Page 51 of Aries

“No,” Aries answers gently. “Though I’ve often confused them myself.”

What follows are thoughtful questions—about Kren, about our connection, about what redemption truly means. Aries answers with unflinching honesty, and I find myself reaching for his hand during the most difficult moments.

“Final question,” the Committee announces as the sun dips below the horizon.

A young woman rises, her expression thoughtful. “You’ve spoken much about the past. What of the future? Should you complete these trials successfully, what then?”

Aries’ hand tightens briefly around mine before releasing it. The question hovers between us—one we’ve carefully avoided discussing directly.

“If we succeed,” he begins slowly, “I hope to return to one of our two ships. To our crew—the family we’ve created. To continue the work of helping others who, like us, were once slaves.”

His gaze meets mine, holding something so tender it makes my breath catch. “And I hope to build a life with Callie. Not because the Rites demand it, but because these trials have shown us both what we truly want. Each other.”

“The same,” I confirm, smiling despite the tears pricking my eyes. “Every word.”

As the Forum concludes, the Committee signals the end of questions. The crowd disperses slowly, their reactions mixed but noticeably different from when we began. Not universal acceptance—some protesters remain steadfast, their signs still demanding justice. But many others leave with thoughtful expressions, hostility replaced by something closer to consideration.

“My brother died in the arenas,” one man tells Aries as we prepare to leave, his voice low. “I came here hating you. I still don’t know what to feel, but… I understand better now.”

“Understanding is enough,” Aries responds quietly. “I never expected forgiveness.”

Back in our cottage, exhaustion hits like a physical blow. Emotional vulnerability proves more draining than any physical trial we’ve faced.

“Do you think it made a difference?” I ask, watching Aries stare into the garden through our window.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I feel… lighter. Speaking the truth after carrying it alone for so long.”

“Less than a month left,” I murmur, our familiar count a comfort after the emotional intensity of the day.

“Yes,” he echoes, his eyes holding mine with new openness. “And then forever.”

The promise in those words wraps around me like a physical embrace. Whatever trials remain, we’ve faced perhaps the most difficult one today—standing before our opposition not as perfect heroes seeking redemption, but as flawed beings who’ve made impossible choices and seek healing together.

Chapter Thirty

Callie

“This is your final trial,” the yellow-robed Committee member announces as we stand before the massive doors. “Enter with open hearts and truthful spirits.”

“The Reconciliation Chamber contains the Waters of Truth,” the red-robed member explains as we stand at the entrance to the sacred space. “As you enter, memories will surface—your shared past, wounds still unhealed, truths still unspoken. You must face these together.”

“And if we can’t?” Aries asks, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture.

“Then the redemption fails.” The Committee members’ voices hold no malice, only simple fact. “But given your progress, we believe you are capable of success.”

The Temple of Reconciliation rises before us, its opalescent walls shifting colors in the morning light. Unlike the public arenas of previous trials, this sacred space permits only the participants and Committee members. But before we step in, I can feel the hatred radiating from the crowd outside—their chants growing louder, more organized. Security warns us that protests have turned into threats. Someone threw acid atour transport. Despite the public forum weeks ago, they want blood, not justice.

The doors swing inward, revealing a circular chamber dominated by a pool of water so still it might be glass. Strange light pulses beneath its surface, casting rippling patterns across the chamber walls.

“The Waters of Truth,” the lead Committee member intones. “Step into the pool and beginyour reconciliation. Touch is allowed.”

We approach the water’s edge cautiously. The liquid doesn’t look quite natural—more like liquid moonlight than water, with depths that seem to shift and change as we watch.

“Honesty won’t be hard for us now,” Aries murmurs with conviction as he extends his hand toward mine.

For the first time in months, I take his hand without hesitation. His skin is warm against mine, the simple contact sending electricity up my arm after so long without touch.

Our first step into the water brings an immediate rush of sensation—not wetness, but something like pure emotion made tangible. The Water glows where we touch it, spiraling outward in patterns that reflect our intertwined journey.

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