Alex carefully lifted Lyra, cradling her close as he stepped toward the small family shrine tucked in the corner of his room. The soft glow of the candlelight flickered across the carved wood and the photographs of his parents, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch like gentle arms around them.
"They're… not here with me physically, but they're always watching," Alex whispered. He placed Lyra down gently on the low platform of the shrine, and she chirped again, tilting her head as if recognizing the significance of the space.
He knelt beside the shrine, his hands resting lightly on the smooth wood. "Mom, Dad… I've been working hard. I've made friends, I've trained, and I… I've learned so much," he said softly, his voice tinged with both pride and longing. The air felt still, as if the room itself was listening.
Lyra hopped closer, pressing her small, warm body against Alex's arm. He smiled faintly, feeling the comfort of her presence. "I wanted you to meet her," he murmured, scratching gently behind her crest. "She's my partner now… and she's helping me grow stronger. I hope you're proud."
For a few moments, the only sounds were the faint crackle of candlelight and the soft cooing of Lyra. Then Alex exhaled, feeling a calm determination settle over him. "I promise… I'll make you both proud. I'll keep moving forward, no matter what."
Alex felt a lump form in his throat, and before he could stop it, tears began to roll down his cheeks. He hadn't intended to cry—he was the one who usually held everyone together—but seeing the small, golden-feathered Lyra perched there, so attentive and trusting, brought a wave of emotions he hadn't allowed himself to feel.
"I… I wanted to show you both," he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "I wanted you to see how far I've come… how I'm keeping my promise."
He set Lyra gently on his lap, holding her close as if her warmth could anchor him. She chirped softly, nuzzling his chest. The quiet presence of his bond gave him courage, and yet it also amplified the ache of longing—the ache for his parents, for the family he remembered, and for the safety he sometimes took for granted.
"I wanted… I wanted to boast about my bond," he admitted aloud, voice trembling. "I… I wanted to show mine is stronger than you guys got," His fingers brushed Lyra's soft crest as he spoke, and it felt like the bird was listening, understanding every word.
He bowed his head, letting the tears flow freely now. "And I wanted to be strong for you… for everyone. But it's hard… harder than I thought."
Lyra shifted closer, pressing against him and letting out a soft, cooing sound. Alex realized that her presence wasn't just comforting—it was reflective. His sorrow, his longing, and his determination seemed to echo through her, and for the first time, he understood that a bond didn't just connect power—it connected hearts.
"I… I'm not alone," he whispered through the tears. "Even if you're not here… I can feel you."
Lyra nuzzled his cheek, and as if sensing his emotion, the faint glow of her golden feathers intensified. The warmth and quiet strength she exuded seemed to cradle his sorrow, carrying some of it away. And in that small, quiet moment, Alex felt a shift—a tiny, tender lifting of the weight he'd been carrying.
He closed his eyes and let himself cry a little longer, Lyra safe in his hands. The bond between them hummed quietly, a gentle current of shared emotion, as if telling him: it's okay. You're allowed to feel. You're allowed to lean.
And as the tears subsided, Alex finally lifted his head, a soft but firm resolve settling in his chest. "Thank you, Lyra… for being here with me," he whispered. "Together… we'll get stronger. Together, we'll keep going."
Lyra chirped softly in response, as though acknowledging the promise. And for the first time that day, Alex felt truly ready to face whatever came next.
Alex settled back onto his bed, letting his body sink into the soft mattress. He cradled Lyra gently in his hands, her tiny body warm against his chest. For the first time in a long while, a deep calm washed over him. The storm of hidden emotions—the longing, the sorrow, the pressure—had been released, if only a little. He let himself breathe, feeling lighter than he had in months.
Soon, Alex was fast asleep, his breathing steady and deep. Suddenly, Lyra's eyes fluttered open—but they were no longer the soft, innocent, baby-like eyes he was used to. Instead, they gleamed with a regal clarity, like a tiny empress gazing down on a mortal world.
She watched Alex's sleeping face carefully, her expression unreadable, as if weighing thoughts too vast for him to comprehend. Then, her gaze softened slightly, and the familiar innocence returned to her eyes.
Chirp
A soft, confused chirp escaped her as she tilted her head, wondering why she had awakened in the first place. But like a baby shrugging off a fleeting worry, she ignored the momentary stir and curled back into her usual resting position, settling once again against Alex's chest.
The morning sun filtered softly through the curtains, casting a warm glow across Alex's room. He stirred, blinking as he slowly woke from a deep, restorative sleep. Lyra nestled against his chest, still half-asleep, her golden feathers catching the light and shimmering faintly.
He yawned and stretched, feeling the lingering calm from the previous night still wrapped around him.
Alex gently set Lyra down, letting her hop and stretch across the edge of the bed. "Alright, explore a bit," he said softly. She chirped in response, fluffing her golden feathers as she moved around freely, bright eyes scanning the small room.
As she hopped toward the basket of breakfast, Alex began preparing his own meal. He carefully broke apart a pastry, setting some aside for Lyra while arranging the fruit and bread he'd bought on the way back from the academy. The golden berries in particular seemed to catch her attention—rare treats meant for a special companion.