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    Summary

    This chapter was never meant to be public. Not a record, not an argument—just memory, set quietly to page.

    Had it been written, it would not begin with battle or triumph, but with stillness. With the quiet miracle of being seen not as a prodigy or a vessel of power, but as Gale—and still, somehow, enough.

    It would have spoken of desire, but not in the way of conquest. It would have dwelled in reverence. In the way her voice dropped when she cast. The heat of her hands. The way she yielded—not in submission, never that—but in trust. In shared breath and lingering glances. In the way she held him like a spell made just for them.

    It would have traced the intimacy between magic and touch, how love remade him more thoroughly than any divine mark. It would have confessed that he no longer sought greatness in the stars, because he had touched something greater in her.

    It would not end in sorrow. Nor in longing. Only in truth: that this was the one part of his story he could never quite give away. Not because it lacked meaning—but because it meant too much.

    So he folded the words. Tucked them away. Not erased, but preserved. A private constellation hidden in the spine of the book.

    Series
    Language:
    English
    Words:
    1,153
    Chapters:
    1/1
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