A single, mist-filled morning would change the trajectory of her life. What would start as a tiny flame be kindled into an inferno, a steady broil of two lost souls who knew of grief, of loss, of feeling as though something was missing.

It began with Solharr, the Hárkonungr of Forenskja. Parting from the mist, he found her in her dark solitude, adrift and drowning in loneliness and despair; he was a beacon, shining brightly for her to follow and return to shore. And follow, she did. She grabbed hold of his offer, to fold herself into a packs safety.

What she hadn’t realized was the way her heart would gravitate to the kindness, the generosity, the Hárkonungr extended toward her. Out of duty, she knew this, yet it didn’t stop the steady rhythm of her heart stutter when he drew near, or the hitch of breath when he spoke her name.

There was no grande scheme, no elaborate turning point, that indicated where the road of their relationship forked into the possibility of more, yet it did,]. What had started out as kindle now burned after the first strike of flint, sparking and crackling. Words and comfort were exchanged before the two spent a night in silence—each without demons to haunt their dreams.

The flame that lit their night soon extinguished by morning, and Fleur did not find Solharr beside her. She scoured the Quarry, the surrounding areas, calling for him. Begging him to answer. Yet, he did not—for many moons. In his absence, she fell into darkness once again. This time? Her heart was truly bleeding.

The scent of him, ancient earth and brimstone, guided her and the others of Forneskja to gather at the Quarry’s mouth. And in that mouth, surrounded by gifts and offerings, was Solharr. His return was a shock—he was tangible, not an apparition of her broken heart.

He said his peace, spoke his apologies, and knelt before them—before her. She allowed the others to do what they needed before she approached, and through her anger and relief, she raised his head. The Hárkonungr does not remain low for longer than he must.

In the hours that passed, the two would reconnect. Anger met regret, then melted into understanding and a softening of stone, a resurrection of what was to now what can be. Vows were made in a joining of souls. A fire raged and melted, but there was no pain. Only love.

She had found her home—or, rather, her home had found her many, many moons ago. And she would do all within her power to keep her home from slipping away.