As Caleb held her lifeless body, time seemed to stretch infinitely. His mind whirled with disbelief, grief, and anger all at once, a storm of emotions he couldn’t tame. His golden eye, usually so sharp and calculating, now brimmed with unshed tears. He cradled her gently, his hands trembling as he traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, brushing away the stray locks of hair that clung to her pale face. He felt helpless, powerless in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.

  A deep, guttural sob tore from his throat, raw and unbidden. Caleb’s head bowed, his forehead pressing against hers as he whispered brokenly, “Celestia… please…” His tears fell freely now, landing on her cheeks, mingling with the blood and dirt that marred her skin. He had been so careful, so sure that his magic would be enough. Yet, here she was, lifeless in his arms, a reality he couldn’t bear.

  The silence enveloped them, suffocating. His mind screamed against the void, railing against the injustice of it all. This was not how it was supposed to end—not for her, not like this. He clenched his jaw, his body trembling as frustration clawed at him. Caleb, the logical, ever-composed mage, was unravelling at the seams. He had faced countless adversaries and navigated the treacherous paths of politics and battle alike, but this—this loss—was unlike anything he had prepared for.

  The minutes dragged, each one heavier than the last, until a faint, almost imperceptible hum began to stir in the air around them. Caleb’s brow furrowed, his breath hitching as he sensed a shift. The air grew dense, crackling with energy, ancient and unfamiliar. He lifted his head, confusion flickering in his gaze as he felt the warmth beneath his hands—the warmth of life.

  A golden-green light began to pulse beneath his fingertips, faint at first but steadily growing in intensity. Caleb’s breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding wildly as the glow spread across Celestia’s body. It wasn’t his doing—he hadn’t cast another spell. This was something else, something beyond his comprehension. His gaze darted to her face, searching for any sign, any indication of what was happening.

  The light moved through her veins, illuminating her skin with a soft, ethereal glow. Caleb watched, awe-struck, as the glow expanded, wrapping her in a cocoon of warmth and life. Her body, once so still and cold, now pulsed with a faint rhythm—a heartbeat, fragile yet persistent. His breath hitched, his eyes widening as he realized what he was witnessing. It was a resurrection, an ancient spell long forgotten by mortal kind. And yet, here it was, unfolding before him, unbidden.

  He remained still, his hand never leaving hers, as the spell worked its way through her. The hum grew louder, resonating deep within him, and with each beat, the colour began to return to Celestia’s cheeks. Caleb could only watch, unable to fully comprehend the miracle taking place. His logical mind battled with the emotional turmoil within, trying to make sense of something that defied explanation.

  As the light began to fade and Celestia’s breath grew steadier, Caleb blinked in disbelief. His heart hammered in his chest, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he was simply dreaming. he thought, His pulse raced in his ears as he watched her chest rise and fall. The magic, the impossible resurrection—it didn’t make sense. Was it his desperation playing tricks on him? He reached out to touch her, almost afraid to make the slightest movement in case she vanished again. But as his fingers brushed against her skin, he felt the warmth of her body, solid and undeniably alive. And with that realization, the weight of his guilt and fear pressed down again.

  Celestia drifted in the haze, her consciousness flickering like a candle in the wind. The cold grip of the curse loosened, replaced by a warmth that spread from her core outward. She felt the weight lifting, the icy chains that had bound her for so long melting away. Slowly, her senses began to return, the darkness receding as the golden light guided her back.

  Her eyelids fluttered, heavy and reluctant, but they opened. Blurred shapes swam into view, and the first thing she saw was Caleb’s face, so close, so intense. The warmth of his hand grounded her, his presence a beacon in the storm. She could feel the tension in his body, the way he held her, as if she were the most fragile thing in the world.

  Caleb’s breath hitched as he saw her eyes open, the milky whiteness fading as clarity returned. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare speak, for fear that this fragile moment might shatter. His eye searched hers, desperate for confirmation that she was truly back.

