The morning after her night with Naia, Elya woke to golden sunlight streaming through the window, the warmth of it wrapping around her like a gentle embrace. Naia was still beside her, breathing softly, her fingers curled loosely against Elya’s wrist. For a long moment, Elya did nothing but bask in the sensation of safety, of contentment, of being wanted.

  Naia stirred, stretching like a lazy cat, her bare skin pressing against Elya’s as she let out a satisfied sigh. "You’re staring again," she murmured, cracking open an eye, amusement dancing there.

  Elya grinned, tracing her fingertips over Naia’s shoulder, delighting in the way her lover shivered beneath her touch. "You’re cute when you sleep."

  Naia scoffed, rolling over to pin Elya beneath her, fingers skating teasingly down her ribs. "And you’re adorable when you think you can get away with saying things like that without consequences."

  Elya let out a breathless laugh as Naia’s lips found the curve of her jaw, pressing slow, teasing kisses downward. They lingered there, caught in the moment, hands exploring, memorizing. They were lost in the warmth of each other, in the lazy indulgence of being together with no urgency, no demands from the world outside.

  Then, a sharp knock shattered the serenity of the morning.

  Elya groaned, her forehead pressing into Naia’s shoulder. "Who in the hells—"

  "I don’t know, but they’re about to regret it," Naia muttered, reluctantly pulling away as Elya reached for her robe.

  Elya barely had time to tie the sash before she cracked the door open—and the sight before her sent ice through her veins.

  "Still pretending to be a mage?"

  Callen.

  Dressed in the fine robes of a full-fledged mage, his auburn hair neatly tied back, he looked every bit the noble’s son he had always been. His smirk was the same, too—sharp, condescending, filled with effortless arrogance.

  Before Elya could react, Naia’s voice cut through the tension. "Who’s this? The asshole of the week?"

  Callen’s gaze flicked to her, briefly assessing before he scoffed. "And who’s this? Your distraction? You always did have a habit of clinging to whatever would take you in."

  Elya’s hands curled into fists. "What do you want, Callen?"

  He stepped forward, but before he could push inside, voices rose from the street. People were gathering, their eyes sharp and wary. Callen had made a mistake, this wasn’t the Tower, where his status meant unchecked authority. Here, Elya was respected. Loved.

  "You got a problem with our healer?" one of the villagers called, arms crossed.

  Another scoffed. "If you think you can just waltz in here and treat her like dirt, you’ve got another thing coming."

  Callen hesitated, clearly realizing that his usual tactics wouldn’t work here. He scoffed, stepping back. "We’ll see each other again soon, Elya. Try not to embarrass yourself when that time comes."

  The door shut behind him, and the weight of the encounter settled over the room. Naia slipped her arms around Elya’s waist, pressing a kiss against her temple. "You okay?"

  Elya let out a slow breath, leaning into her. "Yeah. I think I am."

  Outside, the villagers lingered, their presence a silent reassurance. Callen may have been a ghost from her past, but she wasn’t facing him alone. Not anymore.

  Elya hesitated, the weight of old memories pressing down on her. She sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly. "You don't know what he did to me," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Naia frowned, settling beside her, fingers brushing against Elya’s arm in quiet reassurance. "Tell me."

  Elya swallowed hard, gathering the words she had buried for so long. "Back in the Tower, Callen wasn’t just another apprentice. He was the worst of them—the entitled noble son who saw me as nothing more than a stain on his perfect world. He made sure I never forgot I didn’t belong. He undermined me in front of the masters, tampered with my spells, even turned others against me. When I struggled, he made sure I suffered for it. "

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Naia’s grip on her tightened, her jaw clenching. "He tormented you."

  Elya gave a small nod, her chest tight. "He did. And the worst part? I started to believe him. I thought I really was nothing, that I’d never be more than a failure. He was there when they threw me out of the tower when someone accused me of stealing. I never did, and I don't know who put those things in my room, but that was my last day in the tower. I was barely sixteen, and they striped me naked and burned everything I had."

  Naia shifted closer, her arms wrapping around Elya’s waist, grounding her. "You are not nothing. You never were. And if he tries to hurt you again, he’s going to learn exactly what happens when he messes with someone this town loves."

  Elya let out a breath, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. She leaned into Naia’s warmth, allowing herself, just for a moment, to be held. "I know. I just… I never thought I’d have to see him again."

