Page 42 of Aryn

“Yes,” he says after a stretch, then shakes his head. “But also no. It’s hard to explain.”

“Yeah, fair,” I say with a long sigh. “If the rifts open for good… what would you do? Would you come back here? Or is the human world your home now?”

Aryn is quiet again, and it strikes me how different we are. Me, ready to blurt the first thing on my mind, while he’s deliberate with every word that leaves his mouth. It’s the same way he fights, with all that precision and control.

I wonder if it’s how he fucks, too.

His tail twitches once under the edge of his coat and pushes the thought away. “I… don’t know,” he admits, voice low. “I’ve spent so long fighting to get back here that I never let myself think about what comes after. The human world became familiar. Safe, in its own way. But this…” He gestures vaguely at the crimson sky and the snow-covered mountains. “This is where I was born. Where my family was.”

“In Maelithryne?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but his expression is hard to read. Regret and dread, laced with guilt, and something that looks almost bitter hiding underneath.

I push a little, keeping my voice soft. “Who’s waiting for you there?”

Aryn’s eyes stay fixed on the horizon. “For all I know, no one. I left family behind, but I don’t know what happened to them. If they’re still alive… if they even remember me.” His voice drops. “I don’t know if I’m ready to find out.”

I nod, not pressing any further. The silence stretches again, but it’s not uncomfortable. After a while, Aryn turns the question back on me. “What about you? If the rifts stay open… would Elyra become your home? You look like you were born from these skies.”

The question surprises me as I stare out at the foreign landscape, exotic plants, and the way the moonlight paints everything in blood and rust. I expect to laugh it off, to tell him the idea is ridiculous, but the words don’t come right away.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “This place calls to something in me. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s the thrill of it all, you know? The excitement of finding something completely new. It… feels like I’ve been waiting my whole life to find this place.” I huff a small laugh, trying to play it off. “Or maybe I’m just losing my mind from the cold.”

Aryn’s smile gentles like he realizes I’ve just shown him some of those soft spots I work so hard to keep hidden, but he doesn’t tease me about it. “Well, regardless of what happens, you have a place. Any friend of mine has a home in my village.” He hesitates, eyes flicking to mine like he’s testing the waters. “We are friends… right?”

I blink, caught off guard when the question feels heavier than it should. I could count my true friends on one hand. The rest are just people who drift in and out of my life, taking what they want or accepting what I'm willing to give. It’s a silly label—a childish one.

But Aryn is looking at me like the answer actually matters.

“Yeah,” I say, voice a little rough. “We have to be, right? I don’t… talk like this to other people.”

He nods slowly, like he’s turning that over in his head. I do the same. Whatever this is between us, I want more of it, and the realization settles uncomfortably heavy in my gut. I can’t afford to keep people close, but it feels like something has shifted with him.

Guilt swells in my belly as I remember the way I’ve spoken to him in the past. It hits me how often he’s alone when it happens.

Maybe he doesn’t have anyone, either.

“You can always talk to me,” he says as his fingers flex against his leg like he might also feel this strange urge to reach for me. I wonder if things have shifted for him, too.

The next two days blur into an endless trudge of fucking cold. We keep a steady pace northeast, the mountains always looming in the distance like they’re daring us to come closer. The first day is almost unnervingly quiet. We spot a few herds of thraun grazing in the valleys and smaller animals that scatter at our approach. A variety of tracks litter the snow, but nothing else shows itself. A couple of distant villages dot the hillsides, but we give them a wide berth. No one wants to risk drawing attention.

The weather is relentless. I thought I was getting used to it, but the world gives us a giant middle finger, pushing out winds that feel like they’re trying to carve us open from the inside. My face is numb, my lungs burn with every breath, and my fingers stay stiff no matter how much I flex them inside my gloves. I don’t complain out loud, but I catch Aryn glancing my way more than once, like he knows exactly how miserable I am.

We’ve taken up our unofficial roles of bringing up the rear, always scouting the danger behind. Usually it’s quiet, with very little chatter among the group, but sometimes this strange urge to share takes over and we talk. Mostly, it’s about nothing important. I ask questions about the plants and animals, and tease Cameron for complaining about the cold all the time. My mouth has always been one of my defensive mechanisms, but now it feels like I’m floundering to keep the attention off the other, much more troublesome problem.

The red, stupidly hot, obnoxiously patient problem walking beside me.

He’s always right there, dark hair whipping in the wind and fangs peeking out over his plump lips. He glances at me with those thoughtful eyes and talks with those careful words. He makes sure I’m eating, drinking, and staying warm, and the softness of it all is wearing me down.

People aren’t careful with me. I don’t know what to do with any of it.

Other times we don’t speak at all, and that’s almost worse, because the silence gives me too much room to notice all the other little things I’ve been cataloguing about him. How protectively close he stays to me, the sharp line of his jaw, and the way his tail flicks when he’s thinking.

By the time evening rolls around again, the trees have thinned. We’re all exhausted, and tempers are running short. Ronan calls a halt when we find a decent alcove carved into a hill. It’s not perfect, but it gives us cover on three sides and a good view of the approach.

We set up camp quickly. Fire is too risky with how exposed the area feels, though I stare longingly at the matches inside my bag. Instead, we chew on unheated MREs and sip from canteens, trying to pretend we aren’t half-dead from the cold.

Ronan pulls out his and Cameron’s sleeping bags, and Cameron is already half-asleep against his side as they lay them out. Lillith and Taryn set up together a few feet away, whispering quietly.