The story so far:

----Zuri waits for Aija to wake. When she goes to check on Luka, she hears Nala talking to Z'our. Thieron tells Aija he's in love with her. Aija tells him she hates him. Thieron is stunned by Aija's non-acceptance of him. Thieron accepts Irih'va's offer to work for the Crown. Rei gets back with Vincent. Wiet publicly executes Gale members, Rei is upset that he isn't able to do more for his people. Luka speaks with his former mentor and tells him he's quitting the Ithi'hra. Aija and Irhi'va speak in the Throne Room. When Irih'va kisses her she kisses him back but realises she cares more for Thieron. Irih'va is devastated when Aija leaves. Ruyanir is scared for Ze. She hopes he wins. Ze wins against Na'thwir. Zuri and Nala attend the Red-Moon festival. The Gale releases their video on the Main-Lands. They bring the Leadership down. Mike Wiet escapes, Rei asks Je'ai to catch him. Aija accepts Thieron.

----Ze is blessed and becomes the Ema'i of the Zayr.

✽✽✽

****34.1 AIJA****

Rivulets of warm water slithered down her skin.

Aija stood under the shower for a long time, letting the hot water coax warmth deep into her skin. The day had been cold, even with the shield over the courtyard for Ze's blessing.

Her limbs ached from training. Each day, she and Xan climbed down the mountain, walked to the City for classes, walked back to the mountains and climbed the steps to the Mux'xra Ust. It was mandatory - Aa'di Irih'va had insisted. The first day, she was tired by the time they'd reached the City; so tired, she'd barely stood for practice. She'd noted with jealousy that Xan didn't tire as easy as she did. The trainer had understood; she'd dismissed it as Aija's 'human-inconveniences.' Aija had only felt awful and embarrassed about it. She'd been in tears all the way back up the mountain, and Xan had tried to console her, saying it was only their first day. But Aija was self-conscious of her 'human-inconveniences.' She wanted to be stronger soon. It hadn't helped her confidence when she'd seen the children in her class. They were barely five in human-years. It was no one's fault that Iernei and Ytai started training so young, but Aija knew she had a long way to go before she could ever dream of matching their strength and abilities, especially as human.

Aija spent hardly a minute in the dryer and slipped on the gw'xsn and crop-top. She never wore the gw'xron like Thieron in their room, as the glass-dome was heated during the nights and most of the day.

Their room; Aija's cheeks flushed. There was no use convincing herself it was from the hot shower. It wasn't.

Hair dripping pearls of water, Aija exited the bathroom. Thieron, freshly showered, sat on the bed, relaxed, watching the clear sky. Stars glittered in the winter sky free of snow-clouds. She sat beside him; it'd been days since she'd had any free time with Thieron. He'd leave for his training before the suns rose, then she'd go. She'd return just as the suns set, but the whole ordeal of the climb and training rendered her so enervate, she'd be asleep before Thieron returned for dinner. There were days when she hadn't seen him at all, even though they shared the room.

"You're hair's dripping wet," Thieron scowled.

Aija stuck her tongue out at him; his brows rose, regaled. "Don't," she complained, but Thieron slid off the bed, anyway, grabbing a towel. He motioned for her to join him in front of the mirror he'd summoned. Aija pouted but made it to him, grumbling.

Thieron positioned her in front of him. Gently, he worked the towel through her hair, an endearing smile painting his lips. He was tender with her, nothing like he'd been before, that arrogant, hubristic aura around him dissipating in her presence. It was still there, oh, it was, with the others. But for her, it vanished like she'd put a spell on him. It was hard to believe his softness had always been there like only she knew to lure it out.

"No wonder your brother gets upset; your hair literally drips wet," Thieron commented. "This isn't Earth. On Ierne, you'll fall sick, Aija."

Aija didn't respond. She observed her scars, still an angry red over her brown skin. Her white hair had proliferated. It'd been a while since she'd seen herself in a mirror, viewing all the flaws that glared loudly, announcing to the world what she'd been through.

Then there was Thieron; beautiful, oh, so beautiful, even with all that he'd been through as well.

Thieron stopped drying her hair, his eyes her reflection, thoughts leaden in them. "What's wrong, va rye'la?"

"What do you see when you look at me? My scars, white hair? The weariness of my heart?"

Thieron's lips parted; he audited her, mood serious. At last, he breathed, "I do,"

Aija heaved a loud breath, surprised that his answer reassured her.

"I see it all, your scars, your white hair, your weary heart. I see that you fought, survived, still hope. I see all of you; I wouldn't have you any other way, Aija. Your courage, fear, softness, sharpness – I want it all; everything that makes you, you. I love it all, without constraints."

Aija leaned back; Thieron let the towel go and put his arms around her, kissing the back of her neck. Aija put her hands over his arms.

"Will you add to my scars?"

"What?"

Aija turned around, facing him in his embrace. She put her chin on his chest, looking up at him. "Give me the blessings. You said you could."

"I can,"

**

Seated on the bed, Aija watched Thieron sanitize his blade – the one he'd given her.

Though Aija wasn't Ytai or Iernei, Thieron's offer had tempted her. Humans on Ytèan got it, and she wanted to feel closer to Thieron. It seemed appropriate when she felt at home on Ierne and Ytèan than on Earth.

Thieron sat in front of her, placing the salve beside him, the blade ready in his hand. When his eyes sought hers for approval, Aija gave it with a nod.

