Invisible String - Cregan Stark

Twelve~ Flattened

I realized I wanted to hear it again—not to win some imagined contest, but simply because it belonged to him, unguarded, lighter than his usual weight.

His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Flattened you, was it?"

He shook his head slowly, amusement softening the edge of his tone. "I suppose I did. But... you started it."

I made no attempt to deny it. "I did. And I regret nothing."

A pale shape stirred in the shadowed circle of firelight. Frost padded forward, silently, and lowered his massive head into my lap as though I had been expecting him all along.

I ran my fingers through his thick fur, feeling the slow, steady pulse of life beneath, the solid weight of him anchored in the world.

"You've won his favor," Cregan observed quietly.

I hummed in agreement, keeping my eyes on the direwolf instead of meeting his gaze.

The quiet that followed was not empty. It was the kind that settles like snow on still water, the world righted again. The fire popped, a coal shifting deep in the pit, and beyond its circle, the night breathed softly.

I rose at last, brushing my hands over the skirts of my gown. "Goodnight, my lord."

His eyes lifted to mine, and something in them shifted. "Cregan," he said.

The correction caught me unprepared—not in sound, but in weight. Names in our world were never mere labels; they were permissions, offerings, keys to the soul. I met his gaze steadily. "Then you must call me Visenya."

For a heartbeat, the corner of his mouth lifted, almost a smile. But it was not the motion that struck me—it was the subtle change in his eyes, the quiet acknowledgment of something unspoken, something long-accumulated, bridging the years between us.

"Goodnight, Visenya," he said at last. My name rolled from his tongue deliberately, carefully, as if tasting it for the first time in a decade.

"Goodnight... Cregan," I whispered, letting the sound linger between us. I thought I saw the tension in his face ease, as though my words had filled a distance neither of us could have measured before.

I let my gaze linger a fraction too long, feeling the pull of his eyes on my back as I turned and moved toward my tent.

Fingers brushing the silver ring I wore, I swore for a heartbeat that the metal had warmed.

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That night, sleep didn't come easily. I tried to distract myself with the books Cregan had brought for me, the fire in my tent burning low, but my thoughts kept wandering back—past the words on the page, past the day's moments.

Eventually, I slipped into my cloak and stepped into the night.

The camp had settled into the low hum of night—quiet murmurs from a pair of guards on watch, the occasional snap from the fire, the groan of the wind through pine, the distant howl of wolves.

Frost was waiting.

I nearly stumbled over him, for the white and grey of his coat was almost lost in the pale light of the moon. His head lifted, ears twitching once in acknowledgment before he lumbered forward to meet me.

"You again," I murmured, running my fingers through the thick ruff at his neck. His fur was cold but soft, and he leaned into my touch as though I'd been absent for days instead of hours. "Should I be concerned your loyalty is shifting?"