicating that he had likely not wandered far.

  “So... about st night...” Maxwell started, breaking the stalemate at st.

  “Maxwell...” Amelie sighed. “Please.”

  “I-I just wanted to say that... I don’t bme you. For breaking down the way you did,” he stammered. “And that my perception of you hasn’t changed because of it. I don’t consider you to be... weak, or anything.”

  Amelie took a moment to consider this, before she gave her reply.

  “It is... unusual... for me to be so vulnerable,” she hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “For most of my life, I have... struggled with the need to prove myself. To fight for autonomy, and the power to make my own decisions. And so, as you are no doubt aware of by now, I am not the best at showing emotion.”

  Maxwell listened with bated breath, seeming to understand that matters of the heart were not always easily conveyed.

  “Though we are treated as equals in the eyes of the w, there is no denying that... when it comes to matters of statecraft, being a woman is a disadvantage,” she frowned. “It is part of the reason why I have never had much of an interest in politics. There is simply too much prejudice at py. Too many hurdles to overcome before you are taken seriously, and not just viewed as a pretty-looking mouthpiece for someone else’s opinions.”

  Maxwell nodded his silent assent. Whatever his thoughts on the matter, he seemed content with letting her speak her mind for now, however tangential her musings may appear.

  “And so, I slowly began to drift away from my duties as heir to the Harthway line,” she said. “Rather than face the chauvinistic leers of the courtroom, I chose to drown myself in the study of Wielding, and combat strategy. Hardly a fitting subject for a young dy, mind you.”

  “That does sound like something you would do,” Maxwell smiled, eyes focused on nothing in particur as he seemed to picture the scenes in his mind. “You’re... very much you.”

  “Yes, well...” Amelie said. “My father certainly did not see it as a productive use of my time. I have long since lost count of the amount of times we have argued over it. Unfortunately for him, though, I have inherited my mother’s stubbornness, and his dauntlessness. He never stood much of a chance to begin with.”

  A modest chuckle sounded in response.

  “In the end... I was allowed my freedom, with the burden of leadership falling to my younger brother instead,” she said, a grimace spreading upon her features. “A horrible weight to put upon his shoulders. I never wanted to rule, but neither did he. It is part of the reason why I think he shall make for a good leader. He does not desire lordship.”

  “I didn’t know you had a younger brother,” Maxwell said, furrowing his brows.

  “Well, I do,” Amelie said. “I simply have not mentioned it before now. There has not been much of a reason to.”

  “... Now that I think about it, there’s lots of things I don’t know about you,” Maxwell continued. “Like what kind of food you like, your favorite color... Hell, even your age!”

  “You wish to know how old I am?” she asked, a blithe smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

  “I mean... yeah?” he frowned. “It just feels like the kind of thing you’re supposed to know about a person you spend so much time with.”

  “Well, in that case...” she said. “I am twenty-one summers old. My name day is in the spring season.”

  “Twenty-one,” he said. “So you’re older than me. I might’ve figured.”

  “What about you?” she asked. “How many years does the mighty bearer of the Empyrean Sigil have on him?”

  “I’m eighteen... or nineteen now, I suppose,” he said. “I have a feeling my birthday might have passed during our lost time in the forest.”

  “Ah,” she said, feeling a sudden tightness in her chest at the mention of that pce. The pain from yesterday made itself known once more, seeping out from beneath the seal she had pced upon it. She did her best to ignore its bitter chill. “We shall have to celebrate it some other time, then.”

  “I guess,” he shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter to me, but we can celebrate it if you want to.”

  “One’s name day is a sacred thing,” she said, infusing her words with a proselytizing zeal. “For it marks the passing of youth, and the flowering of insight! ... Or so my grandfather would have said, anyway.”

  “Your grandfather sounds like a grandiloquent old man,” he responded, matching her jesting tone.

  “Grandiloquent is a big word,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you certain you know what it means?”

  “Indubitably so, my beauteousness.”

  She could not quite contain her smile as she turned to face him, eyes alight with banter. As her gaze nded upon him, however, the look set on his features gave her pause. He was smiling - and it was a warm smile indeed - but it was his eyes that truly held her, their purple shine alloyed with a deep and sincere affection. Never before had he looked upon her with such desire, such naked yearning. As if she was the only thing he could see, the one constant in the maelstrom of perpetual change that constituted their lives.

  It was impossible to ignore the implications, for they were spelled out in unspoken words resting heavy upon the silence. And she felt a great stirring within herself at the thought, casting her world in shades of vermillion.

  Without conscious effort, she bit down on her lower lip, her eyes burning with a sudden and irrefutable fervor. Yet, she was intent on maintaining her composure, for this was a critical moment, and critical moments were nothing if not fragile.

  “Maxwell?” she asked, her voice betraying none of her inner turmoil.

  “Yes?” he said, his smile retreating slightly at her words.

  “Do you wish to kiss me?”

  His eyes widened, a telling gleam shimmering deep within their lic depths. “How did you-”

  “Maxwell,” she said again, commanding his attention. “Do you wish to kiss me?”

  “...”

