The world around Caius dissolved into a blur of snow and shadow. Time felt suspended, every second dragging painfully as he knelt beside Mirelith's lifeless body. The harsh cold bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the icy fear gripping his chest. His mind raced, fragments of every lesson he had learned in the field about saving a life flashing before him.

He shook his head, forcing his thoughts into focus. "This isn't how it ends," he muttered, his voice trembling but resolute. "I won't let it end like this."

With trembling hands, he tilted her head back, clearing her airway. His fingers brushed against her cold skin, and his heart clenched. Every breath he took felt heavier, laden with the weight of what he might lose.

"Mirelith," he whispered, leaning closer. "Stay with me. Just... stay with me."

Without hesitation, he began to work—pressing against her chest, steady and measured, his own heartbeat thundering in his ears as he counted under his breath. The snowstorm raged on around them, the wind howling like a mournful cry, but Caius's world had narrowed to this singular act, this desperate fight to bring her back.

Pinching her nose shut, he pressed his mouth to hers, forcing air into her lungs. He pushed down on her chest, counting under his breath before repeating the cycle. Each breath he gave her felt like giving away a piece of himself, like a prayer that she might take it and return to him.

"Come on, Mirelith," he murmured, his voice breaking. "You're stronger than this. I know you are."

Finally, she coughed, a weak, gasping sound that sent relief flooding through him. He helped her roll onto her side as she expelled the water from her lungs, her breaths shallow and ragged. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused but alive, and Caius felt the tension in his chest ease for the first time since he had seen her fall.

Caius's shoulders sagged with relief. "You're safe," he said softly, brushing a strand of wet hair from her face. His touch lingered, tender and full of the unspoken emotions he had buried deep within himself. "I've got you."

She tried to speak, but her voice was barely a whisper. "The flowers..."

He glanced back at the basket, still sitting on the bank, the precious herbs untouched. "They're fine," he assured her, his voice firm yet gentle. "We'll get them back to camp. But first, we need to find shelter."

The wind picked up suddenly, carrying with it a bone-chilling cold that sliced through the air like a blade. Snow began to fall heavily around them, blanketing the ground in an unrelenting frost. Caius scanned the area, his sharp eyes darting across the barren landscape. The storm was growing stronger, and the biting cold was only making Mirelith's condition worse. Desperation clawed at him as his gaze caught sight of a small cave nestled in the rocky hillside. It was barely visible through the swirling snow, but it was their only hope.

Adjusting Mirelith in his arms, Caius moved swiftly toward the cave, his boots crunching against the snow with every determined step. The basket of flowers was slung over his shoulder, the delicate herbs a stark contrast to the harshness of their surroundings. The cold gnawed at his exposed skin, but he pushed the discomfort aside. Mirelith's shallow breaths and trembling body were all that mattered now.

Inside the cave, the air was marginally warmer, shielded from the piercing winds, but it was far from comfortable. Caius gently laid Mirelith on the ground, her pale face illuminated by the dim light filtering through the cave entrance. Her body shook uncontrollably, and her breaths came in ragged gasps. The sight of her like this sent a pang of fear and urgency coursing through him.

He removed his cloak and carefully draped it over her, tucking it tightly around her trembling frame. Her eyes fluttered open briefly, unfocused and glassy, before closing again. Caius brushed a strand of damp hair from her face, his hand lingering for a moment. She was burning with fever. The freezing river, combined with her exhaustion, had pushed her body to the brink.

"Hold on, Mirelith," he murmured, his voice low but steady. "I'll be back."

Steeling himself against the storm, Caius stepped out of the cave in search of firewood. The wind howled around him, and the snow stung his face, but he pressed forward, scanning the area for anything dry enough to burn. It felt like an eternity before he managed to gather a bundle of branches, his fingers numb from the effort. By the time he returned to the cave, his body was trembling from the cold, but he had what they needed.

The howling wind outside the cave clawed at the jagged rock walls, its icy fingers reaching even into the meager shelter Caius had found. Kneeling by the entrance, he worked feverishly to ignite a fire. The flint struck stubbornly, sending erratic sparks into the tinder. His fingers, numb from cold and trembling with exhaustion, struggled to coax a flame. When the spark finally took, he bent over it, shielding it with his body as though it were a fragile life of its own. Slowly, the fire grew, casting flickering light that painted the cave walls in warm, dancing hues.

But no heat from the flames could dispel the icy dread clawing at his chest when he turned his gaze back to Mirelith.

She lay crumpled near the cave wall, her slender frame trembling uncontrollably. Her breaths came shallow and uneven, each one rattling in her chest. Her face, flushed from the fever, stood in sharp contrast to her pale, icy hands. Caius crossed the space between them in an instant, his heart pounding with fear.

He pressed a calloused hand to her forehead, and his stomach sank—her skin burned like a forge, yet her body was cold as the snow that had nearly claimed her. Panic surged through him as he realized how dire her condition was. The accident earlier—the tumble into the freezing river, the relentless snowstorm, the exhaustion—they had taken a devastating toll.

"Mirelith," he whispered urgently, his voice cracking. Her name felt foreign on his lips; it had been months since he'd spoken it without bitterness. Yet now, desperation stripped away all pretense.

Her eyes remained closed, her dark lashes resting against fevered cheeks. She didn't stir.

Caius swallowed hard, forcing his fear into action. The fire alone wouldn't be enough to save her. He shrugged off his own soaked tunic and boots, leaving him clad only in his trousers, the chill biting into his skin. His hands shook as he carefully worked to remove Mirelith's damp garments, his movements quick but respectful. He avoided looking at her exposed form longer than necessary, his focus entirely on the task of saving her life.

