They sat in the living room—the same room where Hera had collapsed over a week ago. The same room where everything had started to unravel.

  Duvan took the same chair he'd sat in before. Hera sat on the sofa, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

  The silence stretched between them, heavy with anticipation and dread.

  Finally, Hera took a deep breath.

  "The child you saw," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "Cyrene. She's mine."

  Duvan said nothing. Just watched her with those unreadable golden eyes.

  "She's mine and Kieran's. The Hero's." Hera's hands tightened until her knuckles went white. "But I didn't get pregnant during our marriage, Duvan. It was before. Before we were married."

  What Silvia said was true, Duvan thought distantly. His analytical mind was already processing, already fitting pieces together.

  But before he could think further, Hera continued, words spilling out faster now.

  "I never had an affair with him. Not during our marriage. I—" She paused, one hand clutching at her chest like her heart was trying to escape. "I only stayed with him because of our daughter. Only to give Cyrene what she needed. A father. Some semblance of normalcy."

  Duvan felt something twist inside him. Conflicted. Because this meant she hadn't been actively betraying him during their marriage—hadn't been building a relationship with Kieran while pretending with Duvan.

  But she'd still lied. Still maintained the deception. Still—

  "What about what I saw that day?" His voice came out flat, controlled. "When I caught you. The kiss."

  Hera's face crumpled. She looked down, shame written clearly across her features.

  "I did," she admitted, tears already forming. "I did kiss him. But not because—Cyrene was noticing. She's five years old, and she was asking why her papa and mama didn't act like other parents. Why we seemed so... apart. We had to act like a real couple in front of her. To give her—" Her voice broke. "All I wanted was to give my daughter a normal life. To make her feel loved and secure and—"

  She was crying now, the words coming between sobs.

  "—but the Magism Unos—"

  She stopped abruptly, hand flying to cover her mouth, eyes wide with shock at what she'd almost revealed.

  Duvan felt it click into place.

  Of course.

  "If you reveal more about Magism Unos," Duvan said quietly, "they'll know."

  Hera stared at him, hand still over her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

  Duvan leaned back in his chair, his mind working through the implications with cold, analytical precision.

  "You were blackmailed," he said. Not a question. A statement. "Magism Unos found out you were pregnant with the Hero's child. And they used that against you. Forced you to marry me—a Grand Protector with resources and political influence they wanted access to." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Or else..."

  He didn't finish the sentence aloud.

  Or else they'd experiment on your unborn child. Use her as a test subject. Try to enhance or manipulate whatever Ascender abilities she might inherit.

  The thought made him sick.

  But it made sense. Perfect, horrible sense.

  Hera was nodding now, confirmation written in her devastated expression.

  Duvan sat forward, elbows on his knees, and looked directly at her.

  "I need to know something," he said, his voice still controlled but with an edge to it now. "Why did you react the way you did when I started ignoring you? You could have just... let it be. Let our marriage continue as the cold arrangement it always was. Why did you wait for me every night? Why did you collapse from not eating? Why—" His voice dropped. "—why explain any of this to me at all? You could have just divorced me. Walked away. So why didn't you?"

  It was the question that had been bothering him since Silvia's revelations. Since he'd started taking care of Hera and noticed how much she was suffering.

  If their marriage was just a forced arrangement to protect her child, why had his coldness affected her so badly?

  What did she actually feel?

  Hera wiped at her tears with shaking hands. When she looked up at him, her eyes were red but determined.

  "Because I'm your wife," she said simply.

  Duvan's breath caught. "That's not an answer."

  "It is." Hera's voice was firmer now, despite the tears still falling. "Ever since we got married, I accepted that fact. I accepted you. All of you. The Time Prince, the genius inventor, the man who tried so hard to make me comfortable even when I pushed you away."

  Her hands clenched in her lap.

  "I failed to trust you. I was too afraid—afraid of what Magism Unos would do, afraid of dragging you deeper into my mess, afraid of so many things. But more than that—" Her voice cracked. "I couldn't let myself be happy with you. Couldn't allow myself to respond to your kindness, couldn't let myself fall for you the way I was starting to, because of the stupid mistake I made."

