We didn't leave the hall immediately.
Halin dismissed us, but Seris stood still long after, staring at the runes like she was wrestling something she wasn't prepared to say out loud.
Lira sensed it first.
She touched Seris's arm gently. "Seris…?"
Seris didn't flinch, but she didn't look away from the floor either.
"What happens if this thing decides one day to take him from us?" she asked quietly, not to Halin—but to the room, to herself, to the bond.
I froze.
Lira stepped closer, voice soft. "Seris—"
"No," Seris said, voice rough around the edges. "I need to say this now. Before the next nightmare or the next revelation or whatever comes next."
She turned toward me—eyes fierce, afraid, stubborn, breaking.
"I don't care what this thing was. I don't care what it becomes. If it tries to take you—if it tries to replace you—then it's going to have to go through me first."
I swallowed hard. "Seris—"
She shook her head sharply, stepping forward, grip finding my shoulder like she needed physical proof I was here.
"You're not a vessel. You're not a host. You're not some magical doorway for something ancient and lonely."
Her voice broke.
"You're Arin. And that matters."
Lira placed a hand gently between Seris's shoulder blades. "He knows."
Seris closed her eyes a beat too long. "Sometimes I think he forgets."
Emotion punched the air out of my lungs. "I don't forget."
"You do." She opened her eyes, raw and honest. "When the fracture pulses, you look somewhere else. Like it's calling you somewhere we can't follow."
I swallowed trembling air. "I don't leave you."
Seris, voice cracking:
"Promise me you won't."
The intensity of her voice wasn't anger. It was terror disguised as defiance.
Lira slid her hand into Seris's, voice soft and steady. "He doesn't have to promise that. We do."
Seris looked at her, startled—and shattered.
Lira leaned her head against my shoulder. "We keep him here. Together."
Seris stared at us both—eyes burning.
Her voice was barely more than breath:
"Then don't ask me to stop protecting you."
"I won't," I said.
Lira whispered, "We never will."
Seris let out a breath she'd been holding for days—weeks—maybe longer.
Then she leaned her forehead against mine.
Not fierce. Not attacking destiny.
Just needing contact.
And in that moment, I understood: Seris wasn't afraid of the fracture—
she was afraid of loving something she might lose.
I wrapped my arms around her—around both of them—and held on.
"I'm not going anywhere," I whispered.
Seris's voice shook the way her hands never would.
"You better not."
When Seris finally stepped out into the corridor, I noticed Lira didn't follow right away. She stood near the center rune, watching the fading glow with a look that seemed too deep for daylight.
I waited.
She didn't move.
"Lira?" I asked gently.
She looked up at me then—eyes soft, scared, shining in a way that made my chest tighten.
"Can I ask you something?" she whispered.
"Always," I said.
Her voice was barely audible. "If the fracture is learning from us… does it care more about you than me?"
I froze. Seris would have yelled at the fear.
Lira simply admitted it.
I stepped closer, taking her hand slowly, carefully. "Why would you think that?"
Lira swallowed, eyes dropping. "It's inside you. It feels what you feel first."
"Lira—"
"And Seris…" She breathed out shakily. "Seris protects you like she was built to. Like she was born knowing how."
I cupped her cheek gently. "And you love like breathing."
She trembled, eyes pressing shut as if the words hurt. "But what if loving isn't enough to reach it?"
I moved closer, forehead brushing hers. "Lira. You're the reason it felt safe."
She blinked, tears forming. "What if it needs more than what I can give?"
My voice broke.
"It doesn't need more. I do."
Her breath caught.
"I needed your touch the first night," I whispered. "I needed your voice waking me from the dream. You reached me when I couldn't reach myself."
Lira's tears slipped free silently down her cheek.
"You are the softness that heals," I said. "You're the one who teaches me what gentle feels like."
Lira looked up at me like she was hearing something she'd needed all her life.
"I'm afraid," she whispered.
I pulled her into me, her head fitting beneath my chin, arms wrapped around her small form.
"I know."
My voice trembled.
"And I love that about you."
Lira gasped a breath—quiet, broken, relieved.
Because she didn't want to be fearless.
She wanted to be enough.
And she was.
More than enough.
I held her closer.
"You don't have to fight like Seris," I murmured.
