Two days later, Ethan’s fever finally subsided, and I brought him back to our den.
Before leaving, I wanted to personally erase every trace of myself from this place.
For years, I had carefully preserved everything Kurt gave me—bone-carved trinkets, tokens from our journeys, memories I once held dear. Now they were easy to pack away.
I kept only my spirit tablet, a few cloaks, and Ethan’s essentials. Everything else I boxed up and asked the groundskeepers to collect.
Ethan played quietly on the fur-padded sofa, his tiny hands poking into the gaps between cushions. With a triumphant giggle, he held up his discovery.
It was Kurt’s ring.
Our mating ring, forged under the Bonefire of our vows.
Now it lay forgotten inside a sofa crack. Seeing it again, memories of our shattered bond flooded me.
When I first heard Kurt had been trapped in the earthquake that ravaged the distant ridge, I nearly lost Ethan from the shock.
With his life hanging by a thread, I fought with everything in me to keep our child safe.
Six moons later, Kurt returned. That very day, our child was lost.
I had reached out to pat Zelda’s head to welcome her into our home as family.
She suddenly snapped.
She slammed her arms into my stomach and shoved me hard to the ground.
The child I had fought so hard to protect was gone in an instant.
Kurt said she was suffering from trauma and begged me not to blame her—blame him instead.
But he had barely escaped death. How could I bring myself to blame him?
So I swallowed the grief alone.
After that, Kurt treated me better. Twice as gentle. Twice as attentive.
But I still noticed the change.
At first, he would jolt awake from nightmares, haunted by collapsing stone and the bodies he had crawled over to survive.
Later, after I drifted to sleep, he would slip quietly into Zelda’s room.
Only her scent in the darkness soothed him. He slept beside her, returning to me before dawn.
Eventually, he did not bother to hide it. He stayed there the whole night. And when I caught him leaving her room at sunrise, he simply greeted me with, “Good morning. Is breakfast ready?”
I pitied him for the torment he’d endured. And because I knew that at first they truly only slept, I endured it all.
Until one day, Kurt returned home with the scent of wild roses clinging to his skin.
Her scent.
It lingered for three days. Even though he slept in our bed those nights, it didn’t fade.
Zelda had grown. And everything between them had changed.
He would take her roadside wildflowers and craft them into everlasting bouquets… while throwing away the lilies I bought because they masked her rose fragrance.
He would keep me at the hearth for ten hours brewing tonic for him, only to pour it out when Zelda wrinkled her nose at the smell.
He left me alone on our anniversary just to sit by her side, afraid she felt lonely.
The dream was shattered. It was time to wake up.
The person who meant more to Kurt than life was no longer me. It was his little rose.
I no longer cared. In five days, I would vanish from his world without a trace.
A knock sounded at the door. I assumed it was the groundskeepers, but when I opened it, Kurt stood there.
His expression was dark, as if he had come to confront me.
But then his gaze fell on the sorted items on the floor. He froze.
“You’re throwing these away?” He picked up a bone-carved cup. “Isn’t this your favorite? You use it every day.”
His confusion cut through me like a blade.
It had been a matching pair of mate-bond cups, carved by our own hands. But because Zelda liked the set, Kurt had given her his.
The next morning, her cup shattered. After that, I never used mine again.
A full year passed. He never noticed.
“It is useless now, so I’m discarding it,” I said calmly, then shifted the topic. “Did Zelda find it?”
Kurt’s voice turned bitter cold. “You still have the nerve to bring up Zelda?”
He looked at me with eyes full of loathing.