  Duvan leaned forward. "What mistake?"

  Stolen story; please report.

  Hera looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

  "During the expedition," she said quietly. "Before we were married. Kieran and I... we made a mistake. A terrible mistake that led to the downfall of the party. That led to my pregnancy. That led to the expedition ending prematurely."

  Duvan knew about that expedition. Everyone did—it was famous for how abruptly it had ended. The official story was that the party had encountered overwhelming danger, taken casualties, and been forced to retreat.

  But looking at Hera's face now, he realized someone had buried the truth.

  "There were five of us," Hera continued, her voice distant, like she was seeing it all again. "The Hero's Party. Myself—the Saintess. Kieran—the Hero. Cordelia—the Fire Mage and Kieran's childhood friend. Brutuss—the Juggernaut, our tank. And Lyra—the Silent, our scout and assassin."

  She took a shaky breath.

  "Kieran and I got closer during that expedition. Too close. And one night, we... we got caught up in the moment." Her voice dropped to barely audible. "We did it..."

  Duvan's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Just waited.

  "The consequences were devastating. Cordelia found out—she'd been in love with Kieran for years, and discovering what we'd done... she and Kieran got into a heated fight. A terrible fight that dropped the morale of the entire party."

  Hera's hands were shaking now, trembling like leaves in a storm.

  "And my ability—Holy Heal—it started failing. Sometimes it wouldn't activate at all, even when I forced it. I don't know if it was the stress, the guilt, the emotional turmoil, but suddenly I couldn't reliably heal anyone. And that... that crippled our party's capabilities. Both defensive and offensive."

  She wrapped her arms around herself, like she was trying to hold herself together.

  "We decided to retreat. Cut our losses and get back to safety. But on our way back, we encountered a horde of Voidlings."

  Duvan's expression shifted slightly. Voidlings were dangerous individually. In a horde? That was an A-rank threat at minimum.

  "Normally we could have handled it," Hera continued, her voice getting quieter. "But my Holy Heal still wasn't working. And Lyra—our scout—she got caught. A Voidling bit off both her arms. She fell unconscious from blood loss and pain."

  Tears were streaming freely down Hera's face now.

  "Brutuss—our tank, our protector—he made a decision. Told us to run. That he'd hold off the horde to give us time to escape."

  Her voice broke completely.

  "And in that minute—in one single minute—he was devoured. We heard him screaming. Heard the sounds of—" She couldn't continue, her breath coming in harsh gasps.

  Duvan sat frozen, watching her relive trauma that had clearly never healed.

  "We managed to escape," Hera whispered. "Got Lyra back to the settlement, got her emergency treatment. She survived. But when she woke up and found out what happened—found out that Brutuss had died to save us—"

  Hera's eyes were distant, haunted.

  "She blamed us. Blamed Kieran and me for everything. For our selfishness, for breaking the party's cohesion, for my abilities failing when they were needed most. And she was right. She was absolutely right."

  "What happened to her?" Duvan asked quietly.

  "She left. Left the Hero's Party without another word. And Brutuss—" Hera's voice cracked again. "Brutuss was her adoptive father. We didn't know. She'd never told anyone. And we got him killed."

  She buried her face in her hands.

  "Cordelia left too. Didn't say goodbye. Didn't look back. Just... gone. And just like that, the Hero's Party was disbanded. Everything we'd built, all those expeditions, all that progress into the Deep—destroyed because Kieran and I couldn't control ourselves for one night."

  Hera was breathing hard now, her whole body shaking. She looked up at Duvan, and he could see it in her eyes—she was back there, in that moment.

  "I looked back," she whispered. "When we were running. I looked back, hoping—praying—that Brutuss would come out. That somehow he'd survive. That my failed healing hadn't just sentenced a good man to death."

  Her voice dropped to barely audible.

  "All I saw was him getting devoured. Pulled down by dozens of Voidlings, screaming in agony as they tore him apart. And I kept running. Left him there. Left him to die because I'd broken our party with my selfish mistake."

