Selene was tended to immediately.
Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow but steady as healers worked in hushed urgency. Beyond the chamber doors, the halls of Oakhart rang with boots and shouted orders—soldiers securing corridors, officers demanding reports—but Lyra heard none of it.
She stood at Selene's side, unmoving.
"General," Captain Rita said carefully, breaking the silence. "Those were mages. Mages!"
Lyra didn't look away. "I know."
"They were after Selene."
Lyra's head snapped up, eyes sharp as drawn steel.
Before she could speak, Shawn stepped in. "Rita. Questions later. We need to secure the grounds."
He gave Lyra a brief nod—understanding, not command.
Lyra bent and slipped an arm beneath Selene's shoulders.
The healer protested instantly. "General, you cannot move her—she needs close observation—"
"She will have it," Lyra said, already turning away. "With me."
And she carried Selene from the room.
They arrived at Lyra's place in silence.
"Almost there," Lyra murmured, guiding Selene inside, her voice meant only for her.
She eased Selene onto the bed, jaw tight. The image would not leave her—Selene's blood bright against marble, soaking into cloth. Lyra had faced war, death, and ruin without flinching, but nothing had shaken her like that single wound.
Minutes passed.
Then Selene stirred.
"You should have let Elise handle this," Selene said weakly as Lyra knelt beside her, reaching for clean water and linen.
"No," Lyra replied flatly. "I'll do it."
Her hands—calloused, steady—trembled just slightly as she unwound the bloodied bandage. The cut was shallow, but jagged. Lyra's chest tightened.
Too close. One inch deeper…
"This will sting," she warned softly, pressing damp cloth to the wound.
Selene hissed and turned her face away, silver hair spilling across flushed cheeks.
"I'm sorry," Lyra murmured. The words slipped out before she could stop them. "I should have protected you better."
Selene turned back, meeting her gaze. "You did protect me. If you hadn't been there—" She stopped, memory flashing through her eyes. "I don't want to think about it."
Lyra finished bandaging with painstaking care, her fingers lingering longer than necessary.
"I know why they're after me," Selene said quietly.
Lyra paused. "Mm."
Selene wiped a smear of blood from her finger and reached toward the bedside table.
A sprig of ivy—wilted days ago—stood green and alive. A small bud unfurled before their eyes, shimmering faintly in candlelight.
"It bloomed," Selene whispered. "Because of me…"
The plant leaned subtly toward her touch, as if recognizing her.
"My blood did this."
She let out a soft, nervous laugh. "I guess I don't just have a healing ability."
Lyra didn't smile.
Her stomach twisted. Healing alone would already make Selene a target—but this…
"So the mages were right," Lyra said gravely. "They knew."
Selene drew her hand back, pressing it to her chest. "What am I, Lyra? Why does even my blood carry power?"
Lyra sat beside her and took her hand in both of hers. She lifted it and pressed her lips gently to Selene's bandaged knuckles.
"You are Selene," she said firmly. "Not a weapon. Not a prize. You're the girl who stood by me. Who laughed with me in the dark. Who made me believe in tomorrow."
Selene swallowed. "And if this makes me dangerous?"
Lyra leaned closer, forehead brushing Selene's, breath warm against her lips.
"Then let them tremble," Lyra whispered. "I'll face whatever comes—with you."
Selene's pulse thundered. Fear gave way to something deeper, steadier. She lifted her hand to Lyra's cheek, thumb brushing her skin.
"Lyra…"
Lyra answered without hesitation.
She closed the distance, capturing Selene's lips in a kiss that began softly—uncertain—until Selene leaned into it, clutching Lyra's tunic with her uninjured hand. Then it deepened, slow and desperate, as if both had waited far too long.
Lyra cradled Selene's jaw with aching care, her other arm wrapping protectively around her waist. Selene's fingers slid into Lyra's hair, holding her there, unwilling to let go.
The kiss lingered—hungry, tender, full of unspoken vows.
When they finally parted, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling. Lyra brushed her thumb across Selene's cheek.
"Rest," she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Selene's brow. "I'll watch over you."
Selene closed her eyes, safe in Lyra's arms, as the ivy blossom glowed softly in the candlelight—
Somewhere
Glass shattered.
The sound rang sharp through a dim chamber, echoing off stone walls etched with sigils long forbidden. Shards skittered across the floor, catching the glow of a single burning brazier.
A figure stood at the chamber's center, shoulders rigid with barely contained fury.
"You're telling me," the voice said slowly—dangerously calm—"that they failed to retrieve the girl."
No one answered at first.
Robed figures knelt in a wide circle, heads bowed, shadows pooling at their feet.
At last, one spoke.
"Out of the five we sent," the mage said, voice trembling, "only Sahir survived."
The figure at the center turned.
Firelight carved sharp lines across his ageless face, his eyes burning with cold intelligence rather than rage.
"Sahir," he repeated. Then, more quietly, "We cannot afford to lose people, Malek."
A gloved hand clenched.
Another fragment of glass crumbled beneath his boot.
"They were given stones. Weapons. Clear instructions." His gaze swept the circle, heavy with accusation. "And still they failed."
One of the kneeling mages dared to lift his head. "General Lyra intervened," he said carefully. "She is a formidable fighter—a descendant of Oakhart."
Glass shattered again.
"Our kind has been manipulated," the leader snapped, fury finally breaking through his composure. "Our power reduced. Our existence nearly erased. Used by beings who wield no magic at all."
Silence followed—thick, suffocating.
"This world rightfully belongs to us," he continued, voice low and absolute. "Every being will fall under our control."
No one dared breathe.
"Send aid to Sahir," he ordered at last. "No more half-measures. We must have the girl."
The air darkened, shadows bending inward as if listening.
"We should send the beast," one voice murmured from the circle.
"Not yet." The leader's reply was immediate, sharp. "First, we secure the girl. And for goodness' sake—do not harm her. Their lives are far too fragile." His jaw tightened.
"How many have we already lost? Our kind is difficult to replace."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"And hers are rarer still. Seeds like her do not simply bloom again once destroyed. They are scattered, hidden—nearly impossible to locate a second time."
He stepped closer to the brazier, flames reflecting coldly in his eyes.
"If the girl does not come willingly," he said, voice like frost over steel,
"then Oakhart will learn what it means to stand between a seed and its harvest."
Far away, in Lyra's chambers, Selene slept—
Unaware that her blood had already rewritten the rules of the war to come.
Somewhere—Deeper Still
Far beneath the sanctum, past wards no living mage walked willingly, something stirred.
Chains groaned.
Not loudly—never loudly—but with the slow, ancient protest of metal that had forgotten the shape of freedom. The sound rolled through the dark like a breath held too long.
A cavern stretched beyond sight, its ceiling swallowed by shadow. Heat pulsed through the stone in dull waves, as though the mountain itself possessed a slumbering heart.
Then—
An eye opened.
Not fully.
Just enough.
A slit of molten gold cut through the darkness, illuminating scales the size of shields before sinking back into black. The air trembled. Dust lifted from the floor, suspended, caught in an unseen current.
A second breath followed.
Deeper.
Older.
The chains tightened, glowing faintly as ancient runes strained to hold.
High above, unaware of the vast distance between them, the words echoed faintly through the wards—
We should send the beast.
The eye opened again.
This time, wider.
Fire crawled along the cavern walls—not flame, but reflection, cast from something that burned without burning. A low rumble rolled through the depths—not a roar, not yet—
Only the sound of something remembering hunger.
The mountain shuddered.