  Celestia’s lips parted, a soft, raspy whisper escaping them. “Hey…” The word was weak, but it held a world of meaning. She was alive. She was here.

  Caleb’s chest heaved, a choked sob breaking free as he pressed her hand to his face. Her touch was cool but alive, a stark contrast to the lifeless form he had held moments ago. He couldn’t contain the flood of emotions—relief, disbelief, and overwhelming gratitude. “Celestia…” he murmured, her name a prayer, a lifeline.

  Her gaze softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She didn’t know why, but she felt compelled to comfort him, to wipe away the tears that streaked his face. Her hand, though weak, brushed against his cheek, grounding both of them in the reality of the moment. “I’m here,” she whispered, her voice steadier now. “I’m here.”

  Caleb’s grip on her hand tightened, his thumb brushing over her knuckles as if to reassure himself that this was real. He couldn’t find the words or express the whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. Instead, he simply held her, his silent vow to never let her go again.

  The world around them faded into insignificance; the only thing that mattered was their fragile connection. Caleb’s mind raced, questions swirling, but he pushed them aside. There would be time for answers later. For now, he was content to sit in the quiet relief of her return, holding her close, feeling the steady beat of life that echoed in both their chests.

  Celestia’s lips twitched into a faint smile, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re… awfully close to tears for someone who prides himself on composure, my lord.” She could see the flicker of surprise in his eye, the brief widening as her words sank in. Even through the haze of exhaustion, she couldn’t resist the urge to tease him, to lighten the oppressive weight that hung between them.

  Caleb’s breath caught, the sudden shift in tone catching him off guard. His mouth opened as if to retort, but no words came. Instead, his eye narrowed, a flicker of amusement breaking through the storm of emotions. “It’s hardly the time for jesting,” he muttered, though the faintest hint of a smirk betrayed his stern facade.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Her fingers, though weak, curled slightly against his hand. “I never thought I’d see the young Lord of Nightglen so emotional. Didn’t think I had that effect on you.” Her voice, still raspy, carried a soft lilt of amusement. The pain had ebbed, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt free enough to breathe, to jest, even as her body remained heavy and worn.

  Caleb let out a soft, shaky exhale, the weight in his chest momentarily lifting. His thumb brushed over her hand, grounding them both. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he shot back, though his voice lacked the usual edge. There was a tenderness there, unspoken but palpable.

  Her gaze softened, her violet eyes gleaming with the faintest spark of life. “Admit it,” she murmured, “you were worried.”

  His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked away as if the vulnerability was too much to bear. But he couldn’t hold back the truth. “I thought I lost you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. The admission was raw, unguarded.

  Celestia’s heart ached at the honesty in his tone. She reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek again, this time with more intention. “Well,” she whispered, “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

  Caleb chuckled softly, the sound low and relieved. “Clearly.” His eye met hers, the intensity returning, though now tempered with a softer edge. His gaze roamed her face, taking in the faint colour returning to her cheeks, the way her skin, though still marred with grime and blood, had regained a healthy, rose-beige hue. For the first time, he saw her fully—her true self, vibrant and alive.

  The violet of her eyes caught the light, gleaming with a clarity he hadn’t seen before. They were striking, even through the exhaustion that still clung to her. He found himself momentarily lost in them, in the life that had returned so unexpectedly.

  “You don’t look half bad,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of his usual dry wit. “For someone who’s been through hell.”

  Celestia’s lips curved into a wider smile, weak but genuine. “And you, my lord, are quite the sight yourself.” Her gaze drifted over his face, taking in the tussled hair that framed his angular features, the short stubble of a three-day growth beard giving him a rugged charm. His honey-golden eye gleamed with warmth, contrasting with the black leather eyepatch covering his right eye, a reminder of the mysteries he carried. His warm french-beige skin glowed faintly in the dim light, accentuating the sharp lines of his commanding face.

  Her eyes trailed lower, admiring the strength in his athletic frame, the quiet power in his presence. “Your hair,” she added softly, “looks like the night sky.” She caught herself, her cheeks flushing slightly as she realized how bold her words sounded.

