A war raged inside me.
Should I tell her? Let her see the truth of what I was?
Would it change how she looked at me? Would she still see me after knowing the blood on my hands?
I swallowed hard, my chest tight.
And then—for the first time in years—I considered something I'd never thought possible.
Telling someone my truth.
It wasn't something I allowed myself to think about. Not since that day.
But Lyra just lay there, watching me with those ethereal violet eyes—quiet, patient.
She wasn't prying. Wasn't demanding. Just waiting.
And against all reason, I relented.
I exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling. "It was a long time ago… thirteen years, seventeen weeks, and three days ago, to be exact."
A pause. Then, softly: "You kept count?"
I turned to her, swallowing against the weight in my throat. "I couldn't not keep track. It was the day I became a monster."
Her brows drew together, but she said nothing.
The memories pressed down on my chest like molten iron.
"The day started like any other," I said quietly. "Breakfast with my mother and father. My father ate in silence, as always—stern, distant. He rarely spoke unless it was something important." A humorless huff escaped me. "My mother, though… she could talk enough for both of them."
Despite myself, a faint smile tugged at my mouth. "Not just to me, but to the servants, the guards—anyone, really. She was beloved. Not just as a queen, but as a person."
"She was kind," I went on, voice dropping. "Gentle. Everything a ruler should be."
Lyra shifted closer. "I've heard stories about the late queen," she murmured. "She sounded like a beautiful person. Inside and out."
"She was," I said, the ache sharp and deep.
I didn't let myself linger. "After breakfast, she wanted to go to the market. It was her favorite thing—to walk among the people. She packed food and my water flask, like always."
A rare smile flickered across my face. "She always filled it with her favorite drink."
Lyra tilted her head. "What was it?"
"Lemonade."
Lyra inhaled quietly.
I stared at the ceiling again. "We walked through the market for a while, my mother greeting nearly everyone. She had this way of making people feel… seen."
I paused. "That's when she saw her—a little girl curled up against the wall of a shop. Just a shadow in the dirt. Skin and bones. Barely breathing."
My fists clenched. "My mother nudged me and told me to check on her."
Lyra stayed silent, listening.
"I was thirteen. Stubborn. And, honestly? Kind of a little shit." I let out a humorless laugh. "I said, 'What does she have to do with me? She's just a beggar.'"
Lyra drew a sharp breath, but I wasn't done.
"My mother didn't say a word. Just smacked me upside the head—not hard, just enough to make me think."
A ghost of a smile crossed my lips. "So I went over to the girl. She was so still I thought she was dead. I poked her just to be sure."
Lyra let out a soft laugh.
"She swatted my hand weakly," I said, remembering, "and I told her I was checking to see if she was alive."
"She didn't speak. Just kept staring at my flask. She looked like she hadn't eaten in days."
Lyra's expression softened.
"I told her she was looking at it like it was gold. She looked embarrassed." I swallowed. "So I shoved it at her. Told her it was lemonade, not poison."
Lyra's lips curved faintly. "Sounds familiar."
For a moment, there was only silence.
"After that," I said quietly, "my mother called me back. We headed home. But when we got to the gates…"
My stomach twisted. "Everything was quiet. Too quiet."
Lyra's hand stilled against the sheets.
"We walked through the courtyard. No guards. No sound. Just silence. And then we saw them."
I drew a long breath, forcing the words out.
"The bodies. So many bodies."
The images burned behind my eyes—blood staining marble, familiar faces motionless. "These weren't just soldiers. They were men I'd trained with. Grown up with. They were family."
Beside me, Lyra said nothing.
"My mother's pace quickened. Inside, it was worse. Servants, guards, everyone… dead."
The scent hit me again—metallic, suffocating.
"That's when we heard them—the attackers. They were breaking into the throne room. My father and a few guards had barricaded themselves inside."
My jaw locked. "My mother grabbed me, tried to hide me. But it was too late. They saw us."
The next words scraped from my throat. "We ran. Through halls I'd played in as a boy. We made it as far as her garden before they caught up."
The scent of blood and cherry blossom filled my lungs all over again.
"They weren't after the crown. They were after me. The heir to the Obsidian Throne."
My whole body tensed. "She tried to protect me. Fought with everything she had."
I could still see it—the flash of steel, the knife pressed to her throat.
Lyra's hand brushed my arm. "Raiden," she whispered, "you don't have to keep going."
I shook my head. "No. You need to know. If anything's going to happen between us, you have to know who I really am."
Our eyes met—hers open and unwavering, mine fraying at the edges.
