Saphira didn't flinch. She didn't argue. She just turned and walked ahead without a word.
She was used to this.
Killian being cold and sharp wasn't new. He'd been like that since the moment they met—emotion buried beneath blades, warmth sealed under armor. So when his voice came out like knives that morning, Saphira didn't let it pierce her. She only kept walking.
Killian trailed behind, silent.
The truth was, Killian had a nightmare last night. But Saphira didn't know that. She couldn't have known what dragged him awake in cold sweat, heart racing like a war drum. A dream so vivid, so visceral, it refused to fade with the morning light. And somehow… he found himself acting colder toward her. Harsher. Because a part of him—however small, however ridiculous—had started to believe it. Because it had felt too real.
In the nightmare, he was a child again, peeking through the crack of a heavy oak door.
His parents were laughing.
Saphira's parents stood with them—smiling. Familiar. Trusted.
They were planning something together. Maps. Magic. Hope.
All together, in what seemed like better days—before blood stained the soil between their kingdoms. They had been laughing, talking as allies, maybe even friends. His father's hand rested on Saphira's father's shoulder, and his mother stood beside her mother, eyes soft, trusting.
But then the room changed.
The warmth was gone.
Saphira's parents now stood on the opposite side of a burning circle, cloaked in black, faces blank, eyes glowing with the same symbol that now burned in his chest. There were whispers of power, a scroll glowing with forbidden magic. The Mark of Fate—newborn and ancient—drawn from the ground itself.
Saphira's parents they'd chosen power.
His parents had pleaded.
Begged them not to go through with it.
But Saphira's parents turned away, and the fire rose.
Killian remembered screaming, trying to stop it. Then—flames. Screams. Blood. The vision ended with a familiar face holding the blade that had ended it all—Saphira's mother. Her father standing behind her like a shadow.
He didn't know what was worse—the dream itself or how real it had felt.
He didn't know if it was a dream.
Now, walking through the forest behind her, Killian's chest felt heavier with every step. Saphira didn't say a word. Her silence burned more than any accusation might have.
She was quiet because she thought he was just being himself.
And maybe he was.
Or maybe, for the first time, the cold edge of his voice came from fear.
He looked at her again.
She was a few paces ahead, brushing branches aside, not once turning back. The wind tugged gently at her cloak. She didn't look fragile, not even close. She moved like a fighter, a survivor. A fire forged in ice.
And that only made his dream more unbearable.
Because part of him didn't want to believe it.
But part of him did.
"Keep up, or stay behind," she muttered without looking.
Killian blinked. Her voice wasn't angry. Just dismissive. Like this was routine.
"You've been slower than usual," she added, barely above a whisper.
He gritted his teeth. "I didn't sleep well."
She gave no reply.
They crossed a shallow stream, the sound of water masking the tension between them. Birds fluttered somewhere in the canopy. The air smelled like pine and damp earth.
"Do you want to stop?" she asked, still not looking at him.
"No."
Killian didn't know how to tell her the truth. That he'd seen her family kill his.
But how could he believe a dream? How could he even begin to ask her if it was true?
What if it wasn't a dream?
What if the truth had been hiding all along in the places he wasn't supposed to look?
He stared at the mark on his wrist, the black ink carved like veins into his skin. It pulsed faintly, as if alive.
Was this the price?
Not just death.
But doubt. Division. Questions that shattered everything.
They walked for hours. The deeper they went into the woods, the more the silence grew between them.
Saphira finally stopped near a broken stone altar, half-swallowed by moss. She dropped her bag, not even glancing at him.
"You're quiet," she finally said, lighting the tinder with a flick of flint and steel.
He grunted in response.
"You usually complain by now."
"I'm not in the mood."
She shrugged. "Didn't ask for your mood."
He almost laughed. Almost. But it caught in his throat.
The fire crackled to life.
Saphira sat beside it, legs crossed, watching the flames. Killian stayed where he was, shadows painting his face. He wanted to ask her. He wanted to scream at her.
Was it true?
Did your family start this?
Did your family kill mine?
But he stayed silent.
Because the Saphira beside him now—the one who asked if she'd burn too, the one who touched his scar like it meant something—she couldn't possibly be the daughter of the very people who stood smiling beside his parents one moment... and slaughtered them the next.
Could she?
"You should eat," she said, tossing him a piece of dried meat.
He caught it without looking.
Saphira leaned back on her elbows, eyes flicking up to the sky. "You keep acting like you're mad at me. But you've always been like this, so I don't really care."
Killian finally looked at her.
She didn't meet his eyes.
"But if something's wrong," she added, "then say it. Otherwise, stop sulking like a child."
His fingers clenched the dried meat. Her words didn't sting, but they made something stir in him—a bitter twist of guilt.
"I had a dream," he said finally.
She looked at him then, eyebrow raised. "So?"
He hesitated. "Nothing. Just… stupid."
She turned back to the fire, the glow reflecting in her eyes. "Yeah. Dreams usually are."
He nodded slowly.
She would never know.
He wouldn't let her.
Because if the dream was real, if it ever was true… then everything they were building, everything fragile and real and dangerous—it would burn.
He looked at his mark again.
A cursed bond.
A story written in blood.
And maybe… just maybe… a lie.
But until he knew the truth, he would stay away from her warmth.
Because if the nightmare was real, then love wasn't just dangerous—it was deadly.
And Killian couldn't afford to fall.
Not again.
Not when the girl beside him might be the one who started it all.