After the Vow (Bonus)—Story Six-Point-Five By E. Kane

 

The Hall of Binding emptied slowly.
Not of people, there had been none, but of power. The sigils beneath the stone dimmed in careful increments, light retreating like a tide that knew exactly how far it was allowed to go. Shadows loosened their hold along the walls. The air cooled, settling into something breathable again.

The vow remained.

It lingered beneath the skin, in the bones, in the quiet spaces between breaths.

Nyx sat where the Empress had guided him, on the low stone bench just beyond the circle. His posture was steady now, no longer rigid. The tension that had held him upright through the ritual eased in slow degrees, like a blade being sheathed after long readiness.

The Empress stood a few paces away.

Not looming.
Not withdrawn.

Present.

She watched him with the same attention she had given him inside the circle, but without command now, without ritual posture. This was the part that mattered most.

“How does it feel?” she asked.

"Are you all right?"
"Did it work?"

Just the truth of it.

Nyx considered the question carefully.

The vow rested at his wrist, warm, constant. Not heavy. Not light. Real. His shadows moved differently now, no longer circling for threat but settling close, protective without being possessive. The violet fire beneath his skin burned evenly, no longer flaring in response to emotion.

“Quiet,” he said at last.
Then, after a breath, “In a way I didn’t know I needed.”

She nodded once.

“That’s normal,” she said. “But quiet can feel unfamiliar.”

“It does,” he admitted. “Part of me keeps waiting for something to pull tight again.”

Her gaze softened, not indulgent, not apologetic. Responsible.

She stepped closer and stopped in front of him, deliberately staying within his line of sight.

“Look at me,” she said.

He did.

“You are not holding yourself together for me anymore,” she said calmly. “You don’t need to perform strength here.”

His shoulders eased further at the words, the last of the ritual tension slipping free.

“I know,” he said. “I just… want to be certain.”

“Good,” she replied. “Certainty matters.”

She reached out, not to claim, not to test, but to ground. Her hand settled against the inside of his forearm, warm and steady. She felt the answering calm ripple through him immediately.

His breath slowed.

“There will be moments,” she continued, “when the vow feels distant. Moments when it feels very close. Neither means it’s failing.”

“I won’t doubt it,” he said.

She lifted her brow slightly.

“That wasn’t what I said.”

A corner of his mouth curved, faint but unmistakable. “I won’t doubt it alone.”

That earned her quiet approval.

She withdrew her hand and gestured to the bench beside him. “Shift.”

Nyx adjusted without question, turning slightly to give her space. She sat beside him, not above, not before. Shoulder to shoulder. Balanced.

The silence that followed was intentional.
The kind that lets the body catch up to the mind.

She watched the subtle signs she always did: the way his fingers flexed once, then stilled; the way his shadows responded to her proximity, not tightening, just acknowledging; the way the fire beneath his skin pulsed in time with his breath.

“You stayed present,” she said quietly. “Through all of it.”

He nodded. “Because you stayed with me.”

“That’s the exchange,” she replied.

Minutes passed—maybe more. Time was irrelevant here.

Finally, Nyx spoke again.

“When I knelt,” he said, voice low, thoughtful, “it felt different than before.”

“Tell me.”

“It wasn’t surrender,” he said. “And it wasn’t defiance. It was… alignment.”

Her chest tightened once at the word.

“That’s exactly what it was meant to be,” she said.

He turned his head slightly, studying her profile in the low starlight.

“And you?” he asked. “How does it sit with you?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

The vow had wrapped around her wrist in equal measure, not binding, not decorative. A reminder. A weight she had chosen to carry.

“It sharpens my awareness,” she said at last. “Not in control. Of responsibility.”

He nodded slowly. “I don’t feel smaller.”

“Good,” she said without hesitation. “If you ever do, we stop, and we examine why.”

The vow pulsed once, soft and responsive.

Nyx let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

She leaned back slightly, resting her palm flat against the stone behind her, grounding herself as well. This part was mutual, even if the power exchange was not symmetrical.

“There will be eyes on us now,” she said. “The Court will feel the shift.”

“I know,” he replied. “Let them.”

She turned toward him again, gazing intently.

“No,” she corrected gently. “Let us.”

The distinction mattered.

Nyx absorbed that, then nodded.

“Thank you,” he said, not ceremonially, not formally, just truth.

“For what?” she asked.

“For not disappearing after,” he answered. “For staying.”

Her expression didn’t change, but something warm settled behind her eyes.

“That’s when I am most needed,” she said. “Not when you kneel. When you rise.”

The vow settled deeper at those words.

They remained there together as the last of the Hall’s magic faded entirely, stone returning to stillness, sky vast and unchanged above them.

Eventually, she stood.

“Come,” she said quietly.

Nyx rose with her, not bound, not commanded, but aligned.

As they left the Hall of Binding, shadows shifted across the Dark Court, subtle, watchful. The vow moved with them, unseen but unmistakable.

Not loud.
Not fragile.

Set.

The ritual was finished.
The bond was not.