Where Souls Drift and We Stay

Where Souls Drift and We Stay
Allison

This is the cutest date I have ever been on, and the bar for that was set embarrassingly low. Cassian walks beside me with the basket hooked over one arm like he’s done this before, like the world hasn’t just tried to collapse in on us, like there isn’t a war waiting patiently for our attention. The Shadow Realm stretches open around us, stone paths winding into softer ground as the air cools and the light shifts into something gentler. The hill Rhaziel apparently mentioned rises ahead, sloped and green in a way that feels almost defiant here. Trees gather along its edge, their leaves thick and dark, casting generous shade. Beyond them, the river of souls glides past in a slow, luminous ribbon, quiet and steady, its glow catching against the underside of the leaves like reflected stars. Cassian spreads the blanket with careful precision, smoothing the edges, weighing the corners with stones so it doesn’t lift. I sit cross-legged and watch him do it, the simple competence of the act making my chest feel too full. When he finally sits beside me, close enough that our shoulders brush, he exhales like he’s been holding his breath the entire walk.
“I can’t remember the last time I did something like this,” he admits.
“Eat food outdoors or relax?” I tease.
He smiles, small and wry. “Both.”
We sit for a moment without speaking, listening to the quiet hum of the river. Souls drift past slowly, light folding and unfolding in on itself.
“What was your childhood like?” I ask softly.
He doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Structured,” he says. “Quiet and demanding. I was useful early. That mattered more than anything else.” He picks at a blade of grass between his fingers, thoughtful. “There were books everywhere in our home and training halls. I had tutors who never raised their voices but always expected perfection. I learned how to control my gift before I learned how to be a person.”
I tilt my head, studying him. “Did you ever get into trouble?”
His mouth twitches. “Once I tried to sneak out to watch a street performance in the lower city. I was caught halfway down the stairs.”
“What happened?”
“I was grounded,” he says. “For a year.”
I burst out laughing. “A year?”
“I was thirteen,” he adds, deadpan. “It felt like exile.”
I wipe at my eyes. “You rebelled so hard.”
He bumps my shoulder gently. “Careful. I still have a reputation to maintain.”
I tell him about the first time my magic siphoned on its own, how I was seven and terrified because I couldn’t understand why my hands were glowing blue while the boy next to me cried. I tell him about learning to step back, to feel the edge of other people’s power without falling into it, about the years spent terrified of hurting someone by accident.
“I learned by watching,” I say. “By mimicking the way magic moved through other people. It was like learning languages without knowing grammar. I made a mess of it at first.”
He listens the way he always does, full attention, no interruptions. When I finish, he reaches for my hand and squeezes once.
“You survived,” he says, “and you adapted.”
“I stole,” I correct.
He smiles. “You learned.”
We open the basket together. There are sandwiches wrapped neatly in cloth, fruit already cut and arranged, and a small container of chocolate that makes me grin.
“This is absurd,” I say fondly. “We’re planning an assassination, and you brought chocolate.”
“I was told it improves morale.”
I take a bite of the sandwich and hum in approval. The bread is soft, the filling simple and perfect. I eat more slowly than usual, letting myself savour it. Cassian watches me with an expression that makes my stomach flip.
“What does the future look like to you?” he asks.
I think about it. About school, my attic, and about nights that don’t end in blood. “Quiet,” I say finally. “I want a future that is simple. I want to choose things. Choose where I go and who I see and how my life turns at every corner.”
He nods. “I want that for you.”
“What about you?”
He looks out over the river. “I want a life that doesn’t require permission,” he says. “I want to wake up without anticipating disaster. I want to be someone you choose because you want me, not because fate tied us together.”
I turn toward him. “I do choose you.”
He looks back at me, something raw and hopeful crossing his face. “Then that’s enough.”
We eat fruit next, dipping it into the chocolate. I laugh when a drop escapes and trails down my lip.
“Hold still,” Cassian murmurs.
He reaches up with his thumb, swipes the chocolate away gently, his touch warm and lingering. My breath catches, and I lean in without thinking, closing the distance and pressing my mouth to his. The kiss is soft and unhurried, tasting like chocolate and sunlight and something entirely our own. His hand slides from my cheek to the nape of my neck, fingers threading through my hair as the kiss deepens. I taste the sweetness on his tongue, feel the subtle shift in his breathing. My own pulse races, like a wild thing echoing the hum of the river below. I press closer, my body moulding to his, one leg draping over his thigh as if drawn by some invisible force. The blanket bunches beneath us, but I barely notice; all I feel is the heat of him, the solid plane of his chest rising and falling with mine. Cassian's other hand finds my waist, pulling me into his lap with a gentleness that belies the urgency building between us. I gasp softly into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his grip tightening just enough to send sparks dancing down my spine. The surrounding air thickens, charged like the moments before a storm in the Shadow Realm. Leaves rustle overhead, the souls' glow casting ethereal patterns across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes when we break apart for breath.
"Allison," he whispers, voice rough, laced with need. His forehead rests against mine, and I can feel the restraint in him, the way his fingers tremble slightly on my skin. I trace the collar of his shirt, slipping beneath it to feel the warmth of his collarbone and the steady thrum of his heart. The world narrows to this, to us, tangled and breathless on the hillside. I tilt my head, capturing his lips again, harder this time, letting the fire ignite.