The Labyrinth had grown quiet, the singing glass settling into a low, crystalline hum. Seraphina had insisted on taking the first watch, climbing a high ridge of obsidian-glass to scout the path toward the Sentinel’s lair. Her silhouette was a sharp, silver needle against the glowing horizon of the floor.
Back at the small camp, the fire crackled with blue-tinted logs. Alaric was busy stirring a pot of broth, but his eyes were constantly drifting upward, fixed on the distant figure of the Knight.
The Observant Mage
Clara sat across from him, wrapped in a thick wool blanket. She had been watching Alaric watch Seraphina for the last twenty minutes. The way his expression softened when Seraphina turned her head, and the way he winced whenever she shifted her weight on her injured leg, spoke volumes.
"You’re going to burn the soup, Alaric," Clara said softly.
Alaric blinked, snapping his gaze back to the pot. He hurriedly stirred the broth, his face flushing a deep crimson in the firelight. "I... I was just checking for movement on the ridge."
Clara let out a small, tired laugh. "The only movement on that ridge is Seraphina breathing. You’ve been staring at her since we left Oakhaven, but here, in this glass house... it’s like you’re afraid she’ll vanish if you look away."
The Confession
Alaric stayed silent for a long time, the spoon scraping against the bottom of the pot. Finally, he let out a long, shuddering breath. He looked at Clara, his eyes wide and filled with a vulnerability he never showed in battle.
"Is it that obvious?" he whispered.
"To me? Yes," Clara replied, moving to sit closer to him. "Maybe not to her. She’s spent so long being a shield that she doesn't know how to look at herself as something to be cherished."
"I’m in love with her, Clara," Alaric confessed, the words pouring out of him like a floodgate had broken. "It’s not just admiration. It’s... it’s everything. When she’s hurt, I feel it. When she smiles—really smiles—the whole Spire feels brighter. I want to be the one who carries her burdens so she can finally rest."
The Fear of Rejection
His expression clouded with a sudden, sharp pain. He looked back up at the ridge, his voice dropping an octave.
"But I’m terrified. She’s a Commander. She’s the greatest Knight I’ve ever seen. She sees life as a series of battles and duties. What if she thinks I’m a distraction? Or worse... what if she thinks I’m just a Prince playing at being a hero, and she rejects me because I’m not 'soldier' enough for her?"
He gripped the handle of the pot until his knuckles turned white. "If I tell her and she says no, I don't know if I can keep being her partner without the pain tearing me apart. I can't lose her, Clara. I’d rather be her silent shadow forever than be nothing to her at all."
The Sister’s Blessing
Clara reached out and placed her hand over his. Her touch was warm and grounding.
"Alaric, look at me," she said firmly. "Seraphina isn't made of stone. She’s just spent a long time in the dark. She doesn't need a soldier; she has plenty of those. She needs someone who sees the woman behind the armor. Someone who loves the girl who cries for her friends when the lights go out."
Clara smiled, a genuine, encouraging look. "She doesn't reject things that are true. And your heart is the truest thing in this Labyrinth. Don't be a shadow forever, Alaric. Even a Knight wants to be held when the war is over."
Alaric looked at Clara, a glimmer of hope fighting through his fear. He looked back up at the ridge, where Seraphina was now standing tall, her cape catching the crystalline wind.
"Maybe," he whispered. "Maybe one day soon."
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