Only For A Moment // Fourth Wing x OC

Chapter Forty One - Embers Don't Die

☽ Wren ☾

The morning air bites my skin, sharp and cold against the sweat clinging to the back of my neck. I'm barefoot, standing at the edge of the overlook just above the valley where cadets train. The sun hasn't quite risen, but the sky is painted in hues of dying lavender and pale rose. It's quiet—too quiet—and for once, I don't mind.

No screaming.

No shaking hands or bloody memories clawing behind my eyes.

Just... breath.

My lungs still ache from the climb, but it's a good ache. Earned. Steady.

"You're still here," I whisper to no one. To myself. To the echo of the girl I lost.

I'm not healed. Gods, I'm far from it.

But I woke up this morning and didn't want to die.

That has to count for something.

"Didn't think I'd find you out here before dawn," a familiar gravelly voice says from behind me. "What are you trying to do, steal my brooding brand?"

I don't turn around. I smirk faintly, wrapping my arms around myself.

"Don't flatter yourself, Shadow Daddy."

Xaden makes a choked noise. "Absolutely not."

"Too late. Bodhi coined it. It's canon now."

I finally glance over my shoulder, finding him standing there with two steaming mugs in his hands. He offers one wordlessly, and I take it, the warmth seeping into my palms before I even drink.

We stand in silence, watching the sun begin its slow crawl over the peaks.

For a moment, I think that's all we'll do—just stand here, not speaking, not poking at the wounds we both still carry. But that's not how Xaden works. Not with me.

"You're still in there," he says quietly.

I blink, turning toward him.

"You've just forgotten what it feels like to burn."

My throat closes. "I don't know if I want to burn again."

His eyes—obsidian with flecks of storm—pin me in place.

"Yes, you do. You were never meant to flicker, Wren. You were meant to blaze."

I hate how badly I want to believe him. Hate how scared I am to touch the fire inside me again and find it gone.

"He took everything from me." My voice cracks. "Even the parts I didn't know were mine."

Xaden doesn't flinch. "And yet here you are."

"That doesn't mean I'm whole."

"No. But it means you're surviving. And that's how it starts." He drains the rest of his coffee and sets the mug down. "Come on."

I arch a brow. "Where are we going?"

He doesn't answer. Just walks toward the cleared space behind the overlook where the grass flattens into worn earth. And when he stops, I see them: two sparring staffs, balanced across a bench like an offering.

"You brought weapons?"

"I brought healing," he says simply. "Pick one."

I stare at him like he's lost his mind. "I haven't trained in weeks. I haven't even—"

"You're not here to win, Wren. You're here to remember."

I hesitate.

My hands twitch.