Vanya
HALI
even the sky and sea cannot contain me
I grin as he joins me in the water. It’s cold in that familiar way, a kiss and a nip, the kind of chill that makes you feel alive—or reminds you that you once were. I remember when he and I met so vividly it could’ve just happened. The memory is as present as the sea itself. I wish it were possible to go back to that old townhouse of his, to press open the creaking door and see if that painting of The Siren Call was still kicking around. The bird I’d added, that little m between the brushstrokes.
As for what’s in Mort’s Halls, I glance up at him, then out across the horizon stretching wide and endless. “You know better,” I chide, soft but teasing, the smile curling at my lips like seafoam at the edges of a tide. “Not these waves. Not this wind. Every ocean and shore is its own sacred beast. I’d known every ocean in Northwind. I even knew the one in Northaven as well as anyone was going to.”
I think of the Hallowed Grounds, of how hard it had been to adjust to a world without salt in the air. To live landlocked after being raised by sails and salt spray. My voice dips quieter, reverent. “We even sailed the stars.”
And gods, I cherish that time with him. That impossible second chance to love him again—no matter how fleeting—before he returned to the living to continue his story without me.
“But I never met Caido’s waters,” I murmur, before I can get too swept away. “Or Torchline’s shores.”
I link my arm around Ronin’s, solid and warm beside me, and rest my head against his shoulder. Whatever he needs from me tonight, I want to be it. After everything he’s endured—after what we both were—I want this to be what remains. Not fear. Not the last goodbyes. But this. This soft night. This peace.
“I’m so damn proud of you, you know,” I whisper. “Through everything, after everything, you’ve built this. What’ve been the best parts?”
As for what’s in Mort’s Halls, I glance up at him, then out across the horizon stretching wide and endless. “You know better,” I chide, soft but teasing, the smile curling at my lips like seafoam at the edges of a tide. “Not these waves. Not this wind. Every ocean and shore is its own sacred beast. I’d known every ocean in Northwind. I even knew the one in Northaven as well as anyone was going to.”
I think of the Hallowed Grounds, of how hard it had been to adjust to a world without salt in the air. To live landlocked after being raised by sails and salt spray. My voice dips quieter, reverent. “We even sailed the stars.”
And gods, I cherish that time with him. That impossible second chance to love him again—no matter how fleeting—before he returned to the living to continue his story without me.
“But I never met Caido’s waters,” I murmur, before I can get too swept away. “Or Torchline’s shores.”
I link my arm around Ronin’s, solid and warm beside me, and rest my head against his shoulder. Whatever he needs from me tonight, I want to be it. After everything he’s endured—after what we both were—I want this to be what remains. Not fear. Not the last goodbyes. But this. This soft night. This peace.
“I’m so damn proud of you, you know,” I whisper. “Through everything, after everything, you’ve built this. What’ve been the best parts?”
for i am endlessly free
