The Matchmaker - The Arrax Saga Book 1 Chapter 224

The sun had slipped low, torches flickered along the courtyard. The pack had not rested, not yet. Wounds had been tended, the injured laid down, but grief demanded its own ritual before sleep could claim them.

The grave was lined with woven cloth and herbs that released a bittersweet fragrance.

Saphira stood near the front, her coat pulled tight against the chill. Her body ached from battle, but it was her chest that hurt most, tight, unyielding, as though grief itself had taken root there. Nikolas was beside her, his silence a quiet support. Around her, the inner circle stood close, Jed, Raven, Jasper, Finn, Amara, Talia.

Asher still carried Anastasia’s body himself. His steps were slow, deliberate, his jaw clenched against the grief that threatened to break him. Zafira walked beside him, her hand never leaving his back. Saphira moved towards him and together, they lowered Anastasia gently into the earth.

The witches began the rites, their voices low and melodic, weaving words of farewell into the night air. The seamstresses draped the final burial cloth, their fingers trembling as they smoothed it over her. The archivists spoke her name, her victories, her legacy, each word laid down like a stone in memory, each syllable a reminder of what had been lost.

Saphira’s chest ached. She wanted to speak, but her throat was too tight. She wanted to move, but her legs felt heavy, rooted to the ground.

Nikolas leaned closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

She nodded, but her eyes stayed fixed on Anastasia.

Asher’s voice broke the silence. “She was more than a mother,” he said, his words trembling. “She was our shield. Our fire. She gave everything, even when she had nothing left.” His gaze flicked to Saphira, and for a moment, grief bound them together like blood. “She believed in us. In you.”

Saphira’s breath caught. Her hands were shaking as Raven pressed the ceremonial spade into them. The weight of it felt immense, heavier than steel.

She looked down at Anastasia one last time. Her voice was soft, but it carried.

“I didn’t have enough time with you,” she whispered. “I only just found you. I only just started to understand you. And now you’re gone. It isn’t fair.” Her throat tightened, but she forced the words through. “But I promise, I’ll carry you forward. I’ll make you proud.”

She lowered the spade, scooping the first handful of earth. The soil fell softly, muffled against the shroud.

One by one, the inner circle stepped forward. Nikolas placed his hand over hers, steadying her as he let the earth fall. Asher followed, his shoulders shaking, his grief raw. Zafira, Jed, Raven, Jasper, Finn, Amara, Talia, all added their handfuls, each gesture a vow, each movement a thread in the tapestry of mourning.

The pack bowed their heads.

Saphira stood tall, her hand trembling until Nikolas closed his over it. Asher’s knees nearly buckled, but Zafira steadied him. The group closed in around them, a wall of strength and grief, holding them upright when the weight threatened to break them.

Together, they watched as the grave was filled.

Together, they said goodbye.

The burial ground lay behind them, the pack had dispersed, some to rest, others to sit together in silence, but Saphira had slipped away.

She found herself in one of the smaller chambers, the stone walls cool against her back as she slid down to the floor. Her knees drew up, her arms wrapped tight around them. She pressed her forehead against her sleeve, her breath shallow, uneven.

She had held herself together so far, but now the grief came like a tide.

Her shoulders shook. Tears spilled hot and silent down her cheeks. She pressed her hands to her face, trying to muffle the sound, but the ache was too deep, too raw.

She didn’t hear him at first.

Nikolas’s footsteps were soft, careful. He paused at the doorway, then crossed the room without a word. He crouched beside her, his hand gentle as it brushed her arm.

“Saphira,” he said quietly.

She lifted her head, her eyes red, her voice breaking. “I want to be happy,” she whispered, the words trembling. “We did it. We won. But it hurts too much. It was such a high price to pay.”

Her voice cracked, and she pressed her hands against her chest as if she could hold the ache inside. “I don’t know how to carry this and still… still feel joy. How do I smile when she’s gone?”

Nikolas sat down beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. He didn’t rush to answer. He simply reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

“You don’t have to smile tonight,” he said softly. “You don’t have to pretend. Happiness will come, when you’re ready. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. But it will. And when it does, it won’t erase the pain, it will live alongside it. That’s how we honour her. By letting ourselves live.”

Saphira’s breath hitched. She leaned into him, her head resting against his shoulder, her tears soaking into his coat. “I don’t feel strong enough,” she whispered. “I feel hollow. Like if I let go, I’ll break apart.”

Nikolas tightened his arm around her. “Then let me hold you together. You don’t have to be strong every moment. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Her sobs broke free, raw and vulnerable. He didn’t flinch. He held her as if she might shatter, his hand cradling the back of her head.

“You’re not alone,” he murmured against her hair. “Not in this. Not ever.”

She closed her eyes, letting the warmth of him seep into her. The grief was still there, sharp and unyielding, but for the first time since the battle, she felt something else beneath it.

Not joy. Not yet.

But the faintest promise of it.

And she clung to that, as Nikolas held her.

Without a word, Nikolas bent and gathered her into his arms. Saphira didn’t resist, her head fell against his shoulder, her fingers clutching weakly at his coat as though afraid to let go.

He carried her through the quiet corridors, when they reached their room, he pushed the door open with his shoulder and crossed to the bed. He laid her down gently, then slid in beside her, pulling her against him. Her body curled into his chest, her tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt.

“I can’t stop it,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “It hurts too much.”

Nikolas pressed his lips to her hair, his hand stroking slow circles across her back. “Then let it hurt,” he murmured. “I’ll hold you through it.”

Her sobs came harder, but he didn’t flinch. He tightened his arms around her, his heartbeat a rhythm beneath her ear.

“You’re safe,” he whispered. “You’re not alone. Not tonight. Not ever.”

Saphira clung to him, her grief spilling out in waves until her body shook with it. And Nikolas held her, silent and strong, until the storm began to ebb, until her sobs softened into shuddering breaths, and the weight of night pressed them both into stillness.