Not a Damsel in Distress!

The second time the voice came, it didn't speak.

It breathed.

Ramiel sat upright in bed, breath catching, skin slick with sweat though the air was cool. His eyes darted to the corners of the room—moonlight spilled through the latticework window, casting long shadows on the floor. But something felt off, like the walls had shifted a fraction of an inch, just enough to disturb the balance of the world.

He stayed still for a long time, fingers curled into the blankets, waiting for something to move.

But nothing did.

Not this time.

Still, sleep never came back.

---

Morning arrived in a wash of gold and white. Sunlight filtered through temple cloth, and the scent of morning incense wafted up from the lower courtyards.

Ramiel moved through his duties like a man sleepwalking. He helped arrange offerings in the inner sanctum. Lit ceremonial flames with practiced fingers. Bowed when expected, spoke when called upon. But the shadows clung to him—not visible ones, not real ones. The ones that settle in the hollow between ribs and behind the eyes.

When he passed a mirror in the hall, he paused.

His reflection stared back, unchanged. But for half a second, he thought the version of himself in the glass looked tired of waiting.

He looked away first.

---

Meanwhile, not far from the same corridor, Saryel stood alone in the sacred chamber behind the veil.

The priesthood chamber was quiet—no ceremonial drums, no chanting acolytes, only the gentle hum of presence. Candles floated midair, a gift of the temple's oldest magic, flickering in soft rhythm as she moved between them. The air smelled of myrrh and something older—something like time itself.

She knelt beside the altar.

Eyes closed. Hands folded.

But no words came.

Her prayers had been consistent in form—morning gratitude, invocation of the light, a whispered request for clarity. But this time, as she bowed her head, all she could think of was Ramiel.

He hadn't said much after their reunion. He'd smiled. Apologized. Held her like he meant it.

But there was a weight in his arms that hadn't been there before. A stiffness. A silence that didn't belong to him.

She had felt it. She still felt it.

He was unraveling, and she didn't know how to reach him anymore.

Her voice trembled in the silence.

"Please," she whispered to the unseen divine. "Show me what I cannot see."

The flames pulsed gently, as if in answer. But there was no vision. No sign.

Only a low, aching hum in her chest.

---

Later that day, Ramiel trained again.

Not with Alaric this time. Alone. In the far courtyard where the stones were cracked and the temple rarely sent anyone.

The sun beat down on his back as he moved through sword forms—strikes, counters, pivots. His blade cut the air in silence. But his movements were too sharp. Too fast. It wasn't training—it was purging.

Sweat poured down his spine. His breath came harder with each motion. Still he pushed, struck the air again, and again—faster, faster—

"Ramiel!"

The blade halted inches from Alaric's face.

Ramiel staggered back, startled. Alaric hadn't been there a second ago. Or maybe he had, and Ramiel hadn't noticed.

Alaric raised both hands, one brow lifted. "Trying to kill ghosts again?"

Ramiel blinked at him, heart pounding.

"I—I didn't see you."

"I noticed."

Alaric lowered his hands slowly. "You're burning out, you know that?"

Ramiel looked away, wiping sweat from his brow. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Alaric stepped closer, voice lowering. "Look, I know what it's like. To want something so badly it eats at you. I've been there. But whatever you're doing—whatever's eating you—it's showing."

Ramiel didn't answer. He couldn't. Because part of him wanted to scream You have no idea. Part of him wanted to tell him everything. And part of him was still considering going back to the tree where the mist had first appeared.

What if it came again?

What if he let it?

---

That night, Ramiel stood at the window again. Same place. Same moonlight. Same silence.

The mist didn't come.

But he found himself whispering anyway.

"What do you want from me?"

No answer.

Not even a breeze.

And still, his chest ached.

---

Saryel found herself walking the old paths again. Alone this time. The garden had grown quiet since the last time they'd all met. The lilies still glowed faintly in the dark, and the wind moved through the trees like a lullaby she used to know.

She stopped near the largest tree—Ramiel's tree, she'd always called it, because he'd once carved a sigil into its bark when they were younger. A mark of protection. Of friendship.

She brushed her fingers against the faded carving now, surprised to feel it warm beneath her touch.

"I miss you," she said softly.

A pause.

Not to the tree.

To the memory of them.

To the boy who had always stood beside her without question.

And who now… watched her like a stranger.

---

Ramiel didn't go to the garden that night.

He wanted to. But something in him knew it would be too dangerous.

Because the voice hadn't returned in full—but his dreams had changed.

They were clearer now.

He saw possibilities in them.

Saryel, reaching for his hand. Laughing like she used to. Choosing him.

Choosing them.

He saw her face closer than it had been in years. Not shrouded in gold. Not distant or bound to duty.

Just her. His friend. The girl he—

He woke up with her name on his lips.

And the whisper returned.

"It's not a dream. It could be real. Just say yes."