**Chapter 4: I'm Sorry.**
Morning came softly through the curtains of the little shop. The scent of herbs and old paper lingered in the air, and sunlight dusted the shelves where jars of powdered minerals lined up like silent sentinels. Lyra sat beside her grandmother, carefully measuring small scoops of dried root into tiny glass bottles. The familiar creak of the stool and the slow rhythm of her grandmother's breathing had always been comforting. But today, something about the silence felt heavy.
"Be careful with those, dear," her grandmother murmured, her wrinkled hands steady as she tied twine around a bundle of herbs. "They bruise easily if you rush."
Lyra nodded, though her mind wandered. Her eyes drifted toward the small window above the counter, where the faint outline of the Bureau's tower loomed over the horizon. The glass reflected her own face: tired eyes, lips pressed thin, and behind her reflection, that ominous shape seemed to breathe. She tried to look away, but her thoughts refused to obey.
Her grandmother's voice snapped her back. "You're daydreaming again, aren't you, dear?"
"Sorry. I didn't sleep much," she replied with a blink.
Her grandmother gave her a knowing look, quiet but sharp. "You're still thinking about that boy, aren't you?"
Lyra hesitated, then nodded. "I just… want to know if he's okay."
"That isn't for you to worry about." Her grandmother's tone was soft, but there was no room for argument. "People who fall from the Spiral aren't our concern. The Bureau will handle it."
Lyra bit her lip, wanting to speak, but her grandmother's calm eyes silenced her. They worked in silence for a while longer. The sounds of the plaza had slowly begun to recover since the incident. Chatter, laughter, and calls from merchants filled the space between them. But no matter how much she tried to focus, Lyra couldn't stop glancing at the clock. Each passing second only made her more restless.
When the afternoon sun began to dip, her grandmother sighed. "You've been good to help, dear. Take a moment to rest your mind. I'll take care of the rest."
Lyra stood up but hesitated at the doorway, her heart fluttering. "Are you sure?"
"Go on. I know when your hands are working, but your heart isn't." Her grandmother smiled faintly. Lyra smiled back, forcing normalcy into her expression. "Okay."
She stepped outside into the cool evening air. The streets were beginning to quiet, the last of the vendors packing their stalls, and the lamps flickering to life along the cobblestone roads. Her eyes trailed up again toward the towering silhouette of the Bureau facility in the distance. She stood there for a long moment, fingers curling against her cloak.
"I just want to see…" she whispered, formulating a plan.
By the time the stars began to show, she was already halfway down the narrow path leading toward the Bureau's outer walls. The air grew colder the closer she got. The hum of machinery and faint, rhythmic beeping echoed from beyond the fences. Guards patrolled in the distance, but their movements were predictable and mechanical. She waited until they turned a corner before slipping through a small gap between the storage fences.
Her pulse thudded in her ears. The facility loomed above her now, an enormous mass of pale stone and glass that seemed to swallow light. Steam hissed from overhead pipes, and glowing panels lined the walls, casting her shadow in long, trembling shapes. She pulled her cloak tighter and stepped inside through an open cargo door, careful to make no sound.
The hallways were sterile and cold. Footsteps echoed faintly somewhere far ahead, and the low hum of generators filled the emptiness. Lyra's breath trembled as she crept past storage rooms, medical tables, and stacks of papers marked with symbols she didn't recognize. The further she went, the more alien everything became.
She turned a corner and froze. Through a glass wall, she saw what looked like a chamber, and inside was a figure she couldn't easily recognize. The outline looked somewhat like her, but different at the same time. Then her heart jumped.
"That must be him…" she breathed, pressing her hand against the glass. But before she could move closer, a sound cut through the air. Not footsteps, but a voice.
"Hey, who are you!?!"
The tone was deep and resonant, like the echo of thunder through stone.
Lyra spun around. A tall figure stood at the end of the corridor, his presence filling the hallway with an otherworldly weight. He was clothed in shiny, dark metal armor marked with faint golden lines and wielded an unmistakable weapon. His pale hair shimmered faintly under the artificial light, and his sharp eyes pierced through the dimness.
"I—I was just—" she stammered.
"You shouldn't be here at all, little girl." He stepped closer, each stride graceful and controlled. The faint sound of metal beneath his boots made her stomach twist. "This place is forbidden to civilians. Trespassing here is a serious crime."
Lyra stumbled back. "I didn't mean to— I just wanted to see—"
He halted a few steps away, towering over her. "See what?" His tone darkened, not in cruelty, but with restrained anger. "You're in big trouble, little girl." Sylvan then grabbed her arm and started taking her outside the facility.
Lyra's words caught in her throat as she was escorted. "I heard… someone fell. From the Spiral. I just wanted to know if he was okay."