"You just have to stay. And you do."
Lira pressed her face into my chest.
"And you stay with me?"
I smiled against her hair. "Always."
She breathed deeply—slowly—finally.
And the fracture pulsed gently inside my ribs, like it was listening to her heart instead of mine.
We stayed like that for a long time—her breathing slowly matching mine, heart trembling against my chest with every exhale. Lira didn't cry loudly, she didn't shake uncontrollably, she didn't break into pieces.
That wasn't her way.
Lira broke quietly, like petals falling one by one.
When she finally lifted her face, her eyes were still shining. She wiped at them with the back of her hand, embarrassed. "Sorry, I just—"
"Lira," I whispered, resting my forehead against hers, "don't apologize for being human."
She gave a soft, almost startled laugh. "You sound like Seris."
I smiled faintly. "Seris would have yelled at the fracture."
Lira giggled through her tears. "She would have threatened to stab magic."
I brushed a tear from her cheek with my thumb. "And you would have tried to understand it."
She nodded, voice barely above a breath. "I want to understand you too."
"You do," I said. "More than anyone ever has."
Lira's lips parted slightly in surprise—like she hadn't realized that could be true.
I held her hand in both of mine. "You don't need to fight anything to matter. You don't need to be louder than Seris. You don't need to be the strongest person in the room."
"But I want to be strong for you," she whispered.
"You already are," I said. "You're my calm."
She stared up at me, eyes softening, shoulders slowly relaxing. "Really?"
I nodded. "Seris protects my body. You protect my heart."
Lira froze. And then something inside her melted—completely and visibly—like sunlight softening snow in real time.
She leaned in, slow and gentle, and pressed a soft kiss against my cheek—more reverent than romantic, more grateful than passionate.
"Thank you for staying," she whispered.
I cupped the back of her head gently. "Thank you for giving me something worth staying for."
Lira exhaled shakily, resting her head against my chest again—not because she was weak—
but because she trusted me with the part of her that wasn't.
We stayed like that, quiet warm held together by something that didn't need magic to exist.
Until finally— very quietly— Lira whispered:
"I may not fight like her… but I'll love you just as fiercely."
And the fracture pulsed, soft and warm, as if agreeing with her.
When her breathing finally steadied, we stayed close, foreheads lightly touching. Lira didn't rush away or pretend the moment hadn't happened. She let herself be held, let her vulnerability stay in the open air.
For someone who lived gently, that was bravery.
After a long pause, she looked up slowly, like she was afraid I might disappear the moment she moved.
"Arin," she whispered, "do I make you feel safe?"
More than she knew.
I slid my fingers along her jaw, keeping my touch soft. "You make me feel something I didn't know I could feel."
Lira's eyes widened. "What… what feeling?"
I searched for words that didn't exist, found something truer instead.
"Home."
She froze—completely.
Not breathing, not blinking, not moving—
home.
The word hung between us with a weight that made her eyes fill all over again.
"Arin…" her voice broke, just a little, "no one's ever said that about me."
"You're hearing it now," I said quietly. "From me. Until it's real to you."
She leaned forward slowly—hesitant—and then rested her forehead against mine, her breath warm against my lips but not touching yet.
Almost. Close. Near.
"I'm scared one day you'll wake up and realize someone like me doesn't deserve this," she whispered.
I drew her closer, voice firm, soft, unshakable—
"I don't deserve you. And somehow you're still here."
Her breath trembled out of her.
Then, very gently, like she was afraid to break the moment, she brushed her lips against my cheek again—slower this time, more intent, letting herself choose it instead of apologizing for wanting it.
It wasn't a kiss asking for permission.
It was a kiss claiming her place.
She pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.
"I want to be with you," she said, voice quiet but unshakable. "Even if I'm afraid."
I smiled softly. "I want you afraid. It means you care."
That made her laugh—a soft, relieved sound, like something loosening in her ribcage.
And I realized something in that moment: Seris fights for me like she's terrified to lose— and Lira loves me like she's terrified I don't know how much I matter.
Two fears, one heart, held between both of them.
Maybe that's what the bond really was.
Not magic.
Not destiny.
Just choosing each other, over and over again.
And somewhere deep inside— the fracture pulsed warm, quiet, slow.
Like it finally understood the shape of love.