I sat in the armchair in the living room, half-watching some home redecorating show Mom liked. Mostly, I kept glancing at Syrin. Fourteen hours, still asleep. The police had already called, and Mom handled it. No one had come knocking down our door yet, which hopefully meant she was right.

  Mom had finally gone to bed an hour ago, and I was on watch, so now it was my turn to sit here and pretend everything was normal while the world felt like it had been split open. I glanced at my phone again. No more texts, which was a relief. I didn’t think I could send another lie to whatever friend reached out having seen the videos. I flipped my phone over before glancing at Syrin again.

  What was wrong with me? I felt like a mother hen or something, the way I kept checking on him. I stared at the bundled blanket that was Syrin again as Mom’s words echoed in my head: What do you really want, Trina?

  How was I supposed to decide something like that? How was one even supposed to know? I’d stepped in front of Syrin at the zoo. I hadn’t even thought about it. It just sort of happened, but I didn’t regret it. Did that mean I wanted him?

  Who was I kidding? I definitely wanted him. I just… wanted other things too. I loved going to the zoo and watching movies and just Earth. And Syrin… Syrin couldn’t stay, but maybe we could visit? There had to be some sort of a solution right? Maybe I just couldn’t see it now.

  The decorator in the show asked something about cabinet style, and the couple on the TV debated cabinet colors. They couldn’t even choose between white and cream. Meanwhile I was supposed to decide whether I wanted to permanently relocate dimensions because a magical boy made my heart do weird things.

  A groan came from the couch, and I shot up from my armchair. There was another groan, and I had to stop myself from pouncing on the couch.

  “Salanimari?” Syrin’s voice was rough and blurred with sleep.

  I blinked. Was that a name? A place? I tiptoed the rest of the way towards him, leaning over, so he could see my face. “Syrin?”

  He blinked slowly, looking almost peaceful for a heartbeat, but then he saw me. He stiffened like someone had dumped ice water over him. “Trina,” he whispered. Then again, louder, choking on the second one. “Trina.”

  He sat up too fast and sucked in air, breath speeding into something close to hyperventilation.

  “Syrin—”

  “Was that real?” he gasped. “Was that—” His glow flickered gray, and a small, broken noise slipped out. “I can’t feel him. That was real. My father’s gone.”

  I gave him the smallest of nods, heart cracking open for him, ready to jump in and hold him if he needed it.

  But instead of collapsing, his expression hardened. “What happened?” he demanded. “At the zoo.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself. “You passed out. The Light… defended you. It killed the wolf handler.”

  “Killed?”

  I bit my lip. “Well, he disappeared. I don’t know how those shadow things work.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “Your light flared, and it… faded away? It was hard to tell what happened. Mom and I got burned, so we had to move behind the tree—”

  Syrin let out a hiss. “I burned you?”

  I flinched. “No! Not you, but… the Light did.” Syrin stiffened, and I quickly added, “It healed me after though.”

  I couldn’t read Syrin’s expression, but his glow was all over the place: gray, white, silver, bursts of copper.

  “It used fire,” he whispered, like the words tasted wrong. “Did I hurt anyone else?”

  I bit my lip, but finally forced the word out. “Yes.”

  Syrin flinched like I’d just slapped him, and his breathing became uneven again.

  “But no one died!” I cut in quickly. “They’ll all get treatment. Most of the burns didn’t even look too bad, maybe just one of them. You weren’t trying to. It’s not your—” He gave me a sharp look, and the last word came out as a whisper. “Fault.”

  “Yes. It is,” he said gravely.

  “It’s not,” I insisted.

  He looked away and started pushing himself upright.

  “Syrin—” I moved to help, but he glared a warning. I stepped back, fists curled at my sides.

  He struggled with the blanket, but he made his way to his feet. His t-shirt and joggers were wrinkled from sleep, and he was shaking like he was about to fall over again. He stared at the floor for a few seconds. “I have to go home. I want you to take me to the portal.”

  My fingers dug too hard into my arm. I’d known he might say that. I just needed to stay calm. “Syrin, you can barely stand. If they are sending people here, they definitely have people waiting on the other side of that portal.”

