Lira sat by the window in her small room, her knees drawn up, the violet silk-wrapped shard resting in her lap.
The tavern below was hushed, its hearth a faint glow, the air carrying the scent of cooled woodsmoke and wax from a single candle flickering beside her.
Her silver hair spilled loose over her shoulders, framing her pale face, her emerald eyes fixed on the bundle.
She hadn't moved for nearly an hour, her breath slow, her heart heavy with the shard's silent weight.
It no longer hummed or burned, as it had in the ruins.
It waited, still and heavy, like a secret holding its breath.
Lira's fingers trembled faintly as she unwrapped the silk, the fabric sliding away to reveal the shard's polished surface, smooth as glass but deeper, like an eye stirred from slumber.
It didn't reflect her face—her sharp cheekbones, her full lips, her eyes rimmed with unshed tears.
Instead, it showed Kio.
Not bound, not looming, not teasing.
Just—there.
Sitting beside her on a cushion, one arm draped gently around her shoulders, the other resting on her thigh.
His head tilted against hers, their foreheads brushing, a quiet intimacy that held no ropes, no commands, only closeness.
The vision was soft, unguarded, a moment she hadn't lived but craved.
Tears welled in her eyes, slow and steady, not a flood but a quiet release, staining the silk beneath the shard's edge.
It was the first time she realized how long it had been since someone simply held her, since she'd felt safe enough to let go.
A soft knock broke the silence, gentle as a whisper.
Lira didn't answer, her gaze still locked on the shard, but the door opened anyway.
Kio stepped inside, closing it with a faint click, his presence filling the room like a tide. He crouched beside her, his dark eyes flicking between her tear-streaked face and the shard, his expression calm but searching. "You saw it," he said, his voice low, steady, a balm against her rawness.
Lira nodded, her throat too tight for words.
"Did it scare you?" he asked, his tone soft, unhurried.
"No," she whispered, her voice barely audible, raw with truth.
"Did it hurt?"
"Yes."
"Do you want it to stop?"
Lira's gaze dropped, her fingers tightening on the silk.
She shook her head, a small, defiant gesture, her snark buried beneath her need.
Kio reached for the shard, his fingers brushing hers as he lifted it from her lap.
He rewrapped it in the silk, its weight muffled, and set it aside on the windowsill, the candle's light casting faint shadows across its folds.
Then, wordlessly, he sat behind her, pulling her into his lap, her back pressing against his chest, his arms encircling her waist, his chin resting lightly against her shoulder.
Lira melted into him, her body yielding as if she'd been waiting years for this moment.
Her breath hitched, a soft shudder, but no tears fell now.
The tavern's quiet wrapped around them—the distant creak of floorboards, the faint rustle of wind outside—holding them in a fragile, intimate haven.
Kio didn't speak, his warmth a silent anchor.
Lira didn't either, her hands resting over his, her fingers tracing the rough calluses of his palms.
They stayed that way, still and close, for a long, long time, the shard forgotten, the world beyond the window fading into the dawn.