The rain had not stopped for two days. It drummed against the high windows of the Tower of the Moon, a steady rhythm that echoed Lyra's restless thoughts. She sat alone in the library, scrolls and ink scattered across the table like pieces of a puzzle she refused to solve.
The prophecy still lingered in her mind, each word gnawing at her resolve. You are bound to him. The man who will change everything.
She pushed the thought away.
She would not be bound.
Her quill scratched furiously against the parchment as she scribbled alternative interpretations of the prophecy—anything to twist its meaning into something harmless. "Bound could mean alliance… or merely acquaintance," she muttered to herself. "It doesn't have to mean…"
"Love?"The deep voice came from behind her.
Lyra froze. Slowly, she turned to see Caelen standing in the doorway, his dark cloak dripping with rainwater. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those unrelenting storm-gray eyes—locked on hers with quiet intensity.
"I didn't come here for you," she said, sharper than she intended.
"Good," he replied, stepping inside. "Because I didn't come here for you either."
But neither of them moved.
Caelen set a sealed letter on the table. "The kingdoms are preparing for war. You should leave the Tower before it becomes the first target."
"I'm not running," Lyra shot back. "Not for a war, and not for a prophecy that thinks it can decide my life."
For a moment, something flickered in his expression—relief, or perhaps fear. "Then we agree," he said quietly. "The prophecy will not control us."
They stood there, two people tethered by fate, both pulling in opposite directions. Yet, in the silence between them, the air felt charged, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Outside, the rain slowed to a drizzle. Somewhere far away, a horn sounded.
Neither of them knew it yet, but their refusal would not break the prophecy. It would only make it fight harder