Once she was stripped of the icy fabric, he wrapped them both in his thick, fur-lined cloak, pulling her against him. Her body was like ice, leeching warmth from him even as he clung tighter, willing his heat to revive her. The storm outside raged on, the wind's mournful wail echoing through the cave. Inside, the world was hushed, the silence heavy with unspoken fears and regrets.

"Don't you dare leave me," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple. "You're too stubborn for that, Mirelith. Fight. The gods know you've always loved a fight."

His words fell into the stillness like stones into deep water, sinking into the chasm of their shared history. There was a time when he wouldn't have cared if Mirelith lived or died, a time when her betrayal had burned brighter than any flame. Yet here he was, holding her as though his own life depended on it, the ache in his chest more unbearable than the cold.

Hours passed. Caius kept vigil, his every movement a labor of care. He adjusted the cloak around them, added more wood to the fire, and smoothed the damp strands of hair from her fevered brow. Each gesture was imbued with a tenderness he had once believed himself incapable of. He whispered to her, soft and fervent, prayers to the gods he had long ceased to trust.

As the first pale rays of dawn broke through the storm, creeping tentatively into the cave, Mirelith stirred. Caius's heart leapt in his chest as her lashes fluttered open, revealing eyes clouded with confusion. She blinked slowly, her gaze flitting around the cave before settling on him. Her cheeks darkened in a flush of realization as she became aware of their shared cloak and her own vulnerability.

"Caius?" she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the cloak, drawing it higher as though it could shield her from more than the cold. "What... what happened?"

Caius sat up, his movements deliberate, measured. He looked at her, his face etched with an expression she couldn't quite read. "You fell into the river," he said, his voice low, steady. "You were freezing, Mirelith. I did what I had to do to keep you alive."

Her brows furrowed as fragments of memory returned—the icy water, the storm, his arms pulling her from the depths. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. The silence stretched between them, laden with the weight of unspoken grievances and fragile gratitude.

"You should have left me," she said finally, her voice barely audible.

Caius recoiled as though struck, his expression hardening. "You don't get to say that," he said, his tone clipped. "Not after I—" He broke off, running a hand through his damp hair. "You don't get to throw your life away because of what happened between us."

Mirelith's eyes flashed with a spark of her old fire, but her body betrayed her, trembling with exhaustion. "You don't understand," she whispered. "You never did."

"Then make me understand," Caius shot back, his voice rising before he caught himself. He exhaled sharply, reigning in his temper. "Because all I know is that I couldn't let you die. Not after everything."

Her gaze softened at the edges, but her walls remained firmly in place. "Thank you," she said after a long pause, her tone guarded, as though the words cost her something.

Caius nodded, though the gesture felt hollow. He helped her dress in her now-dry clothes, his hands gentle and deliberate. When she was covered, he retrieved her basket, miraculously intact, and set it in her lap. Her fingers brushed the woven handle, a faint smile ghosting across her lips as she ran her thumb over the herbs within.

The storm had subsided into a light snowfall by the time they emerged from the cave. The morning air was sharp, biting at their exposed skin, but it carried a promise of survival. Mirelith leaned heavily on Caius as they made their way down the treacherous path, her steps faltering. He supported her without complaint, his arm firm around her waist.

The camp came into view, its tents nestled in the valley below, smoke curling lazily from the cookfires. Healers rushed to meet them as they entered, their expressions a mix of relief and alarm. Mirelith was whisked away into the warmth of a healer's tent, Caius trailing close behind. He stood at the edge of the room, watching as they worked, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

When they assured him she would recover, the tension in his shoulders eased, but he didn't leave. He sank into a chair by her bedside, exhaustion finally catching up with him. His eyes remained fixed on her sleeping form, the rise and fall of her chest a fragile reassurance that she was still with him.

Hours later, when Mirelith woke again, the faintest hint of dawn lingered on the horizon. Her eyes found Caius, seated nearby, his head resting against the tent pole. He was asleep, his expression softer in repose. She watched him for a long moment, her emotions a tangled knot she didn't dare unravel.

"Caius," she called softly, her voice stronger this time.

He stirred, blinking blearily before his gaze snapped to hers. Relief flooded his features, quickly masked by a composed expression. "You're awake," he said, his voice thick with fatigue.

She nodded, sitting up slowly. "Why... why did you stay?"

His answer was simple, yet it carried a depth that left her breathless. "Because I couldn't leave."

The silence between them felt different this time, not heavy with tension but something more tentative, fragile. It was a beginning, a small crack in the wall between them.

"Caius," Mirelith began, her voice hesitant. "I don't know if I can forgive you. Not yet."

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. "I'm not asking you to," he said. "Not yet. But don't shut me out, Mirelith. Let me prove that I'm still the man you once believed in."

Her gaze lingered on him, searching for the sincerity she hadn't seen in years. It was there, in the set of his shoulders, the weariness in his eyes, the way he looked at her as though she were the only thing keeping him grounded. For the first time in a long while, she didn't turn away.

Outside, the storm had passed, leaving a fresh, untouched blanket of snow over the valley. Inside the tent, the fragile warmth of the fire mirrored the first spark of something that might one day become forgiveness.

It would take time. But for now, they had survived the storm. And that, Mirelith realized, was enough.

Author's Note:

Today is my birthday, and I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate than by sharing another chapter with all of you. Thank you so much for your incredible support. When I first started writing this story, I never imagined anyone would give it their time of day. But here we are, and it's because of your encouragement and love that this journey continues. From the bottom of my heart—thank you. Truly, thank you! ❤

P.S Happy 2K reads