The Aftermath

Within seconds, it was over.

Maeve lowered her hand. The blinding silver light in her eyes faded, returning to the soft, warm brown Rowan had known his entire life. The black fire dissipated into the rain, leaving behind only patches of violently scorched, smoking earth. The suspended raindrops crashed down into the mud, and the natural roar of the storm resumed.

The village square was eerily silent, save for the rain.

Rowan’s heavy longsword slipped from his numb fingers, burying itself point-first into the mud. He remained on one knee, his chest heaving, staring at the slender, rain-soaked woman standing amidst the smoking ruin of the Inquisition’s vanguard.

He was awestruck. He was terrified. The realization washed over him like a tidal wave: she had never needed him. Every time he had stood in front of a drunken patron at the tavern, every time he had sworn to protect her, she could have leveled the entire town with a whisper.

Maeve turned around. She looked at his pale, shocked face, her expression twisting with a sudden, vulnerable fear. She had kept her secret because she knew mortal men feared power. She was terrified of what she would see in his eyes.

Slowly, she walked back to him. The magical ozone still crackled faintly in her wet hair. She didn't speak. She just sank to her knees in the mud right in front of him.

Rowan didn't pull away. He looked at her, truly seeing the ancient, terrifying, magnificent creature hiding beneath the skin of his best friend. His heart, which had been ready to stop beating for her just moments ago, suddenly hammered with a new, wild, passionate rhythm.

Maeve reached out, her hands gripping the muddy, blood-stained fabric of his tunic. She leaned forward, gently resting her forehead against the cold steel of his breastplate, directly over his racing heart.

Rowan’s breath hitched. Slowly, reverently, his large, armored arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tightly against him in the freezing rain. The tension between them, built over a lifetime of stolen glances and unspoken devotions, peaked in the ruins of their old life.

They knelt there in the mud, holding each other as the storm raged on. The kingdom's army would undoubtedly come looking for their lost vanguard. The world they knew was over. But as Rowan held the overpowered witch in his arms, staring out into the dark, whispering trees of the Wyrmwood, he realized he didn't care what tomorrow brought. Their future was entirely uncertain, but for the first time in their lives, there were no more secrets between them.