"Some truths feel heavier than shadows; others cut deeper than curses."
Back at the safe house, Seilorah couldn’t sit still. The dim light of the fireplace danced across the walls, but it did little to warm the tension between her and Zeyro. He leaned against the far wall, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Yelle had tactfully left the room, claiming she needed to “recalibrate her magical snacks” (whatever that meant). It left Seilorah and Zeyro alone in the flickering quiet, the unspoken questions crackling louder than the fire. Seilorah finally broke the silence.
“You’re going to tell me what that was all about.”
Zeyro didn’t look at her, his eyes fixed on the fire. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t play coy,” she snapped, stepping closer. “At the building—you were... different. Distant. Like you were hiding something.”
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t hiding anything.”
“Liar,” she shot back, her voice sharper than she intended.
Finally, he turned to face her, his dark eyes meeting hers with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then explain it,” she demanded. “Because right now, all I see is someone who’s clearly more tied to this curse than they’re letting on.”
Zeyro’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Seilorah thought he might shut her out completely. But then his shoulders sagged, and he let out a heavy breath.
“The building,” he began, his voice quieter now, “isn’t just some random place where magic went wrong. It’s where the curse began. And it’s where I...” He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the floor.
“Where you what?” Seilorah pressed, her frustration mingling with a flicker of concern.
“Where I lost everything,” he said finally, his tone bitter. The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.
Seilorah hesitated, her anger softening. “What do you mean?”
Zeyro’s expression darkened, his voice laced with pain. “The curse didn’t just bind me to your bloodline. It bound me to the building itself. Every time I get close to it, it pulls at me, reminds me of everything I’ve lost. It’s... suffocating.”
Seilorah’s frustration wavered as she processed his words. She’d always seen Zeyro as infuriatingly smug and impossible to deal with, but now, she caught a glimpse of something deeper—a raw, unspoken pain he kept buried beneath his usual bravado.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” she asked softly.
“Because it doesn’t matter,” he replied, his tone sharper than intended. “The curse doesn’t care about what I feel, and neither should you.”
“That’s not fair,” she said, stepping closer. “If we’re going to break this thing, we need to know everything—especially if it’s affecting you this much.”
Zeyro looked at her, his gaze unreadable. “You don’t get it, do you? Every time we get closer to the truth, the curse tightens its grip. It’s not just about breaking the curse anymore—it’s about surviving it.”
Seilorah crossed her arms, her resolve hardening. “Then we can survive it.”
Zeyro blinked, caught off guard by her determination. “Do you really think it’s that simple?”
“No,” she admitted, her voice firm. “But I’m not giving up. And neither are you.”
A flicker of something—hope?—crossed Zeyro’s face before he masked it with his usual sarcasm.
“You’re stubborn,” he said, shaking his head.
“Takes one to know one,” she shot back, a small smirk tugging at her lips. For the first time since they’d left the temple, Zeyro’s tension seemed to ease, if only slightly.
Yelle chose that moment to reappear, holding a plate of cookies shaped like tiny magical runes. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Yes,” Zeyro said flatly.
“No,” Seilorah replied at the same time.
Yelle raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Good. Because these cookies aren’t going to eat themselves.”
As Yelle plopped down beside Seilorah, she glanced between the two of them, her grin widening. “So, what’s the mood? Heavy introspection? Thinly veiled emotional breakthroughs? Ooh, let me guess—Zeyro admitted he has feelings.”
“Yelle,” Seilorah groaned, covering her face with her hands.
Zeyro, however, smirked. “If I did, it wouldn’t be about you.”
“Oh, burn,” Yelle said, laughing as Seilorah threw a pillow at him.
Despite the levity Yelle brought, the weight of their discoveries still lingered. Later that night, as the others slept, Seilorah found herself unable to relax. She sat by the fire, staring into the flames and replaying Zeyro’s words in her mind.
“You’re not going to get much sleep if you keep thinking that hard,” Zeyro’s voice said from the shadows. She jumped, turning to see him leaning against the doorframe, his expression unreadable.
“Do you ever stop sneaking around?” she asked, her tone exasperated.
“Do you ever stop overthinking?” he countered, stepping closer. He sat down across from her, the firelight casting long shadows on his face. For a while, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching between them like a fragile thread.
“You didn’t have to tell me about it,” she said finally. “But I’m glad you did.”
Zeyro looked at her, his gaze softening slightly. “You deserved to know.”
For a moment, Seilorah saw past the layers of arrogance and deflection. She saw someone who had been carrying a burden far longer than anyone should have to, someone who had suffered and endured and somehow still found the strength to keep going.
“You’re not as bad as I thought,” she said, her voice quiet but sincere.
“Don’t get used to it,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual bite.
As the fire crackled between them, Seilorah felt a flicker of something unexpected—a tentative trust, fragile but undeniable.
Maybe, just maybe, they could face the shadows together.
"Sometimes, understanding isn’t about finding answers; it’s about finding someone who’s willing to stand with you in the dark."