I looked away. "They gave me a choice. Surrender myself to die, or they'd kill her."
My nails dug into my palms. "It wasn't even a choice. I was ready."
My voice broke. "But she wouldn't let me."
I could still hear her screaming my name, begging me to stop. "She fought them—fought me. One of them hit her."
The memory ripped through me like fire.
"That's when it happened," I said, voice rough. "The first spark."
I flexed my fingers, remembering the power that had erupted. "Lightning burst from me—wild, uncontrolled. It killed everyone it touched."
Lyra's throat bobbed, but she stayed silent.
"Their screams… the smell of burning flesh. I couldn't stop it. I didn't want to stop it. Until…"
I shut my eyes. "Until I smelled cherry blossoms. Her garden."
The word mother lodged in my throat.
"She was standing there. Watching me. Afraid."
For the first time in my life, she looked afraid of me.
"I panicked. Tried to stop it, but the lightning turned inward—burning me alive from the inside out. It crawled up my arm, straight for my heart."
My fingers brushed over the old scar.
"I should've died." My voice trembled. "But she… she didn't let me."
I swallowed hard, the memory cutting sharper than any blade. "She fought through the storm—through me. The lightning was wild by then, ripping through everything it touched. The air was burning, the ground split apart, and still she came."
I could see it—her silhouette wreathed in light, her hair whipping around her face, her gown scorched and torn. She looked like something divine. Or doomed.
"She reached me," I whispered. "Through the fire. Through the pain. Her hand found my cheek, trembling but steady. I remember the metal of her ring—it was cold against my skin, even with everything burning. I didn't understand what she was doing until it was too late."
My throat closed, the words scraping out. "She used it to draw the lightning away from me. Redirected it into herself."
I squeezed my fists until my knuckles ached. "She took it all. Every bolt. Every spark. The storm that should've killed me—she absorbed it. I remember the sound of it hitting her—the way her body shook, her breath caught—"
I broke off, breath shaking.
"She leaned her forehead against mine," I said, barely above a whisper. "And even as the lightning consumed her, she smiled."
A single tear slid down my temple.
"She whispered my name. Told me she loved me. And then… she was gone."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
When she fell, the world stopped.
"I realized then… every life lost, every death—it was because of me."
The words came out hollow. "My mother was dead because of me."
I turned to Lyra, the tears I'd buried for years burning hot in my eyes.
"I killed her."
The words hung between us, heavy and unrelenting.
"And everyone in the palace knew it," I continued, voice low. "After her death, my father changed. Grief turned him into something else—something cruel. War-hungry. Maybe it was his way of coping. Maybe he thought if he drowned the world in blood, it would drown out the pain."
I let out a bitter laugh. "He trained me harder than ever. Said if I was going to live, then I'd better make my life worth the cost of hers."
My fingers flexed unconsciously, phantom lightning crackling beneath my skin. "He taught me to harness my power. Or at least, he tried. But the curse of our bloodline is that our lightning can never truly be controlled. It lives. It hungers."
I swallowed. "Still, I didn't care. Training gave me purpose. Pain gave me focus. I became exactly what he wanted—his perfect soldier, his perfect weapon."
My gaze drifted to the fire, the flames reflecting the storm inside me. "It didn't matter who the target was. If he gave the order, I carried it out. Without question. Without mercy."
A muscle in my jaw ticked. "Someone needed to pay for what happened that night, and since I couldn't bring her back… I made sure someone bled for it."
Silence stretched.
"I lost myself for a long time," I said quietly. "Sometimes, I think I still am."
I turned my head, meeting Lyra's eyes. "That's why I can't—why I don't let people close. Because no matter how strong I get, no matter how careful I am… I'll never fully control it."
My voice cracked, raw and honest.
"And if I ever lost control again…" I swallowed hard. "If it happened to someone I cared about—"
My voice faltered. I shook my head, the words catching somewhere between my chest and my throat. "I couldn't survive that twice."
Silence followed—thick and endless. The only sounds were our breaths, slow and uneven, filling the small space between us.
For the first time since that night, I felt it—the cracks in the armor I'd built, splitting open. The weight I'd carried alone for so long finally caved in, pressing down until I couldn't hold it anymore.
I broke. Quietly. Completely.
The truth was out now—the truth of what made me the Lightning Prince, of what I'd done, of what I'd lost.
That should have been a relief.
But instead, it terrified me.
Because now she knew. She'd seen the darkness in me.
And I was terrified she'd see what I saw—
the monster I'd become.
And walk away.