  She was sobbing now, full-body sobs that shook her frame.

  "I'm sorry," she gasped out. "I'm so sorry, Duvan. I'm sorry for lying to you, for using you, for being the kind of person who gets good people killed because I couldn't—I can't—"

  She looked at him with desperate, pleading eyes.

  "I don't want to lose you too. I can't. You're the only person who makes me feel safe anymore. The only person who looked at me and saw something worth caring about even when I gave you nothing back. And the thought of divorcing you, of leaving, of you treating me like a stranger—"

  Her voice broke completely.

  "I can't bear it. I can't bear the thought of losing the only person who makes me feel like maybe I matter. Like maybe I'm not just the Saintess who failed her party. Like maybe I'm still worth something."

  She was hyperventilating now, words tumbling out between sobs.

  "I don't know what to do. I've been barely holding on, and the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart was you. Your kindness. The way you tried to make me happy even when I pushed you away. The small gestures, the patience, the—"

  She couldn't continue. Just sat there sobbing, shaking, completely breaking down.

  Duvan sat frozen.

  Processing not just her words, but the weight behind them. The trauma, the guilt, the fear, the desperate need for someone—anyone—to tell her she wasn't worthless.

  The realization that she'd been carrying this alone for years. That every cold word, every distant gesture, every rejection had been her punishing herself. Protecting him from her perceived toxicity while simultaneously clinging to the only stability she had left.

  His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions.

  Anger at what she'd done. Understanding of why. Hurt from the lies. Sympathy for her pain. Frustration at the impossible situation. Grief for what they could have been.

  All of it tangled together into something too complicated to name.

  Without a word, Duvan stood.

  Hera looked up at him, terror in her eyes—afraid he was leaving, afraid this was the moment he'd finally had enough, afraid she'd just destroyed the last good thing in her life.

  But instead of walking away, he moved to the sofa.

  And pulled her into his arms.

  Hera went rigid with shock. Then she collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest, words still tumbling out in broken fragments.

  "I don't—I can't—I'm sorry—I don't know what to do—"

  "I know," Duvan said quietly, one hand on her back, the other cradling her head. Just holding her while she fell apart.

  "You were so kind—you tried so hard—and I just kept pushing you away because I thought—I thought if you knew, if you really knew what kind of person I was—"

  "I know."

  "—you'd leave. Everyone leaves. Everyone I care about either leaves or dies and it's always my fault and I can't—I can't lose you too—"

  "Hera." His voice was gentle but firm. "Breathe."

  She tried. Failed. Tried again.

  He held her through it. Through the panic, through the breakdown, through years of suppressed guilt and trauma pouring out all at once.

  "I'm barely holding on," she whispered against his chest. "The only thing keeping me together was you. Your kindness. The way you looked at me like maybe I was worth saving. And when you stopped—when you started ignoring me—I felt like I was drowning. Like the last piece of solid ground was dissolving under my feet."

  Duvan closed his eyes, his arms tightening around her slightly.

  He didn't know what to say.

  Didn't know if there was anything to say that would make this better.

  She'd lied to him for six years. Had maintained a deception that had hurt him deeply.

  But she'd also been trapped. Blackmailed. Carrying trauma and guilt that had been slowly destroying her.

  And despite everything—despite the lies, despite the pain—she'd apparently been clinging to him as the only stable thing in her life.

  What a mess, he thought. What an absolute catastrophe of a situation.

  But he didn't let go.

  Didn't push her away.

  Just held her while she sobbed, while she confessed, while she finally unburdened herself of secrets that had been eating her alive.

  Because whatever else he was—whatever complicated tangle of emotions he felt—Duvan Excy was someone who stayed.

  Even when it hurt.

  Even when he didn't know if he could forgive what had been done.

  Even when every logical part of his brain told him this was a disaster waiting to get worse.

  He stayed.

  And held her in the darkness of their shared living room, while she cried years of pain into his chest, and neither of them knew what came next.