Inside the eastern territory.
The battle had passed through those lands like a distant storm.
But it had not fully reached the interior.
In the underground chambers carved beneath the ancient walls, the war was only a muffled rumor.
The stone hall was full.
Humans.
Some slept scattered across the floor.
Even where there was space along the walls, many remained curled against each other, as if they still expected to be pushed back into some cramped place.
Some held pieces of bread in their sleeping hands.
As if they feared someone might take it from them.
Others had their wrists covered in improvised bandages.
Beneath the cloth, old iron marks still darkened the skin.
There were wounded.
But there was also something harder to name.
Deep exhaustion.
The kind of exhaustion that did not come only from battle.
Some gazes moved far too slowly.
Others avoided any sudden movement in the room, as if they still expected punishment for breathing too loudly.
The scent of dried blood, dust, and burning wax clung to the air.
Only a few candles lit the place.
Small flames.
Unstable.
Shadows trembled along the stone walls.
That was when a young man opened his eyes.
But the movement barely changed his face.
A long strand of dark hair had fallen across him during sleep.
The strands covered his eyes completely.
The vision came first as stains of light.
Then shapes.
The stone ceiling appeared above him.
Irregular.
Ancient.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Sounds filtered in next.
Breathing.
Slow movements.
Someone murmuring in their sleep.
When the vision finally cleared, he noticed the faces around him.
People.
Thin.
Exhausted.
Some watched in silence.
Others slept like those who had collapsed from pure exhaustion.
And then he saw her.
A girl leaning over him.
Her eyes were blue.
Intense.
Almost shining in the candlelight.
Her dark-brown hair was short, slightly wavy, and disheveled.
Her pale skin carried a faint flush in the cheeks — a strange contrast in that hall full of pale faces.
Small cuts marked the line of her jaw and the side of her neck.
Nothing serious.
But enough to remind that she too had passed through the same chains as the others.
She watched him closely.
As if making sure he had truly returned.
"Are you alright?"
The voice was soft.
Careful.
The young man stared at her for a moment.
In silence.
As if he were still returning from very far away.
Then he turned his head slightly.
Beside him, a child was watching him.
Small.
Sitting on the stone floor.
The eyes were red.
Deep.
And strangely calm.
Around her, two people slept leaning against the wall.
Both with chain marks on their ankles.
The child seemed completely unaware of all that.
The young man breathed deeply.
The air entered his lungs heavy.
His voice came out hoarse.
"Yes… I'm alright."
The girl released a small sigh.
Relief.
A simple smile appeared on her lips.
"That's good."
She cast a brief glance toward the doors of the underground chamber.
Thick.
Reinforced with iron.
"Things outside… have calmed down."
He turned his gaze back to her.
Observing her face as if trying to remember something.
Or perhaps understand where he was.
"Who are you?"
Her smile returned.
Small.
Sincere.
"My name is Lyra."
The young man repeated the name silently.
As if testing the sound.
"Ly—"
The name cracked in his throat.
Hoarse.
Uneven.
He breathed deeply.
As if he needed to relearn the simple act of speaking.
"Lyra…"
This time the name came out whole.
After a moment, a faint smile appeared on his lips.
The child beside him continued looking at him.
Without blinking.
The candles flickered.
Lyra tilted her head slightly.
"And you?"
She rested an elbow on her knee, still watching the boy.
"What's your name?"
The young man remained silent.
His gaze hidden by the dark hair.
As if searching for something inside his own mind.
Or perhaps avoiding the answer.
Lyra waited a moment.
Two.
Then she shrugged.
A small smile appeared at the corner of her lips.
"Alright."
She stood up slowly.
"I suppose that doesn't matter much right now."
The movement made the candlelight reveal her arms more clearly.
Improvised bandages wrapped both forearms.
The cloth was already stained.
Dry in some places.
Recent in others.
Marks of someone who had fought earlier.
She cast a brief glance around the chamber.
Tired breathing.
Curled bodies.
People still sleeping while holding food.
Lyra released a small sigh.
"Things outside… have stopped."
She pressed her fingers lightly against the stone floor.
"I would feel it if the battle were still happening."
Some people raised their heads upon hearing that.
Others simply opened their eyes.
The words spread through the hall like a spark.
A low murmur began to grow among the survivors.
Concern.
Hope.
Fear of asking.
"Is it over…?"
"The battle… really ended?"
"So… we're going to leave here?"
"My family…"
"They might still be alive…"
Lyra raised a hand.
A simple gesture.
But firm.
"Hey."
The voice wasn't loud.
Even so, the murmur faded.
"Easy."
Her gaze traveled across the entire hall.
"The battles outside have ceased. Of that I am certain."
Some faces tensed at those words.
Others simply closed their eyes.
As if that sentence alone was already difficult to believe.
Lyra continued:
"But we don't know who won."
The silence lasted only a moment.