  He looked up at me, expression hard. “I have to go back. It’s my duty. If my father is gone, the Tower will be in chaos without me, and if the people sending those assassins are from another kingdom, they just succeeded in opening the borders. I have to go back. Now.”

  “No.” My voice shocked even me with how steady it was. “If you go through the portal just to die, that helps no one. You can’t save your kingdom by throwing yourself at the first trap.”

  “I can handle a couple men at the portal.”

  “You think they won’t have a plan to take you down?”

  His jaw locked. “I have to go.”

  “Let’s talk to Mom. See what she thinks.”

  “No.”

  “Why? Because you know she’ll agree with me?”

  “Just take me to the portal now, Trina!” he demanded. “This is between you and me.”

  “Then I’m going with you,” I said, refusing to let my voice waver.

  “Absolutely not,” Syrin hissed.

  “Well, then you aren’t going. How do you plan on getting back to the portal without me?”

  Syrin sputtered for a few moments. “I’ll… I’ll figure it out.”

  “Right. Just hop on a bus.” I folded my arms. “You don’t even know where you're going, Syrin.”

  His glow flickered violently. “So, you’ll keep me here against my will?”

  “No!” I froze. “Well… maybe, but just because this is grief talking. Syrin, if you go back, you’ll die.”

  “Then I will do my duty.” The words came out flat and cold, the kind of cold that hurts worse than heat.

  My breath caught. “Let’s think about this logically. The moment you step through that portal, you are going to be alone and a three day journey from the Crithnon border. Even if you get past the portal, what about the rest of the way?”

  “I’ll figure it out.”

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “And if there’s an army?”

  “Then I’ll burn my way through!” he shouted.

  I flinched, and Syrin seemed to realize what he’d just said. A door in the hallway clicked open.

  “Now you’ve done it,” I muttered.

  Mom appeared in the hallway, taking both of us in. She let out a very long breath. “Let’s take this into the kitchen.”

  I bit my lip but followed Mom, holding the door open for Syrin who just stood there fuming. His glow almost looked like heat drifting off of him. He looked like one of the Greek gods I’d seen in movies, indignant, looking down on the mortals, except he was wearing a T-shirt and joggers. For a moment, I thought he might just leave, slam out of the door, but finally, he slumped and trudged past me into the kitchen.

  Mom filled up the electric kettle. I glanced at the mix that had appeared on the counter. “Hot chocolate?”

  She glanced at Syrin. “I think it’s needed.”

  He settled into one of the kitchen chairs, arms folded, and not saying a word. We sat in silence for a minute as the water heated. I shifted in my seat, trying to find the words to break the silence, but Mom just gave me a look that said, Wait.

  When the kettle was steaming, she made three cups. I grabbed one and leaned against the counter. Syrin didn’t move, just glared at the table. Mom put a mug in front of him. “Sip,” she said gently but firmly.

  He didn’t touch it.

  Her eyes softened. “Syrin. You just woke up after being unconscious for half a day. Your body is starving. Drink.”

  He swallowed, jaw tense. Then, with the stiffness of someone performing a court ritual, he obeyed, cupping the mug in both hands like he had to hold the pieces together. Maybe that felt like holding himself together.

  I slid into the chair across from him. Mom sat between us: mediator, shield, and judge all at once. Syrin stared into the hot chocolate as if trying to divine a strategy to what he knew would be a losing battle from the steam. His glow flickered—white, then copper, then gray—and he clenched his jaw as if it hurt to hold the light in.

  Mom broke the silence this time. “Alright,” she said evenly. “Let’s talk about what exactly you think you’re doing.”

  Syrin’s eyes snapped up, sharp and wounded. “I am going home.”

  “To what?” Mom asked gently. “To whom?”

  A muscle in Syrin’s cheek twitched. The glow around him pulsed from copper to gray. He looked away.

  Mom continued, voice soft but unyielding. “You are exhausted. You’re grieving. And you are not thinking clearly.”

  Syrin’s fingers tightened around the mug. “You don’t understand. I have to go. The Light—my father—the kingdom—” His breath stuttered, the glow under his skin fluttering like it was losing rhythm, colors shifting like a kaleidoscope. “If he’s gone, I have to take my place. I have to defend the tower. It doesn’t matter what happens to me.”

