The fire cracked softly, the smell of cedar smoke curling through the stillness. Their camp was quiet—too quiet. The others were gone now; the latest quest had scattered the party to the winds. Only Ivel and Valaenor remained, bound by habit, loyalty, and a bond neither of them had ever tried to name.

Ivel sat cross-legged beside the fire, shoulders hunched forward, head bowed. He’d removed his armor hours ago, leaving only a worn linen shirt stretched over the breadth of his chest. The flicker of the flames caught in his hair—long and brown, falling in loose strands around his face. His hazel eyes were fixed on the glowing coals, though he wasn’t seeing them.

He heard her before he saw her—soft footfalls on the dry grass, the faint whisper of her cloak brushing against her boots. Valaenor stepped into the circle of firelight, her silhouette framed by moonlight. Her golden hair hung loose, catching the glow in a hundred glints. She was still in her traveling leathers, but without her bow at her back, she seemed smaller, more fragile.

Her voice broke the quiet like a gentle chime. “Ivel… I have to tell you something.”

He looked up, already knowing what it would be. “It’s the summons.”

She nodded, lips pressing together. “The Elvish Capital. I am… recalled. I leave before dawn.”

The words sank into him like cold water, robbing him of warmth. He should have expected this—elves were bound by duties beyond mortal ties—but hearing it said aloud made it real.

He stood, the movement slow, deliberate. “How long?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Perhaps… a long time. Perhaps forever.”

For a moment, neither moved. The fire popped softly. Somewhere in the trees, an owl called, the sound low and distant.

Finally, he took a step toward her. “Sit with me,” he said quietly.

She came closer, sinking to her knees beside the fire. The shadows danced over her features—the delicate line of her jaw, the subtle curve of her lips, the faint sadness hiding in her brilliant blue eyes.

They talked, but not of farewells. They spoke of roads they had walked, of old battles and long nights spent under other skies. Laughter came softly between them, fading into silences that stretched just a little too long, until their words slowed to nothing at all.

When he reached for the wine flask, she took it from his hand instead, her fingers brushing his. It was a small touch, yet it lingered, her hand resting against his knuckles longer than necessary before she pulled away.

“I don’t want to waste what’s left of tonight,” she said at last, her voice low. “I don’t want to think about the road tomorrow.”

Ivel’s gaze locked on hers. There was no teasing in her tone, no playful mischief. Only the truth of someone who knew that time was slipping away.

He moved closer. She didn’t retreat. Their knees touched first, then his hand found hers. Her fingers were small against his, but warm, steady. He studied her face—her lashes catching the firelight, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t.

“I never told you…” he began, but the words caught. His throat felt tight. “How much you’ve meant to me.”

Her smile was faint, tinged with sadness. “You didn’t have to.”

She leaned forward, her forehead brushing his. Her breath was warm, her scent faintly floral, like wild violets crushed in spring grass.

The first kiss was barely a kiss at all—just the brief meeting of lips, hesitant, tasting of unshed words. Then she pressed closer, her hands finding the sides of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. His arms went around her, drawing her in until there was no space left between them.

Time blurred. The fire dimmed, the night deepened, and the world beyond their small circle ceased to exist. They lay together on the bedrolls, the thin wool and furs beneath them barely keeping out the cool earth.

Her touch was light, tracing the breadth of his shoulders, the lines of old scars. His hands roamed her back, learning again the shape he had known for years yet never in this way. Their movements were slow, unhurried, as though they could stretch the hours by refusing to rush.

He memorized her—the curve of her waist beneath his palm, the quiet catch of her breath, the way her eyes softened when she looked at him. Every heartbeat felt like it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken confessions.

When it was over, they stayed tangled together beneath the worn blanket, her head resting against his chest, her hair spilling across his skin like silk. He held her as if the strength of his arms alone might keep the dawn from coming.

“I wish…” he began.

“I know,” she whispered.

They didn’t speak after that. The crackle of the dying fire and the steady rhythm of her breathing were the only sounds.

Eventually, the sky began to pale. He woke to find her already sitting up, pulling her cloak around her shoulders. Her pack was at her side, bow slung over her back once more.

She looked down at him, her expression unreadable, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his brow. “I will find you again,” she said.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod. “Before I’m gone from this world,” he said.

Her blue eyes met his. “Before you’re gone.”

And then she turned, stepping into the trees. Her golden hair caught the last glimmer of the firelight before she vanished.

Ivel sat there long after, staring at the path she had taken, the blanket still warm where she had been. The fire was cold now, its embers nothing more than gray ash.

But he stayed, because it was the last place she had been, and he wasn’t ready to leave it behind.