Then the murmurs returned.
Different now.
More tense.
"And if it's them out there…"
"They could come back…"
"We could be taken back…"
The murmurs began to die when Lyra lifted her eyes.
She saw the hands first.
Some covering faces.
Others trembling against chests.
A man was crying silently, bent against the wall.
The fear had returned.
Then her gaze met the child's.
The red eyes were no longer on the young man.
They were fixed on the door.
Motionless.
Lyra frowned.
That was when she heard it.
Footsteps.
Echoing through the stone corridor.
One.
Then another.
Heavy.
Steady.
She did not hesitate.
She turned and ran.
"Wait—"
Someone tried to speak, but Lyra had already crossed the hall.
Boots struck stone as she approached the reinforced door.
Iron creaked.
Moving.
Slow.
The people behind her began to shout.
The lock gave way.
The door opened a few centimeters.
Darkness.
Then she saw them.
Two eyes.
Golden.
Shining in the dark corridor like metal fresh from the forge.
Lyra moved first.
Without warning.
Her left foot slid forward.
Body low.
Direct.
Her fist came straight for the man's throat — a short CQC strike.
The stranger was already moving.
His body turned half a step out of the line.
Systema.
His arm did not block.
He yielded.
His hand touched her wrist just enough to redirect the impact.
The strike grazed past his shoulder.
Lyra was already rotating her hip.
Rising elbow.
Fast.
Straight to the jaw.
The man absorbed the impact with a raised shoulder.
The strike lost power.
The response came in the same motion.
A short shove to her chest.
Not to injure.
To break balance.
Lyra slid half a step back.
Reentered immediately.
Knee rising toward the ribs.
He intercepted the leg in midair.
Did not grab.
Redirected.
Her leg landed off balance.
His foot stepped inside her support leg.
Systema again.
Simple lever.
The world upended.
Lyra fell on her back onto the corridor floor.
The air left her lungs in a short burst.
But she was already rolling aside.
His fist came down where her head had been a second earlier.
Stone cracked under the impact.
Lyra came back up on her knees.
Fist low.
Strike to the liver.
Direct.
He tightened his abdomen at the last instant.
The impact landed partially.
Enough to make him step back half a step.
Lyra advanced.
Short sequence.
Right.
Left.
Elbow.
He didn't block.
His body rippled.
Russian Systema.
Each strike diverted by centimeters.
Angle.
Breathing.
Weight.
Her last punch opened her guard too much.
He entered.
His arm coiled around her injured arm.
Elbow control.
Minimal twist.
Pain shot through the bandaged arm.
Lyra snarled and tried to turn.
Too late.
His hip slid beneath hers.
A short lever.
The world turned again.
He threw her.
Lyra flew through the open door and fell back into the candlelit hall.
She slid across the stone.
Stopped near the candles.
The silence in the chamber broke.
Panic came right after.
"Close the door!"
"Don't let—"
A man stumbled backward.
Then the figure appeared in the entrance.
Tall.
Motionless.
The wavering candlelight touched the skin first — a deep tone, reminiscent of iron mixed with ancient bronze.
Long black hair was tied only halfway. Loose strands fell over the shoulders and seemed to move slowly, as if responding to air currents that did not exist in that closed corridor.
Wounds crossed the torso and the left arm.
Some recent.
Others already darkened.
But none seemed to hinder his movements.
And then came the eyes.
Golden.
Intense.
Glowing like blades pulled straight from the forge.
Someone in the hall choked.
Another took a step back.
Then a scream tore through the silence.
"The Executor!"
Panic exploded.
Some people shrank against the walls.
Others began retreating toward the back of the chamber.
Lyra pressed a hand to the floor.
Forced her body upright.
The injured arm trembled when it tried to support her weight.
She clenched her teeth.
Rose.
Blue eyes locked onto the figure at the door.
For an instant, only silence.
Then the word came out between her teeth.
"You…"
The man did not respond.
The golden eyes remained still, observing the hall.
Lyra moved one foot forward.
Her body already lowering to advance again.
That was when a voice echoed from the corridor.
Low.
Clear.
Unhurried.
"Telvaris."
The name hung heavy in the air.
Some survivors exchanged looks.
The voice continued, calm.
"I informed you that we should avoid any kind of confrontation."
Footsteps sounded on the dark stone of the corridor.
Slow.
Controlled.
"As I can see… my warning was not sufficient."
A brief pause.
The voice returned, serene.
"I apologize for the reception… somewhat rough."
"We are not here as enemies, Lyra."
Footsteps sounded again on the dark stone of the corridor.
Slow.
Controlled.
"And I would prefer to avoid an unnecessary confrontation… considering the position in which all of us find ourselves."
Telvaris did not move.
Lyra remained still for a moment.
Her body still prepared to attack.
But now her eyes also watched the darkness behind him.
Trying to discover who else was arriving.