The night air felt heavier than usual — like the world itself was holding its breath.
Lyra stirred in her sleep, her brow furrowed, her lips parted as if caught between a cry and a whisper. The fire beside her had long burned down to embers, yet silver light spilled across her skin, soft and cold.
She was dreaming — or perhaps remembering.
In her vision, the forest was whole again — no ruins, no ashes. The trees glowed with moonlight, their leaves whispering like a thousand voices. Lyra stood barefoot on soft moss, her hands trembling as she looked around.
"Kian?" she called.
But the man who stepped from the trees wasn't quite him.
He looked the same — golden eyes, the same strong frame — but his hair was longer, his clothes from another age, his expression gentler, unscarred by time or loss.
"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
"Where is here?" she asked.
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She flinched — not because of fear, but because the touch felt familiar. The way he used to touch her, once upon a time, before rejection and blood.
"Every time we meet, it ends the same," he murmured, his voice thick with sorrow. "The curse always brings you back to me… only to take you away again."
Lyra's chest tightened. "Who are you?"
He smiled sadly. "The same man you always hate. The same one you always save."
Before she could speak, the ground trembled. The silver light of the forest dimmed, replaced by the blood-red glow of a rising moon.
The man — her past Kian — took her hand, pulling her close. "Remember this, Lyra. We were not born enemies. We were made that way."
The light flared. A thousand images flickered in her mind — lifetimes blurred together:
A witch kneeling beside a wounded wolf.
A warrior carrying a dying woman in his arms.
A pair of lovers standing on a cliff, the moon behind them and a blade between their hearts.
Each scene burned into her soul until she gasped — and the dream shattered.
Lyra jerked awake with a cry, clutching her chest. The mark beneath her skin glowed fiercely, hot as fire. She stumbled to her feet, her breath ragged.
The world seemed to hum with unseen power — the same power that had whispered to her in dreams. The bond pulsed, and suddenly she wasn't alone in her mind.
Lyra? Kian's voice reached her, faint but urgent. What happened?
She didn't answer immediately. She pressed a hand to her mark, trembling. "I saw us."
What do you mean?
"In another life." Her voice was hoarse. "We were together. We loved each other. And then something — the moon — it tore us apart."
A long silence followed. She could feel his disbelief through the bond, the way his heartbeat quickened.
The curse… it's older than us, he said finally.
"Yes," she whispered. "We've been living it over and over."
She walked to the edge of the ruins and looked up at the moon — cold, white, and watching. "Every time we try to change it, we fail."
Maybe this time can be different.
She shook her head. "You said that once before. I saw it in the dream. You promised, and then you killed me."
The link went silent — but even through the quiet, she felt his pain.
Lyra closed her eyes, her voice breaking. "I won't die for you again, Kian. Not this time."
Then she reached for her power — the silver light flaring from her fingertips — and forced a barrier through the bond, a shimmering veil of resistance. For a moment, the connection dimmed, muffled like a heartbeat behind a wall.
But just before it faded completely, she heard him whisper,
If you die again, I die too.
Her breath caught — and the world went still.