Chapter Twenty-Nine

For two weeks, we did, nothing. The passage of time unfolded in its languid dance—a symphony of emotions played out across the canvas of our days. It was a kaleidoscope of contradictions, a whirlwind of beauty and agony, exquisitely poignant and profoundly raw.

Within the shelter of his mountain sanctuary, the Kaimari gently guided me through the quiet splendor of his homeland. The meadows cloaked in clouds, the delicate companionship of grazing sheep, the tapestry of florals and foliage—it all unfurled before my eyes, a testament to the world he held dear. Yet, my yearning to venture into the heart of his city remained unquenched, my eagerness checked by his deliberate pace, a silent reminder to savor each moment.

On the second day, we sat at the same altar as the first night we arrived. I was beyond bored, but by the end of the day, found myself sobbing silently onto the stone floor. The Kaimari noticed this but did not move from his knelt position. His intentions were clear, he was going to make me feel things.

It was on the fifth day that we finally emerged from the confines of the house, seeking solace among the sheep and passing clouds. The rain descended upon us, a tempestuous dance of lightning and thunder that soaked our clothes and seeped into the very earth we sat upon. Despite the discomfort, there was a strange and undeniable beauty in that moment, an affirmation of life's raw unpredictability that left us drenched and yet exhilarated.

But my nights were besieged by nightmares, a relentless onslaught of memories that clawed their way to the surface. The Empire's clutches, my childhood's relentless training, and the various times I had been caught by enemies and tortured. Tonight's torment had revisited the sensation of helplessness, the memory of Astreaus guards and the calculated cruelty they wielded, forcing us to confront the edge of mortality in a glass pool, drowning over and over until we could remain unflinching in the face of impending doom.

Only on the worst nights did the Kaimari come. And if I could not find sleep again, his offer of comfort was to return to the Altar. To sit with time and breath and the stars and the Great Mother. To be by myself.

“What did you learn today?” he asked me over rice and pork.

I sighed, recalling the day's events. They had begun to blur together. Today was nothing special, we sat on a rock all day, staring over the clouds.

"Nothing," I responded, a surge of frustration coloring my words, fueled by an anger that simmered beneath the surface. "Fucking nothing.”

I expected him to scold me, to try and impose some sort of lesson, but instead, he cupped my face and kissed my forehead. And then, without further words, he retreated, leaving me alone in the confines of his kitchen.

His silence triggered me, infuriated me. Almost as much as Amaya, Irina, Aelia and Saija’s. Did they not miss me? Did they wonder where I had vanished to in the dead of night? Did Amaya withhold the information about where I went? Lie about my disappearance in the night? And what of the prospects, the royal wedding? Would Irina marry Prince Azhrel still? Had he returned to Astreaus?

The anxiety overtook me, a storm that thundered through my thoughts, rattling my soul until panic eclipsed all reason. Seeking refuge from the onslaught, I sought the solace of the stone-floored shower in my guest room, the water turned to scalding heat, the steam enveloping me as I succumbed to my tears.

I crumbled beneath the relentless weight of the universe's insistence as if the cosmic tapestry had been drawn aside to lay bare the fragile vulnerability I had concealed for so long. The facade that shielded me from the world shattered, leaving me exposed, raw, and trembling—a whispering echo of self-doubt taking root within, a chorus of questions that echoed through my soul. Was I deserving of redemption? Was my fractured self beyond repair?

He entered the shower chamber with a silent grace, the water cascading upon him, saturating his attire. "Damn it, Aurora, that's scalding," his voice resonated, a distant echo against my turmoil. But I remained motionless on the floor, the words imprisoned within me.

With the water stilled, he joined me on the pebbled floor—a presence that both offered solace and underscored the silence that gnawed at me during moments of panic. His touch reached for my hand, an attempt to bridge the abyss that separated us, but my instinctive recoil pulled my trembling fingers away. "What if I'm irreparable?" My words erupted in a frenzied torrent, a crescendo of hysteria. "What if the trauma has twisted me beyond repair? What if the scars within me are too deep to mend?"

A subtle shift accompanied his silence, an attempt to connect in the face of my spiraling despair. "I can't stop the panic attacks," I continued, the edge of desperation tainting my words. "I need treatments, medical interventions, psychiatrists. What if this is who I am, if I'm bipolar like Irina? What if this torment never ceases—"

He enveloped me in a towel, a gesture that interrupted my torrent of fears, yet did not silence them. "Aurora," his voice was a gentle command, an anchor within the storm that raged within me. I turned my gaze away, wishing for nothing more than escape.
"Look at me," he implored, and as I met the gaze of his helmet, anger melted into a storm of sobs.

"You are not crazy, you have been traumatized," his words bore the weight of truth, seeking to unravel the tangle of self-doubt that twisted within me. “You have been born, bred, and raised, and forced into servitude, to be someone’s human shield."
I stood, finding reality all too consuming. "Irina never chose to—" My words faltered, lost within the sea of emotions that churned within me.

"The blame is irrelevant," his words cut through my despair, each syllable a soothing balm to wounds I had long neglected. "Who caused this, what caused this, it does not matter. What you've endured, the suffering you've shouldered—it's not something anyone, not even me or a team of psychiatrists, can simply fix."

