Chapter 72: Ghost Voice

The fire was burning low when it happened.

Outside the barn, the rogue post was silent for the first time all day. No shouts. No steel. No laughter that sounded too sharp, too ready to break into violence. Just wind. Just cold.

I held Talon against my chest as I lay on the pile of furs Fenn had pulled together for me. He was warm, soft, his little breath like a whisper of steam against my collarbone. Mira and her daughter slept soundly in the opposite corner. Fenn still sat near the door, chin dipped to his chest, sword across his lap. He hadn’t moved in over an hour.

I closed my eyes.

And the world pulled me under.

The forest was golden.

Not green. Not silver. Not moonlit.

Golden.

Leaves drifted from the trees like falling sparks, and the air shimmered the way it did before a lightning storm—charged, full of things that hadn't yet happened. I stood barefoot on a trail I didn’t recognize, soft moss underfoot, and the scent of cedar thick in my lungs.

And then—his scent.

Kael.

I turned slowly.

He stood in the clearing just ahead, dressed in the black leather tunic he’d worn the first night we mated. The crest of Nightfall glinted faintly on the shoulder—worn and cracked. His boots were dusted with earth. His blond hair fell across his brow in lazy strands. And his golden eyes... gods, those eyes. Bright, fierce, warm.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t move.

“Lyra,” he said.

It broke me.

My knees hit the ground before I even realized I’d fallen. My hands shook as I covered my mouth. I wanted to scream. Or run to him. Or beg. But my voice wouldn’t work.

He came forward. No sound of footfall. Just presence. Solid and unreal.

When he knelt in front of me, I reached for him without thinking—fingers brushing his jaw, then his shoulder. Solid. Warm.

I gasped. “Kael.”

His lips curved. “You still say my name like it’s a promise.”

“You’re not real.”

“No,” he agreed. “But you needed me.”

I shook my head. “This is a dream. This isn’t—”

“You don’t have to explain it. Just let it be.”

I stared at him. “Why now? Why tonight?”

His gaze searched mine, tender and deep. “Because something changed in you today. I felt it. You stopped breaking. And started becoming.”

Tears welled and spilled. I didn’t wipe them away. “You sound like the seer.”

He smiled faintly. “She never liked me.”

“She thought you were too bold.”

“She wasn’t wrong.”

I choked out a laugh. It sounded jagged in my throat.

Kael cupped my face. His fingers were callused. Familiar. “You were never meant to stay shattered, Lyra. You were meant to burn. But not just for me.”

I pressed my forehead to his. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

“I know.”

“I still feel you,” I whispered. “Every night. Every time Talon kicks. Every time I hear your name in someone else’s mouth.”

His voice dropped. “That’s because part of me is still in you. Always will be. That’s what the bond was.”

Tears slipped down my cheeks. “I don’t know how to carry this.”

“Yes, you do,” he said. “You did it today.”

I pulled back to look at him. “I was scared.”

“You still acted. That’s all courage is.”

I swallowed hard. “You should’ve lived.”

“I did. With you. For the best of it.” He touched my hair, brushing it behind my ear. “But this is your story now. Not mine.”

The clearing shimmered faintly at the edges.

I panicked. “Don’t go yet.”

“I can stay a little longer.”

“Tell me something real.”

He smiled again—smaller this time, like it hurt. “You used to hum when you cooked. You didn’t even know it. And every time, I’d pretend I wasn’t listening, just so you wouldn’t stop.”

My throat closed.

“I loved the way your eyes flared right before you argued with the elders. That little flash of heat. You never saw it. But I did.”

“Kael—”

“And the day you told me you were pregnant…” He closed his eyes for a second, chest rising like the memory still stole his breath. “I didn’t feel fear. Not even for a moment. I just felt whole.”

I reached for him again, fingers curling into his tunic. “You would’ve been a good father.”

“I still am,” he whispered. “Through you.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how to raise him without you.”

“Yes, you do. You already are.”

His hand came to rest over my heart. “He’ll know me. Because you’ll tell him. And because my love is here. In this. In you.”

The clearing dimmed further. The golden leaves began to fall faster, like ash.

“No,” I said. “Please—”

“You’re stronger than you think, Lyra. You always have been.”

The light faded.

I clung to him, sobbing.

His mouth found my ear one last time. “Live.”

And then he was gone.

I woke gasping, wet-faced, clutching Talon so tightly he whimpered.

Fenn was at my side in an instant, kneeling beside the pile of furs. “What is it? What happened?”

I couldn’t answer. I just buried my face in Talon’s hair, breathing him in. My arms trembled. My whole body ached with the weight of a dream that had felt like truth.

Fenn hesitated. Then gently touched my shoulder. “Was it a vision?”

I nodded, still unable to speak.

He was quiet a long moment. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” I whispered. “But I think I need to.”

He waited.

So I told him.

Not everything. But enough. That I’d seen Kael. That he’d told me to live. That I was afraid letting him go meant I was betraying him. That I didn’t want to stop hurting, because stopping felt like losing him all over again.

Fenn listened. Didn’t speak. Just stayed beside me, quiet and still, until my breathing evened out again.

Then, finally, I lay back down—Talon tucked against me, the fire burning low. Fenn returned to his place by the door. He didn’t sleep.

Neither did I.

But I didn’t cry again.

Not that night.

Because Kael had told me to live.

And something inside me—something deeper than grief—had started to believe I still could.