  Naia pressed a kiss to her temple, fierce and protective. "You’re not alone anymore, Elya. And he can’t take that away from you."

  Elya stepped outside, the morning sun spilling over the village square, warming the cobbled streets. She expected Callen to be gone, but there he was, leaning against a post, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and expectant. He hadn’t left. He was waiting.

  She strode toward him, her jaw tightening. "What do you want, Callen? Why are you still here?"

  He smirked, pushing off the post. "I could ask you the same thing. Still playing at being a mage? I always wondered how long you'd keep up the act. But I suppose when you have nothing else, you cling to whatever will have you."

  She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to remain composed. "If you came here just to insult me, you can fuck right off."

  Callen’s expression flickered, irritation flashing behind his eyes before he let out a slow chuckle. "Ah, but I didn’t. You see, I’m here on business. Real business. And lucky me, I get to see how far you’ve fallen while I’m at it."

  Elya folded her arms, refusing to take his bait. "If you’re here on ‘real business,’ then get to it and leave. No one here wants you."

  His smirk turned razor-sharp. "No one? Funny. You seem to have found someone willing to entertain your delusions."

  His gaze slid past Elya and landed on Naia, who had just stepped outside, her expression wary but steady. Callen’s smirk widened, something cruel twisting in his eyes. "Ah, so this is your little distraction. I should have guessed. You always were desperate for validation."

  Naia rolled her eyes. "And you’re still an insufferable prick. Guess some things don’t change."

  Callen’s amusement flickered, his smirk thinning. "Careful who you insult, sweetheart. You don’t know what you’re dealing with."

  Naia took a step forward, her chin lifting. "Oh, I know exactly what I’m dealing with, some spoiled brat who thinks being a noble means he gets to act like a festering wound on society."

  Elya had a second to see Callen’s composure crack before he moved. His hand lashed out, fingers closing around Naia’s wrist, his grip unyielding.

  Elya didn’t think. She acted.

  Her hand shot out, fingers clamping around Callen’s wrist, twisting sharply. "Let. Go."

  Callen flinched, the smirk faltering as he tried to yank free, but Elya’s grip was iron. The air around them shifted, thickening with the weight of something unseen, something powerful.

  Villagers had started to gather, their eyes narrowing, expressions hardening.

  "You might want to rethink that," one of them called, arms crossed.

  Another voice followed, sharp and unwavering. "We don’t take kindly to outsiders thinking they can throw their weight around."

  Callen hesitated, and for the first time, Elya saw it, a flicker of uncertainty, the realization that he wasn’t in control here.

  She shoved his hand away, stepping between him and Naia, her voice low, lethal. "Touch her again, and I’ll make sure you regret it."

  Callen’s jaw clenched, his pride warring with the situation unfolding around him. He took a slow step back, brushing the fabric of his robe as if wiping away filth.

  "You’ve made a mistake, Elya," he muttered. "We’ll see how long this little fantasy of yours lasts."

  Then he turned and walked away, his steps stiff with barely restrained anger. But as he reached the edge of the square, he hesitated, casting one last glance over his shoulder, his expression twisting into something darker. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something more, some final barb or threat, but the weight of the villagers’ glares held him back.

  Elya watched him go, her body still rigid with tension, only realizing how tightly she had been clenching her fists when Naia slipped her fingers between them, grounding her. The warmth of the contact sent a shudder through her, and she exhaled, a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  Naia leaned in slightly, murmuring just for her, "He hates that he can’t touch you anymore. That you don’t shrink in front of him."

  Elya swallowed, her throat tight, eyes still fixed on Callen’s fading form. "Let him hate it. I’m not that scared girl anymore."

  The villagers stayed put, lingering longer than necessary, their presence a silent shield. Callen may have walked away, but the battle he thought he could win was already lost.

  Elya let out a slow breath, turning to Naia. "Are you okay?"

  Naia flexed her fingers where Callen had grabbed her, then smirked. "I could have handled him, you know."

  Elya exhaled a laugh, shaking her head. "I know. But he needed to hear it from me."

  The gathered villagers lingered, watching Callen’s retreating form with silent approval. One of them clapped Elya on the back. "Good on you. He won’t find easy prey here."

  Elya nodded, her chest tight with something that felt like relief. The past had come knocking, but this time, she hadn’t faced it alone.