  Caleb’s brow quirked, amusement dancing in his eye. “The night sky?” he echoed, his smirk widening. “I wasn’t aware my dishevelled state was so poetic.”

  Celestia’s smile turned sheepish. “It’s… just an observation,” she murmured, her gaze dropping momentarily before meeting his once more. “Though, I suppose I should be more mindful of who I’m speaking to.”

  His chuckle was low, the sound vibrating through his chest. “No need for formalities now,” he said, his tone gentler. “You’ve earned the right to speak freely, Celestia.”

  Celestia’s voice was softer now, a little uncertain. “By the way, my lord… when did I give you permission to use my name so freely?”

  Caleb raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the question. His lips quirked into a smirk. “Permission? I must have missed that part of the conversation. Was I supposed to ask for it?”

  Celestia shifted slightly, her eyes flickering with a mix of amusement and hesitation. “I don’t mind it, truly. But…” She glanced away, her tone a little quieter now. “Isn’t it a bit… too familiar? I’m no noblewoman to have you calling me by my first name. We barely know each other.”

  Caleb tilted his head, studying her with a hint of curiosity. “Too familiar?” His smirk softened, his voice dropping slightly. "I’m not one for titles, but I suppose I should be careful not to get too comfortable, shouldn’t I?"

  Her gaze flickered back to him, and she tried to hide the faint warmth creeping into her cheeks. “You’re a Nightglen,” she murmured, almost to herself. “And I’m... just me. A commoner.” She chuckled, though there was a bittersweet edge to it. “People will talk if they hear you addressing me so casually.”

  Caleb’s expression shifted something unreadable passing through his gaze. After a long moment, he leaned in just slightly, his voice steady but earnest. “Let them talk. I don’t care what they think.”

  She shook her head, still unsure, but there was a softness in her eyes. “I do,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I shouldn’t feel comfortable with it.”

  Caleb paused, then spoke with quiet confidence. “But I think you should. You have a right to be yourself, Celestia.”

  Her breath hitched a little, the weight of his words settling in. She almost wanted to argue, but something in his tone—so steady and unwavering—stopped her.

  With a faint, reluctant smile, she finally spoke, her voice almost teasing but with an undercurrent of something deeper. “ Just… don’t get too comfortable, my lord. People might get the wrong idea.”

  Caleb’s smirk deepened, a playful gleam in his golden eye. “Comfortable?” He leaned closer, his tone teasing. “I’m just getting used to the privilege of being in your presence.”

  She raised an eyebrow, the corner of her lips twitching. “Careful, my lord. I might expect you to call me ‘your grace’ next.”

  Caleb chuckled, leaning back just enough to give her some space. “Ah, but where would the fun be in that?” He held her gaze.

  Celestia’s smile softened, but the weariness was still there. “I may change my mind about you using my name so freely,” she teased again.

  His smirk softened as he gave a slight bow, his voice carrying a mix of playfulness and respect. “As you wish, my lady. I’ll tread carefully, then. Wouldn’t want to ruin the privilege of being in your good graces.”

  She met his gaze, her lips quirking in a tired but genuine smile. “Good,” she murmured, the lightness in her voice settling between them. “Because I have a feeling you’ll be around long enough for me to change my mind.”

  He winked a glint of humour in his eyes. “Something to look forward to, then.”

  The conversation dwindled into a comfortable silence, both basking in the moment's quiet relief. Caleb’s hand remained on hers, a silent anchor grounding them both. He could feel the weight of his earlier grief, the rawness of his emotions, slowly giving way to a sense of peace he hadn’t known he needed.

  As Celestia’s breathing evened out, her eyes growing heavier with exhaustion, Caleb leaned back slightly, his gaze never leaving her face. He could still feel the hum of magic in the air, the lingering trace of the spell that had brought her back. It was a mystery he knew would haunt him, a question that demanded answers. But for now, he was content to sit in the quiet, to hold her close, and to remind himself that she was alive.

  And he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight again.