The contact breaks, but the sensation lingers.
Lyra still feels the heat of that touch on her skin, as if branded with an invisible fire.
The warrior does not step back.
She looks at him with calculated calm, though her heart beats to a rhythm that isn't hers.
"Curious," she whispers. "Everyone desires me… except you."
He studies her like a hunter sizing up prey.
"I'm no prey."
"Oh, no one is… until they are," her lips curve slightly. "Who are you, wall of steel?"
"Kael Veynar. Captain of the Border Guard. And if you use that kind of magic in my presence again, I'll make you wish you'd never been born."
The threat is direct. No exaggeration or arrogance—only conviction.
Lyra takes a step closer, close enough for her jasmine and spice scent to envelop him.
"You're lucky… many would kill to desire me."
The steel in his eyes doesn't soften, but his breath shifts, barely noticeable. She senses it.
"It won't work on me," Kael says, more to himself than to her.
Lyra smiles as if she's won.
"It already is."
He clenches his jaw but doesn't retreat. On the contrary, he leans in, so close their lips could brush if either gave an inch.
"I don't know what you are," he murmurs, "but you smell like trouble."
"And yet… you don't look away," Lyra whispers.
For a moment, the world shrinks to the space between them.
Until a war horn echoes from the outer walls. The crowd shouts, confused. Musicians drop their instruments. In the sky, a green flash streaks like a serpent of light.
Kael breaks the moment, turning toward the sound.
"Stay where you are," he orders, pushing through the crowd.
Lyra watches him leave.
She knows she should let him go.
But the heat he left on her skin… is not something she can ignore.
And deep within, something in her magic whispers: this man is more than an obstacle.
He is a key.
A key that could unlock the Crimson Flame… or her ruin.
As she turns to leave, Lyra feels a whisper in her ear, though no one is behind her:
"Don't get close to the warrior… or the lotus will claim you."