Elira found him in the highest tower.
Kael stood near the shattered glass window, wind cutting through the open space, carrying fragments of cold air into the room. His hand was pressed against his arm, where faint markings of cursed light flickered beneath his skin.
For the first time, he looked… strained.
Not defeated.
But held together by force alone.
"You are injured," Elira said quietly.
"It is not injury," Kael replied.
"It looks like suffering."
A pause.
Then his voice lowered. "It is correction."
Elira stepped closer despite herself. "By what?"
The markings flared faintly, and Kael's jaw tightened as though resisting something unseen.
"The curse does not tolerate instability," he said.
Elira understood then.
The bond between them was not only connection.
It was regulation.
Control.
And Kael was not merely its wielder.
He was also its prisoner.
Elira reached out before she fully decided to.
The moment her hand hovered near his arm, the bond reacted violently, pulling energy between them like a living force.
Kael turned sharply.
"Do not," he warned.
But Elira did not withdraw.
And for the first time—
The Ruined King did not know whether to step closer or away.