The return to Vellstone was quiet — not out of respect, but caution.
Thessia rode through the merchant quarter in a wagon flanked by enchanted chains. Her head was bowed, her armor stripped, and her wrists wrapped in null-binding cuffs that pulsed with faint runes. The people didn’t cheer. They watched. Judged.
Word had already spread: she had aided a cursed outsider, defied her guildmaster, and attacked a church. No context, no mercy.
She said nothing.
They brought her through the side entrance of the western spire — a noble-guard annex usually reserved for political prisoners or disgraced royals. Her cell was stone and silence. No window, only a slit near the ceiling where dust swam in beams of light.
She sat against the wall and stared at her fingers. Her mind drifted — not to what she lost, but to what she protected.
To *him*.
The jungle boy with broken speech and unwavering eyes.
He would try something. He always did.
She just hoped… it wouldn’t be today.
?
Night fell.
She heard the clank of keys long before she saw the silhouette. The cell door opened slowly, quietly. And in stepped a mess of leaves and ash and heartbeat.
“Rell…”
He stood in the doorway, breathing hard. Dirt clung to his boots. His shirt was torn near the collar. He looked like he had sprinted through a hurricane and somehow smiled through it.
Thessia didn’t move. “You idiot.”
“Come. Break you out.”
She shook her head.
“No. You do that, they brand you. Hunter’s Law. You’ll be wanted forever.”
He stepped closer. “Then we run.”
“I’m not running.”
Rell’s brows furrowed. “You… safe worth more.”
She stood, finally, eyes level with his.
“This is my choice. My consequence. You saved the kids. That’s enough.”
He clenched his jaw, clearly hurting. “Not enough. Not for me.”
She reached out, touched his cheek gently.
“You’re good. But you’re not mine to save. Not this time.”
Rell turned his head, frustrated. “Then… I wait?”
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“Then you live.”
He exhaled, shoulders slumped. She stepped back.
“Go before they catch you.”
He hesitated a beat too long. That’s when the door creaked again — but this time it wasn’t him.
A man stepped into view, flanked by two guards.
Lord Varellion.
—
His presence was not announced — it arrived.
Varellion walked like a man who believed the world was clay under his boots. His hair was silver-blonde, neatly tied in a braid that rested against his right collar. His eyes were a glacial blue, sharp and reflective like polished steel.
His scent entered the cell before his voice did — cloves, powdered velvet, and an undercurrent of bloodied ink. He wore a noble’s duelcoat, gold embroidery shaped like coiling phoenixes — each feather etched with sigilwork too fine for human hands.
Even the air around him seemed quieter.
He smiled like a hunter cornering a wounded beast.
“My, my. You just can’t stay away from her, can you?”
Rell instinctively stepped in front of Thessia.
“Leave. Now.”
Varellion chuckled. “Adorable. He thinks this is a negotiation.”
He turned to Thessia. “You know this makes it worse for you. Harboring fugitives. Your trial was already… complicated.”
Thessia’s jaw tightened.
“You’re wasting your breath,” she said flatly.
Varellion tilted his head. “We could end this, you know. I make a motion to the court. Say you acted under duress. You join my estate. I protect you.”
Her silence was colder than any insult.
Varellion took a step closer. “You don’t even have to pretend to love me. Just *obey.*”
That’s when Thessia snapped.
“If you touch me, I’ll break your spine and use it as a back-scratcher.”
Varellion smiled wider — not threatened. Amused.
“So it *is* about him.”
He turned to Rell.
“You’ve certainly stirred the pot, boy. But you’re in over your head.”
He walked out slowly, pausing at the threshold.
“Leave her to rot… or you’ll rot with her.”
The door closed behind him.
?
Rell stood frozen, fists trembling.
Thessia touched his shoulder.
“Go.”
“I fix. I swear.”
She nodded once. “Then don’t die.”