Lyria's POV)
By the time they reached the palace gates, the sky had begun to turn soft orange, the last warmth of daylight fading behind the rooftops. The guards bowed as Lyria approached, but she hardly noticed them.
Her eyes were on Raven.
Raven stopped just outside the archway — as if the invisible line between "their world" and "her world" kept her from stepping further.
She always did that.
Always stopped there.
Always kept a distance.
It made Lyria's chest ache.
"Um… Raven?" Lyria began, trying to keep her voice steady.
Raven turned to her, expression calm and unreadable.
"Yes?"
Lyria clasped her hands together, forcing herself to meet Raven's eyes.
"I–I was wondering…"
Her heart raced.
Kara's smirk from behind her did not help.
"…would you like to join us for dinner? You know, after a long day… it might be nice."
Kara murmured under her breath, "Smooth."
Lyria elbowed her.
Raven blinked once — surprised, maybe.
Then she shook her head gently.
"Thank you, princess," she said softly, "but I should return home, and Elyra is expecting me, and… I have things to take care of."
Lyria felt the refusal like a small sting.
"Oh. Of course," she said quickly, forcing a smile. "I understand."
Raven's expression softened just a little.
"Maybe another time."
Lyria nodded.
She tried not to show how much those words meant to her.
As soon as Raven took a step back toward the street, Kara leaned in close to Lyria's ear.
"You're down bad."
"Kara!"
"She said another time, princess. That's basically a romantic confession from Raven."
"It is not!"
"It is," Kara said confidently.
Lyria glared at her friend — but her heart was secretly glowing a little.
Raven paused at the gates, giving them a small wave before she walked away down the quiet evening street.
Lyria watched her until she disappeared around a corner.
⸻
(Raven's POV)
The streets were mostly empty now.
Shops were closing.
The sky hung dark purple overhead.
Raven walked in silence until she reached orphanage .
She pushed open the door gently, making sure not to wake anyone, and went straight to her small room.
She set the wrapped sword on her desk.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
thump.
A pulse of dark energy pushed through the cloth like a heartbeat.
Raven frowned.
"Not again."
The sword vibrated faintly, a whisper of power brushing her skin even without touching it. The markings beneath the wrapping seemed to glow.
"It's calling," Morivain murmured inside her.
"It recognizes its master."
"Stop calling me that," Raven muttered.
"Would you prefer partner?"
"No."
"Then get used to it."
Raven stared at the sword.
There was something alive inside it.
Something hungry.
Something that had waited a long time to be held again.
And it had chosen her.
She pressed her fingertips against the hilt through the cloth — and the sword pulsed again, but softer this time. Warmer. Like a creature curling into her hand.
"…What are you?" she whispered.
Morivain chuckled darkly.
"Something like you."
Raven wasn't sure if she should feel comforted… or terrified.
Raven arrived at Elyra's house just after sunrise. The air was crisp, and dew still clung to the grass in the training yard.
She set her things down.
The wrapped sword lay on the ground beside her, pulsing faintly beneath the cloth — almost… expectant.
Raven sighed.
"Fine," she muttered. "Let's see what you can do."
She unwrapped it.
The moment the last piece of cloth fell away, dark lines glowed softly across the blade. The strange script etched into the metal shimmered like embers breathing.
Raven tightened her grip.
The sword felt alive.
Warm, almost welcoming.
Like it recognized her.
She swung once.
A ripple of black energy carved through the air — silent but heavy, distorting the space in front of her for a heartbeat before fading.
"…Interesting," she whispered.
She tried again, channeling a little of her energy into the blade this time.
The sword reacted instantly.
A sharp pulse.
A flare of hungry light racing up the blade.
"Calm down," Raven hissed.
It wanted more.
It wanted everything.
Before she lost control of it, she forced her power down, cutting the connection.
The sword dimmed reluctantly.
Raven exhaled, wiping sweat from her brow.
The back door opened.
Elyra stepped out, stretching her arms, a towel slung over her shoulder.
She paused mid-step when she saw Raven — and the sword glowing faintly in her hand.
"…Raven," she said slowly, "what is that?"
Raven sheathed it and turned.
"A sword."
"Don't get smart with me," Elyra snapped. "Bring it here. Let me see."
Raven stepped back immediately.
"No. You can't touch it."
Elyra's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"It's dangerous."
Raven hesitated, then added quietly, "It drains life. Or tries to."
Elyra stared at her, horrified.
"When did you get this? From where?"
Raven sighed. She should have expected this reaction.
"Yesterday," she said. "In the market. At Ben's forge. His daughter was working."
"Ayla?" Elyra muttered. "She's a good girl."
Raven nodded.
"She told me the sword was cursed. Anyone who touched it collapsed. Some almost died."
She lifted her wrist slightly. "But when I held it… it stopped draining me."
Elyra stepped closer, worry written across her face.
"Raven… why would you take something like that?"
"Because it chose me."
Elyra froze.
"That is not reassuring," she whispered.
Raven didn't respond.
She didn't know how to explain the feeling.
The pull.
The connection.
It wasn't logical — but it was real.
Elyra rubbed her temple and sighed.
"Fine. Keep it. But do not use it unless absolutely necessary. And don't let anyone else touch it."
"I won't," Raven said quietly.
She wrapped the sword again, and Elyra watched the way Raven handled it — careful, controlled, but not afraid.
That worried her more than the weapon .