  He searched her eyes, seeking a cue, an indication, a signal... anything with which to orient himself by in these perilous waters. She knew he would find nothing. Only the measured calm of a woman who had posed a question, and now waited to see if her companion knew the answer.

  The moment of truth overcame him. He could hesitate no longer. His body rexed, his eyes drawing shut. He made his decision not with unease, but with resignation.

  "I do," he confessed, his voice little more than a whisper. “I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you so much, my heart feels like it’s about to burst from my chest.”

  “... I see,” she said, breathing softly.

  And then, following a wayward hunch, she leaned forwards, and pressed her lips to his.

  It was not the kind of kiss one read about in amorous novels, or daring tales of adventure and peril. The world around them did not melt away, nor did time cease to pass or their souls intertwine in a dance of longing and desire. His lips were chapped, and the angle awkward, resulting in a coarse meeting that felt ungraceful to both parties. And yet...

  A gentle warmth spread through Amelie’s veins. Her heartbeat grew loud and salient to her ears, and her mind stilled. A sense of connection tugged at the corners of her awareness, as the bond they shared cemented itself anew in her soul.

  By the time they parted, the feeling had only grown stronger in her chest, bringing a flush to her cheeks and a smile to her lips.

  “That was nice,” she said at st, evoking a strange reaction from Maxwell.

  “... Nice?” he excimed, shaking his head. “Hell no, it wasn’t nice! It was awkward! I totally choked!”

  A brief second passed in silence, before Amelie broke out into heartfelt ughter.

  “And now you’re ughing!” Maxwell gasped, blinking rapidly. “We just kissed, and you’re ughing!”

  “I am... sorry...” Amelie forced out in-between fits of giggles. “It is just... the look on your face!”

  “I’m pissed! What do you expect?!” he compined, waving his arms. “I demand a rematch! I refuse to accept this!”

  Amelie bent over with ughter, hands on her stomach. “Pause! Pause!” she giggled. “I... I cannot...”

  “We have to do it again. There’s no other alternative,” he said, nodding his head. “Come on, let’s do it again! Please!”

  “You are... an idiot,” she wheezed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “Yes, yes, total airhead. Now less yapping, and more kissing,” he said, scooting closer to her in the bedroll.

  “Fine, fine,” she smiled, after regaining some measure of composure. “We can do it again... but only after you get a fire going. I am positively starved.”

  “You’re joking, right?” he said, pure disbelief coloring his features.

  “Does it look like I am joking?” she said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

  “... Stonefather have mercy,” he groaned. “You’re a daemon.”

  “Ugh... Alright then. If it will make you simmer down,” she smirked, grabbing the sides of his neck and pulling him into a deep kiss.

  This one was considerably more pleasurable than the st. And yet, it was not enough. For a fire had been ignited within her, a sweltering heat seeking release, and it would not be sated by so mundane a thing.

  “Amelie...” Maxwell groaned against her lips, running his hands through her raven curls.

  “... On second thought,” she said, breaking away to send him an impassioned look. “The fire can wait.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice hitching in his throat. “I mean... this isn’t exactly-”

  “I am,” she interrupted, tightening her grip on the back of his neck. Her lips parted, her breathing coming in shallow bursts as she leaned close. “I want... this. I want you.”

  Her words undid him. She could see it in his eyes, in the way his gaze grew sharp and lustful. He reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek. His touch was warm, his cheeks flushed with anticipation, his purple eyes holding within them a roiling storm. “Amelie...”

  “Do not overthink it,” she said, her lips curving into a faint, reassuring smile. “Just be here. Just be with me.”

  That was all the encouragement he needed. Whatever doubts or fears lingered in his mind promptly melted away as he closed the distance between them. Their lips met once more, but this time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was deep, earnest, and filled with a mutual need to bridge the invisible gap that had always separated them.

  Amelie’s arms wound their way tighter about his neck, pulling him close. His hands found her waist, steadying her as they lost themselves in the moment. The world beyond the other faded to obscurity, the trees and the skies and the sounds of the forest drowned out at the feel of his lips against hers, and his breath in her mouth.

  There was no reluctance, or doubtful wavering. They moved with purpose, and rousing boldness. One moment, they were kissing, their tongues cshing in a violent dance. The next, she was astride him, her body trembling, her nails digging into the skin of his chest. His face cast in shades of ecstasy and rapture as she writhed atop him, riding him with a wildness that had them both gasping for air.

  Each shared gnce and breathless moan became a world unto its own, of unspoken promises and silent vows. A ceaseless rhythm wrought in trembling bodies and primal hunger, building towards a greater crescendo, a higher peak.

  By the time she reached her climax, it almost took her by surprise. Holding herself against him, she breathed her pleasure into his ear, feeling him tighten within her. A blissful unravelling, of bodies and hearts beating as one.

  Afterwards, they held each other for long moments, the quiet pierced only by their gasps and the occasional chirping of birdsong. An intimate reverence of the bond they had forged, and the trust they had cultivated.

  Around them, the forest gradually woke to life as the sun ushered in a new day. Yet the dawn could not intrude upon the peace they had found, for the peace was deep, and alloyed in the affection they had come to hold for each other.

  The epilogue to Volume 1 will be posted tomorrow, on the 15th of March.

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