The room was quiet, save for the soft rhythm of Lyra's breathing. The candle on the nightstand flickered, casting warm golden light across her sleeping form. Her white iridescent hair spilled across the pillow like moonlight on snow, shimmering even in the dim glow.
She looked peaceful like this—so at odds with the fierce, stubborn force of nature she became the moment she was awake.
I propped myself on an elbow, watching her. I shouldn't have been doing this—letting myself believe it could last. Letting myself believe I could have her. But right now, with her curled against me, one hand resting lightly on my chest, I let myself pretend.
She shifted, lashes fluttering, lost somewhere deep in a dream. I wondered if she was dreaming of me. Of us.
My throat tightened.
She didn't know the full truth. Not yet.
I was born with a purpose—to end this war. My father had tried. His father before him. Their visions of peace were different, but the burden of their failures was now mine to carry. And time was running out.
Lyra had changed everything.
She'd taken the cracks in my armor and pried them wider, forcing light into the shadows I'd learned to live in. And gods, I wanted to let her. But I couldn't forget what I was. What I was meant to do.
What if I ruined this?
What if, in the end, I had to choose between her and the legacy I carried?
The thought twisted in my chest—because I already knew the answer.
If it came down to her or the war…
I wouldn't survive choosing her.
And I wouldn't survive losing her either.
I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, my fingers lingering against her skin. She sighed softly, leaning into my touch, unaware of the storm raging inside me.
For now, I'd let myself have this moment. Just this one.
Tomorrow, the world would come calling again. Duty. Blood. Legacy.
But tonight, she was here.
And I was hers.
As much as I wanted to stay with her, wrapped in warmth and quiet, reality had a way of clawing back in. There was an ambush to prepare for, and no time to linger in what could never last.
By the time we made it downstairs, the tavern was already alive with morning bustle. Lyra stretched, looking far too pleased with herself after last night. I had to fight the urge to smile.
Muir and Revik were already seated, and the second I caught Revik's eye, I knew I couldn't let this pass.
"So," I said, leaning against the table with an easy grin, "you and Muir, huh?"
Revik scowled. "Drop it, Raiden."
Muir smirked, completely unfazed. "Oh, please don't. This is fun."
Lyra slid into the seat beside me, her violet eyes glinting with mischief. "It all makes sense now—the awkward silences, the glances." She aimed a knowing look at Revik.
"There are no glances," Revik muttered.
Muir tapped his fingers on the table, feigning thought. "I don't know, love. I recall you looking at me quite a bit last night."
Revik went scarlet, dragging a hand down his face. "We're just—"
"Helping each other blow off steam," Lyra supplied, far too amused.
"Personally," Muir said, smirking, "I'm enjoying the arrangement. Revik, on the other hand, might need a bit more convincing."
Revik groaned. "Why am I still sitting here?"
"Because deep down," Lyra teased, "you love us."
He muttered something under his breath, but I caught the faint curve of a smile before he hid it behind his mug.
"Alright," I said, chuckling. "I think we've tortured him enough—for now. We need to pick up the gear for tonight."
Lyra pouted, crossing her arms. "Do I not get to come?"
"You and Muir stay here," I told her. "We won't be long."
She rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
The market was still bustling despite the thickening snow. Merchants called their final bargains as Revik and I wove through the crowd, collecting what we needed—black clothing, cloaks, rope, and charcoal for false sigils.
Then something caught my eye: a weapons stall tucked between two larger vendors. Among the usual steel and trinkets, a set of throwing daggers gleamed darkly under the lantern light.
Obsidian blades—razor-edged and elegant—with a faint violet sheen like liquid amethyst beneath the stone. Their twisted handles were made for precision, for speed. For someone like her.
I picked one up, testing its balance. Perfect.
Revik sighed. "You're hopeless."
"I don't know what you mean."
He gave me a look. "We're supposed to be gathering supplies for an ambush, and you're over here buying gifts. You're so damn love-sick it's painful."
I paid the merchant without responding, handing him a few coins. "And you're one to talk?"
He groaned. "Look, it's not like that. Muir and I are just… having fun. Blowing off steam."
I smirked. "Sure, Revik. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Back at the tavern, Lyra and Muir were deep in conversation. Lyra looked up when she saw me approach, curiosity flickering in her eyes.
"What's that?" she asked as I set the daggers down.
"A gift," I said simply.
She picked one up, tracing the twisting handle. "They're beautiful. But I've never used throwing daggers before. I'll probably be awful."
I chuckled. "If your rock-throwing is anything to go by, you'll be a natural."
Her brow arched. "Guess we'll see, won't we?"
I grinned. "Come on. Let's test that theory."
She rolled her eyes but followed me outside.
The cold bit instantly, our breath curling white in the air. I led her behind the tavern to a sturdy tree, its bark thick and perfect for a target.
Stepping behind her, I guided her hand. "It's all about balance," I murmured, close to her ear. "Find your center. Don't grip too tight. When you throw—don't think. Just feel."
She inhaled slowly, then let the dagger fly. It thudded into the tree—close, but not center.
She sighed. "See? Awful."
"You're not awful." I stepped closer, adjusting her stance, my hands brushing her waist. She tensed, then relaxed. "Try again."
Her body moved with mine—fluid, focused. The blade struck dead center this time.
She gasped, spinning toward me with wide eyes. "Did you see that?"
I laughed softly. "I did."
She threw her arms around my neck. The sudden warmth of her pressed against me, and I held her without hesitation.
We stayed there a moment longer than necessary.
Lyra practiced a while longer, her movements growing sharper, steadier. Each throw closer than the last until she was grouping the blades in perfect clusters.
When she turned to me, triumphant, her cheeks flushed from the cold, I couldn't help but grin. "Not bad, little thief. Keep this up, and you might actually be dangerous."
She rolled her eyes, collecting the daggers. "Might be?"
The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in streaks of violet and gold. The air shifted—the calm before a mission.
"We should head back," I said quietly. "It's time."
She nodded, tucking the daggers into her belt, and together we stepped back into the fading light.
Inside, the tavern's earlier laughter was gone, replaced by sharp focus. The air thrummed with the quiet readiness that always comes before a fight.
Revik fastened his cloak, watching me. "You're thinking too much again."
I tugged on my gloves. "I think just enough."
He snorted. "Sure."
Lyra and Muir descended the stairs, both cloaked in black. Lyra's pale hair was tied back, but it still caught every flicker of light. She caught me staring and smirked.
"Don't worry, I won't blow our cover."
"I'd rather you blind them before they see you coming," I said.
She shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
With everything in place, we slipped into the night.
The docks were silent, the air thick with salt and mist. Water lapped against the hulls of ships as we moved between them—shadows among shadows.
Lyra and Muir climbed to the rooftops, their movements soundless. Muir grinned, clearly reveling in the thrill. Lyra was all focus—steady, sharp, unshakable.
Revik and I took the ground, covering the exits.
"Think this guy's actually going to be useful?" Revik asked quietly.
"He works for a Water Lord," I said. "He'll have something worth hearing—one way or another."
Revik nodded, adjusting his bracers. "Lyra's getting stronger every day."
I glanced up, catching her silhouette against the dark. "Yeah," I said softly. "She is."
He chuckled. "Focus, Rai."
I exhaled, scanning the shadows. "I am."
The faint sound of approaching footsteps reached us then—measured, deliberate.
The merchant was close.
Now, all we had to do was wait.