For the first time, his expression flickered, not quite surprise, but a break in his calm façade. He studied her, his gaze tracing her trembling hands and the fear in her eyes. "You speak as if you know him."
"I don't," she whispered. "But I saw him fall. I saw what happened."
Silence stretched, and the air between them grew heavy.
"Then you've already seen too much," he said quietly. His voice carried something deeper, not just authority, but sorrow.
Sylvan knelt to Lyra's height outside the facility. "Take me to your parents. Now," he said, his expression serious.
"Yes, sir," she responded quietly, knowing she was in trouble once her grandmother found out.
When she arrived home with Sylvan, her grandmother was waiting at the door. Her eyes, usually warm, were cold and tired.
"Where were you!?" her grandmother demanded.
Lyra tried to speak, but the words crumbled in her mouth.
Her grandmother didn't raise her voice; she didn't need to. "Thank you so much, Sylvan. I don't know what my little dear did, but I promise she won't do it again."
Sylvan nodded as he delivered his final words before leaving. "She was found sneaking into the Bureau facility. If I were you, I would make sure to discipline her; she was lucky I was the one who found her and not anyone else."
"Y-yes. Lyra, get inside now," her grandmother said, her voice cracking slightly, not with anger, but with grief. "Do you want to end up like your mother?"
Lyra froze. She had never heard her mention that name with such pain.
Her grandmother turned away, her shoulders trembling. "Why are you so obsessed with him? That boy who fell. I told you many times not to go, and what do you do?"
"You completely ignored my warning!" Her grandmother shouted, anger building within her.
Her grandmother turned to face Lyra, her face full of disappointment and sorrow.
"You know that you could have died, right? Putting your life on the line for someone!?!"
"Throwing yourself into danger without thinking of anyone else!?!"
"Running with everything you have all for someone else!?!" She was yelling at Lyra. Then, broke down into tears and dropped to the floor.
"I-I'm sorry, Lyra dear. I shouldn't have yelled…"
"I just don't want to lose you too…"
"Ever since your mother… left… I was left to take you in…"
"I just don't want to lose you, too, like how I lost your mother…" She looked up to meet Lyra's gaze, both of them crying.
"I-I'm sorry…" Lyra murmured and ran upstairs to her room, slamming the door behind her.
She sank onto her bed and stared at the wooden figurine of Sylvan. Its carved expression seemed colder than before.
She whispered into the silence, "Why are you here too?"
Outside, thunder rumbled over the horizon as something ominous began to grow.
Far beneath the Bureau, in the dim glow of an underground facility, Indra sat at a long, steel table that bore the marks of countless strategy sessions. Dust clung to the hem of her weathered black coat, remnants of the day's demanding work in the field. Across from her, a figure draped in a dark, tattered cloak sat in shadow, his face obscured by a metallic mask that glinted under the flickering overhead lights. The distortion of his voice added an unsettling layer to the conversation.
"So," he began, a subtle hint of amusement lacing his tone, "you're the one who called me."
Indra folded her arms tightly across her chest, her expression stoic and unyielding. "You already know why. You've been briefed on the situation."
"Of course," he replied coolly, leaning forward slightly. "The boy who fell from the Spiral. I read your report; it's a fascinating case. I've never encountered anyone surviving such a descent before."
"That's precisely why I need you," she stated, her voice firm and resolute. "We need him stabilized in case he ever goes rogue. Your expertise is essential."
The man leaned back in his chair, the fabric of his cloak shifting slightly, revealing brief glimmers of strange, arcane symbols woven into the material.
"And what are my terms?" he inquired, the menace of his presence palpable in the confined space.
Indra maintained her gaze, unwavering. "You will have the freedom to operate without restrictions or oversight, but the boy remains under my supervision at all times," she clarified with measured precision.
A soft, mirthless laugh escaped from behind the mask, sending a chill down Indra's spine. "Understood," he replied, but there was an edge to his tone that suggested hidden intentions.
Indra narrowed her eyes dangerously. "I'm serious. If you harm him without just cause, I will personally see to it that this project is shut down," she warned, her voice steely and unwavering.
In a sudden burst of urgency, Indra stood up abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the floor. "You will only act on our orders. Is that clear? Right now, your sole responsibility is to observe from a distance and keep us informed," she asserted, the tension in the room thickening.
"Don't worry," the man said, rising from his chair with a fluid grace that betrayed no hint of concern. "I don't harm my subjects without reason."
He turned and began to make his way out of the room, his cloak swirling behind him like a dark specter. Indra was left in silence, the weight of their agreement hanging heavily in the air as she pondered the precarious balance of trust and power now set into motion