  I leaned forward. “Yes, it does. It matters to me. It matters to us.”

  He flinched as if I’d struck him. For a moment, he looked small and breakable and terrified.

  “I don’t matter,” he whispered. “Only the tower does.”

  Mom inhaled sharply. “Syrin,” she said quietly, “you’re a person, not a pyre.”

  His eyes flashed silver, but he shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said, voice breaking. “If the Light is unguarded, Crithnon falls. People die. And if my father is gone, then I—I am the last. I have to go.”

  “And I said I’m going with you,” I replied firmly.

  His glow flared white. “No! Trina, you’ve already been hurt because of me. I’m being hunted. I won’t drag you into that.” His breath hitched. “I won’t lose you too.”

  The air went still. Mom’s gaze flicked between us like she’d been expecting that admission.

  My throat tightened. “Syrin… I’m not asking. If you go, I’m going.”

  He pushed his chair back a fraction, glow flaring, panic rising like heat. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like there right now. There will be assassins. There will be soldiers. People who want to control me, or kill me, or—” His voice cracked. “I can’t protect you from all of that.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me from everything,” I said.

  He shook his head violently, the flickering white glow pulsing like a strobe. “I can’t— I can’t survive losing someone else. I won’t take you with me to die.”

  That landed like a punch. Because he knew exactly how dangerous this was. He just didn’t care when it came to himself.

  Mom finally spoke, folding her hands on the table like she was delivering a clinical assessment. “Well, tough,” she said.

  Both of us blinked at her.

  Mom pointed her spoon at Syrin. “You are not going anywhere alone.”

  Syrin frowned, confused. “But—”

  “No.” Mom’s voice was the don’t-argue-with-me nurse tone. “You can barely stay upright in my kitchen, let alone fight your way across a country full of assassins. And you two clearly aren’t going to let each other out of your sight, so that’s settled.”

  “Mom—” I began.

  She held up a hand. “I’m not finished. If you go, I go.”

  Syrin stared at her like she’d just said she intended to casually wrestle a dragon. “You cannot. You have work—your patients—your life—”

  “You’re my patient right now, Syrin,” Mom interrupted flatly. “I’m not letting my patient wander onto a battlefield alone.” She glanced between us. “Besides, I don’t trust either of you to not get yourselves into something dramatic.”

  I gaped at her. “Mom!”

  She shrugged. “It’s true.”

  Syrin’s breath caught, his glow rippling in between white and silver. “I—I don’t want to endanger you.”

  “Oh? You think my first round in Kirath wasn’t dangerous?” Mom deadpanned. “This is just a new flavor.”

  I let out a small, startled laugh.

  Syrin did not. He looked like the concept of being protected short-circuited his brain.

  Mom leaned forward. Her voice softened, not weak, just warmer. “You don’t have to do this alone, Syrin. You shouldn’t.”

  His glow trembled, and I thought I saw a flicker of gold. He closed his eyes, breath shaking. “You don’t know what you’re offering.”

  “Then explain it,” Mom said.

  Syrin swallowed hard. He opened his eyes, and for the first time, he didn’t look furious or stoic or determined. He looked afraid. “If I fail,” he whispered, “we all die.”

  I reached across the table and grabbed his hand before he could pull away. “Then,” I said, voice steady, “you don’t fail. Mom and I help make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  His fingers curled around mine slowly. Quietly. Like he didn’t believe the world would allow him to hold anything without it disappearing.

  Mom stood abruptly. “Alright,” she said. “That’s settled. We’ll finalize a plan later, but first…” She eyed Syrin’s face critically. “You’re a hunted man. You need a new look. Do you prefer black or red hair dye?”

  He blinked at her. “What?”

  She just tapped a finger on her mug. “Black attracts less attention, but you attract attention anyway. Thoughts, Trina?”

  I blinked at her. “Don’t we like… need a way back so that we won’t all die? Shouldn’t that be top priority?”