Swallowing hard, I found my place on the bed, draped in a towel, a barrier between my exposed vulnerability and the world. "It doesn't feel like it happened to me," the admission was a whisper, a confession shrouded in guilt and self-loathing. "It feels like I deserved it, like it was my fault."

“Sweet girl, listen to me, none of this was your fault. None of it, and it is okay to say it happened to you,” when his words were met with silent sobs, he continued. “Amaya told me about your childhood training,” he continued. “That you were all trained to withstand hundreds of cuts, tied in restraints, oxygen cutting off masks. You can release what happened to you, Aurora.”

But I couldn't find release. I fled the room, propelled by the urgency to escape the maelstrom of emotions that threatened to consume me whole. His presence followed, unwavering and persistent. "You can, Aurora," his words echoed as I crumbled before the Altar of the Great Mother, my cries of anguish and despair echoing through the sacred space.

"I can't," I protested, my voice a fragile plea amidst the storm.

Kneeling beside me, he enfolded me in his arms, his strength a steadying force. "You can," his whispered assurance was a lifeline tossed into the abyss of my inner turmoil.

At that moment, as I wept for the island, for him, for the Great Mother, I felt his unwavering support. I struggled against the waves of intensity—hyperventilating, kicking, grappling with the darkness that sought to engulf me. Yet, through it all, he clung to me, a pillar of strength, guiding me through the tempest, unafraid to face the depths of my darkness in search of the light that still burned within.

The Great Mother seemed to help me, the flower petals on the floor I had picked for her days before swirling around me in an all-consuming tornado of wind. To do nothing, to be nothing. I had always belonged to someone else. I had always been a prisoner to my own fear of losing myself.

For the first time, I allowed myself to shed the tears I had long denied. I wept for the child I had been, the child who had known nothing but captivity and fear. I wept for the days spent in the orphanage, my heart aching in the silence that followed his departure. I wept for the moments of injustice, when Saija and Amaya were chosen over me to attend Dawnlight. The tears beat out of me with whips and tasers. The gunshots I had been taught to endure as nothing more than an animal.

I was nothing. I realized after hours. But that, in some way, was better than being someone’s.
------

Healing was ugly. Kaden stayed with my ugly.

"How do you ensure the panic doesn't return?" The question, as it slipped from my lips, hung heavy in the air, as if searching for an elusive answer to a relentless adversary.

The Kaimari, perched atop a lofty rock, offered his response with an air of wisdom earned from life's tribulations. "You don't," he said, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “You say to yourself, the rain will come, or it will not. You offer each day time and breath—that is the only constant in life.”

Time and breath did nothing but torture me. But the seconds became minutes and the minutes became days, and eventually, numbly, I began eating again.

"What did you learn today?" On the tenth day, his query punctured the silence, nudging me to venture beyond the familiar boundaries of my thoughts. I hesitated, then began, seeking solace in the details of the world around me.

"I learned that cicadas weave their song into every passing minute. That three jaguars have claimed the east side of the mountain, nestled within a cave that wears the shape of a fang," I began, reciting fragments of nature's symphony. “But, I also learned that I hate myself.”

The Kaimari, for the first time, since we began this conversation, betrayed the slightest bit of interest. “And?”

"That the three suns dance across the sky, orchestrating an equinox every four days. The second and third suns cross their paths every fourteen hours," I continued, my tone steady. “That is not Irina’s fault that I hate her, and it is not my fault that I hate myself. That I miss my parents and long for their absence, but the clouds will still pass by in thick steam even if they do not miss me. That I am loyal, and kind, and loving, and despite their absence, I am a wonderful person and I wish to silence the debate that has been going on in my head for sixteen years.”

I turned to the Kaimari Warrior, straightening my posture. “I learned that I want to live, and if I don’t, life will still go on. That it is a choice I am making to stay, just as it is a choice not to hate myself. That everything, all of this, is mine. I am both the weaver and the woven. The mountain choose me to move it, as I chose it to move. I control how I am and I am what I will become.”

The Kaimari Warrior's approach was as sudden and electric as lightning slicing through the sky, jolting me to a poised stance. Instinct ignited, and my fist clenched, ready for whatever was to come.

"W-what are you?" The words escaped my lips, a mixture of astonishment and uncertainty weaving through the syllables. And then, in a heartbeat, his helmet was removed, and I felt the world shift as twilight surrendered to darkness. My eyes fluttered closed. His kiss, although I was no longer the girl I once was, flooded me with emotion. He still tasted the same. Woodsmoke and Starlight. Mythic and pure.

Yet, this was no longer the island, the realm of secrets and uncharted desires. Between us, a bridge had been built—we now knew each other as much as any two beings could.

Man he was, lion he was. Picking me up and slamming me against the wall in fervent passion.

“I-I don’t understand,” I gasped between breaths, surrendering my body to him. "I thought we agreed not to cross this line, not to touch."

His response was a growl, a rumble that mingled with the feverish desire within him. "I was waiting for you," he confessed, his voice a mixture of hunger and longing. "On the island, for you to grow.”

The reassuring weight of his arm wrapped around my waist, anchoring me. “Here, in my home, I taught you how to stand as an individual."

His teeth grazed my neck, igniting a trail of sensations that sparked a fire in their wake. "And now," he continued, his words a whisper of promise against my skin, “I will teach you how to be a woman."