Thieron touched the tip of his blade to his chest above the suns' tattoo. "Ro'ere," he whispered, "Iot." Then he placed the blade at his temples, "Iru," and to his back, "Seh," and finally he kissed the blade, "Sah."

Aija loved hearing Ytèan on Thieron's lips, the deep timbre of his voice lilting, creating a melody.

"First cuts over the heart,"

"Okay,"

Thieron's hands trembled over Aija's chest, lifting the fabric of her top. Aija's heart ran wild from his touch. Thieron's fingers brushed her bare skin. He looked into her eyes before dipping the blade into the salve, his left hand steady over the blade, unlike his right, shivering, over her skin. Thieron took a deep breath and chanted, "Lh'ean te'ni wer cafryn, hifrirtè tè afadoè. Iro'h te'ni dst cafryn, te'ni iro'nrè utè cafryn. Te'ni iot te'oè oanoè hre cafryn."

The words were a song on his tongue.

May Lh'ean bless you, leading you to virtue. May Iro'h soothe you, diminishing your sacrifices. May your heart guide you to love.

Thieron drew the blade over her chest, just over where her heart beat rapidly like a bird caught in a cage. Skin split, blood arose, trailing down, rich red. He made another cut; Aija balled her fists from the sting the blade kissed upon her skin.

"Te'ni iru te'je viraè cafryn," Thieron made the cuts over Aija's temples.

May your mind lead you to greatness.

"Te'ni she te'oè fnondm gauradoè, oa um'ru oa vimeje giuadoè," he made the slits between Aija's shoulder blades.

May your wings take you far from peril and closer to family and honour.

"Yedu sah, aryut'h te'ni naar'h oa um'ru si vraiavnè, te'oè uerndm akerowcafryn, it'tehè lue afn'quaoè," he gestured for her to kiss the blade. Aija did as asked.

May this blade, upon which your name and Clan is writ, save you from war and forever bring you home.

Aija felt a shiver run down her body, not from fear but power. She gasped, feeling the rawness of power enveloping her.

"You feel it?"

"Yes," she barely managed the word.

Thieron kissed her on the head, running his fingers through her hair. "Va oan, Aija,"

Aija, he said. He never called her Ai. Aija always thought if one were close, they could call her Ai like her brother only allowed a few to address him Rei. She thought being called Ai was cherishing. But the way Thieron crooned Aija was more intimate. Her name on his tongue was power, the tendrils of light that made up the stars, the prayer in a million hearts, a thousand stolen glances, the lighting in her blood, their secret.

Thieron placed the blood-tipped blade in her hands. "Keep it; it's yours."

Aija accepted and set it under her pillow, returning to Thieron. She didn't care that blood streaked her skin; she kissed him. Thieron drew her to him, his touch eliciting flowered sparks between them. He kissed her over the cuts on her chest, "Iot." He kissed her temples, "Iru," then kissed her shoulders, "Seh." Then, Thieron kissed her on the lips, whispering, "Sah."

Iot. Iru. Seh. Sah.

Heart. Mind. Wings. Blade.

"Te'i va iot, iru, seh, sah, Aija." he purred.

Aija kissed him, pulling him onto herself.

Thieron put his hands under her, easing her flat on the bed. He climbed over her, kissing her, his hands resting on her waist. He pulled away, breathless, studying her, eyes seeking permission. Aija nodded, ready; she wanted Thieron, all of him. Thieron unhooked the clasps of her top. Aija arched her back, helping him remove it. Her heart was a butterfly; her body, wildfire.

Thieron trailed kisses over her neck, chest, and stomach. Aija coiled with desire. He interlaced his fingers with hers and locked her hands over her head, his kisses getting fiercer.

"Ah'n," she murmured when he nipped at her neck.

Thieron bit her lip and stopped, panting. "Aija," he breathed, his chest heaving. "You know you can ask me to stop anytime, for any reason, no questions asked? We don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"I know now,"

As if a sudden tension were lifted, Thieron relaxed. It, in turn, soothed Aija, his assurance her liberation.

She rose to touch his lips with hers, feeling the lightning flutter between them. He let the touch linger for a few seconds before he retook control. Aija surrendered to him wholly, heart, soul, and body.

****

Thieron ran his fingers through her hair, the gentle strokes gifting her peace.

Aija lay in his arms, blissed out. Thieron encompassed her very own idyll. He pulled her closer as if there were any space between them and kissed her over her hair. "I love you, Aija," he said in CommLang. "Era'h vaè,"

"What's that?" Aija asked when the translation-rune didn't do its work.

"Era'h can't be fully translated. There's no equivalent in any language. Era'h is an emotion. Very lightly, I can say it means something like beloved, but its weight is a million, million times more."

Era'h vaè. My beloved.

Aija smiled, rolling to face him. She poked her fingers into his dimples, making him laugh. His skin against hers was ember, warm as sunlight, as was hers; they were the suns.

Slowly, her eyes tugged her to sleep.

"Sleep, va oan," he purred, fingers still gliding through her hair.

On the cusp of sleep, Aija whispered, "Ahn,"

"Hmmm,"

"I will always, always, always return to you. You remember, right?"

Aija heard his breath catch but didn't open her eyes to see him. She didn't know what made her say that, but she'd had the inexplicable desire to tell them, anyway, and she'd blurted them. She nuzzled closer, head rested on his arm, and let her drowsiness drag her to its master.

Thieron whispered, "And, I will always wait." 

✽✽✽