  Mom waved her hand. “I’ve got that covered already, but I’m going to have to do a supply run, and you two aren’t running off without me, so until I get back, I’m playing my cards close to my chest.”

  “Wait. What?” I asked.

  Mom just looked at me. “It’s handled, Trina.” She looked back at Syrin. “Do you have any red-haired relatives, Syrin?”

  He just stared at her for a few seconds, looking utterly lost. “No?”

  “Black is more common,” Mom clarified, “but I’m thinking red. Very different then your light brown, and I think black will make you look too much like your father.”

  Syrin flinched.

  Mom grimaced. “Sorry. It's the truth though. We don't want you looking like a Keeper.”

  “So, we’re just going to… dye my hair?” Syrin said hesitantly.

  “That, and I’ve got some of Torrik’s clothes you can use. He brought them for a costume one year. You’ll look like an adventurer,” Mom said, setting her mug in the sink.

  Syrin swallowed like he was debating whether protesting was allowed.

  Mom pointed a spoon at me. “I’m off to the store. I’ll be an hour tops. You make Syrin breakfast, and do not let him leave. If I come back and find you two gone, you are grounded for eternity.”

  She grabbed her keys, shot us both a don’t do anything stupid look, and a moment later, the door shut behind her, and the lock clicked shut.

  I wasn’t sure what to do without her commanding presence.

  Syrin stared at the door for a good five seconds before whispering, “Grounded… for eternity?”

  “She means it,” I said. “I’ve seen her enforce household death sentences before.”

  He didn’t laugh. His shoulders sagged, exhausted and tight all at once. “So, we must stay.”

  “You’re not a prisoner,” I said gently. “You’re recovering.”

  “And if I wasn’t recovering,” he murmured, “I would already be gone.”

  That hurt. Of course it did, but it was honest.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “You probably would.”

  He looked down at his hands, fingers still wrapped around the mug like they weren’t quite steady. “I don’t know how to sit still. Not when something is wrong. Not when people might be dying.”

  “That makes sense,” I said softly. “But sometimes sitting still helps more people than running with no plan.”

  His glow flickered gray, then sank back down. He looked so tired it made something in my chest twist. “Your mother said breakfast?” he asked, voice small.

  I blinked. “Yeah. I can make something. What do you want?”

  He hesitated as if the question were a trap. “Something warm.”

  That was easy. “Oatmeal?”

  Syrin nodded, but he didn’t brighten the way he had yesterday when I’d mentioned food. He still just looked exhausted like he’d spent every part of himself and didn’t know how to get more.

  I moved around the kitchen, grabbing the oats, the milk, the pot. Syrin didn’t move from the table. He just watched me like he wasn’t sure whether I’d vanish if he blinked.

  Halfway through stirring, I felt his gaze burning into my back. I turned. “What?”

  He swallowed. “You really meant it. That you wouldn’t let me go alone?”

  My throat tightened. “Yeah. I did.”

  He stared at me for a long, complicated moment, somewhere between heartbreak, awe, and terror. His glow flickered gold for half a heartbeat before he caught himself, and it faded entirely, leaving his eyes silver and gray.

  Our kitchen timer clicked in the background. The oatmeal bubbled. Outside, a car door slammed. The world kept turning, oblivious.

  I set the bowl gently in front of him. His hands shook as he picked up the spoon. For a moment, we just sat there in the quiet, both pretending the world wasn’t falling apart.

  And then he whispered, “Red hair?”

  His tone was so bewildered that I snorted before I could stop myself. “Yeah,” I said. “It’ll look good.”

  He blinked at me, genuinely uncertain. “Will it?”

  “I mean… I think so, but hard to say. Maybe it’s better if it’s awful. Maybe then people will avoid looking at you.”

  He glared at me.

  I hummed. “See? Doesn’t glaring feel better than despair?”

  He let out a long breath. “No. It just makes me hungry,” he said, finally digging into the oatmeal.

  I couldn’t keep back the bark of a laugh that bubbled up, but Syrin didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I swear he almost smiled, but then it melted, and he stared at the oatmeal like he was bracing himself for another battle. Except this time, the only thing coming was a box of drugstore hair dye.

  And somehow, that was almost scarier.