Jude pulled Anton into his arms, shielding him from the wind. He kissed him as the gale howled over them.

When he drew back, Anton didn’t let him go far, kissing him again, cheeks wet with tears.

“We have to do it now,” Jude murmured. “Or I don’t think I’ll have the strength to do it at all.”

He pressed another kiss to Anton’s cheek and closed his eyes.

Anton breathed in and felt the echoes of Jude’s esha crash over him. It overwhelmed him for a moment, pulling at some deep, central part of him. Jude’s pulse thumped against Anton’s thumb with vital, precious life.

Anton cradled Jude’s face with one hand and bowed their foreheads together, a sob rising in his chest. He choked it back.

He breathed in and sent his Grace rippling out, latching onto Jude’s esha, delving into each vibration. Searching for the power he’d sensed from the very beginning, though he hadn’t recognized what it was, then.

The Sacred Word. He could feel it, pulsing inside the cocoon of Jude’s esha. To unleash it, Anton had to use his Grace to unravel Jude’s esha, release it back into the world.

I love you, he thought helplessly. I’m sorry. I love you.

It was a plea. A promise. It was the raging drum of his heart against a merciless god. It was every fear and hope, every wound and tender touch, crying out at once. It was the very core of him, stripped down and laid bare. It was truth and dream and the delicate place where one became the other. It was Jude’s hands on him, his sweet, cherished smile, every beloved line of his body pressed to his.

Anton’s Grace touched the tight spool of Jude’s esha and was met with resistance. Jude’s esha pulled taut around the Sacred Word. It did not want to let go. Jude did not want to let go.

And Anton didn’t want to let him go.

But he had to. Had to tear apart the sacred energy of the boy he loved, piece by agonizing piece. This was what they had decided. This was what they had chosen. Even if some deeply rooted part of Jude fought against it.

Sobs wrenched from Anton’s chest as his Grace pulled on a thread of Jude’s esha. It raged back at him like a storm. And in the tempest, Anton saw him. Saw them. Kneeling in a garden, Anton threw a handful of dirt onto Jude before Jude fought back, tackling him to the ground. Standing in a crowd, Jude’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, their faces craned toward the night sky as colorful lights exploded and the crowd cheered around them. Jude, older than he was now, his face lean and lined, pressing a kiss to Anton’s forehead as he slept.