The sun was beginning to dip behind the trees as Lyra and her friends made their way through Bahari. Their packs were full, quivers lighter than they’d started, and the scent of salted wind mixed with churned earth trailed behind them. They’d had a good day—striking true on several catches, moving seamlessly together like the unit they had become.

Saraya and Simon walked ahead, laughing quietly between themselves, their fingers laced as naturally as breath. Lexi and Rex lingered behind, still arguing over who had missed the azure first. Lyra walked in the center, satisfied, but worn. They came upon one of the old wooden hunting shacks. Weathered by time and rain, the structure had become something of a landmark—a place to rest, eat, regroup. They’d used it before.

Inside, Lyra wandered a bit while the others collapsed onto benches and opened their packs. Something near the base of the back wall caught her eye. A fragment of parchment, just barely wedged between the wall and floorboard. She crouched down and tugged it free. An envelope, yellowed with age and time. In careful script, it read:

To T. Love, H.

Her heart skipped. She unfolded the paper inside and read.

T—
I’ve been thinking about what you said to me last night. How something like ours was never meant to last. I cannot accept that.
I know what I feel for you is real, as sure as the sun rises every morning, as steady as the stars in the night sky.
If you give me the chance I am willing to devote the rest of my life proving it to you. Tell me you’ll consider it. That’s all I ask.
–H

The breath left her lungs. Her hands trembled slightly as she folded the letter again. But her mind wasn’t in the shack anymore. It was with Hassian, a few weeks ago—the way she came home and found a small bundle of briar daisies on the bed in the conservatory. A note had been tucked beside them:

L—
They’re beautiful, but they don’t compare to you.
–H

It felt like a punch to the gut. She didn't have to be told who T and H were.

“Hey, what’d you find?” Lexi asked, peering over her shoulder.

Lyra forced her face into neutrality. “Looks like someone’s old grocery list.”

Lexi laughed. “Probably expired.”

The others chuckled, but Lyra discreetly slid the letter into her bag, her heart hammering.

She knew it was foolish. Knew she had no right to feel this way. That letter was old. From a different life. From before she’d ever emerged in this world. Still, her jealousy flared—sharp, irrational, and undeniable. Her head knew better, but her heart didn’t.

Later that night, as they were set to head home, her friends picked up on her mood.

“You’ve been quiet since the grocery list,” Rex observed.

“Just a headache,” she lied. “I think I’m going to lie down for a bit. Maybe head to the Grove and wait for Hassian to get back from Killima.”

“We’ll walk you,” Saraya said immediately. “You know the rule: we came together, we leave together.”

Lyra offered a soft smile. “Thanks.”

Feelings

The Grove was quiet, silvered by starlight. The firepit crackled softly, and Lyra sat with her knees drawn to her chest, staring into the flames. She’d lit the fire hoping its warmth would help soothe the ache she couldn’t shake. It didn’t.

She tried to push the jealousy and doubt aside, telling herself it was just old memories. Her heart, however, didn’t listen.She knew she shouldn’t let the past cut into the present. But it hurt—deeper than she wanted to admit. She hated feeling jealous. Hated that she suddenly saw Tamala’s shadow in everything.

When the familiar sound of footsteps touched the edges of her awareness, her gut twisted, she didn’t move.

“Hello, beautiful,” Hassian’s voice rumbled. “I went to the conservatory first. Waited a while for you. Something told me to come here.”

Lyra’s throat tightened. She kept her gaze on the fire, letting the moment stretch, letting the anticipation bloom like the last flicker of twilight.

He knelt beside her, his arm sliding gently around her shoulders. “Lyra, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Lyra slowly reached into her bag and handed him the letter. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she forced herself to hold his gaze.
“I found something today,” she said quietly. “I think it’s yours.”

He looked it over. “Yeah. It’s mine.”

“The reason you didn’t want me in the Thickets.”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“It’s stupid, I know…” her eyes glinted with more emotion than she meant to show. “ But it got to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About her. About you loving someone before me.”

“It’s not stupid,” he said firmly. “Feelings don’t ask permission.”

Hassian fully sat down beside her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and taking her hand in the other.

“I’m sorry for not being honest,” he said quietly. “I wanted to protect you—from Tamala, from what she might say or do. She enjoys hurting people, Lyra. And if she ever figured out what you mean to me, I knew she’d try something. I should’ve told you the truth.”
He paused, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Lyra… listen. That was my past. I can’t change it. But you—” His voice broke a little. “You’re my now. My future.”
He looked at her then, firelight reflected in his eyes. “I love you, Lyra,” he said, voice low, deliberate, every word weighted with truth. “Even if the stars fell and the forests turned to dust, I’d still find my way to you.”

Lyra’s breath hitched. Tears welled in her eyes, shimmering like the embers between them. She didn’t speak at first—she couldn’t.
Instead she pressed her lips to his, soft and trembling. When they parted, she whispered, “I love you too.”

Hassian plunged his hand into her hair cupping the back of her head, His gaze was full of aching tenderness. “That means everything” he whispered.

Hassian reached for the letter. He held it out over the fire, let the edges catch, and watched as the paper curled and blackened. The flames consumed it slowly, until there was nothing left but ash.

Then he turned back to her. “That chapter is over. We'll write the rest together."

She let out a shaky breath, resting her head against his shoulder. “Together,” she whispered.

Hassian pulled her in closer. She melted against him, her fingers entwined in the fabric of his tunic. He rocked her gently, slow and steady, murmuring, “We’re going to be okay, baby. I promise. I'll make sure of it.”

Lyra let the warmth of his body seep into her, the rhythm of his heartbeat syncing with hers. The fire crackled, embers drifting upward, but she barely noticed. Here, in his arms, the ache in her chest began to ease.

After a long moment, he tilted his head down, brushing a kiss over the crown of her hair. “Will you stay here tonight?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath.

He smiled faintly, his lips grazing her temple. “Then I’ll make it comfortable.” He shifted to gather the thick fur blanket and a couple of pillows, spreading them carefully across the ground.

Once it was ready, Hassian laid back, pulling her into his arms. She snuggled into his side, their limbs tangling naturally as if they’d been made to fit this way. He draped the blanket over them both, tucking it around her shoulders, and held her close as the Grove’s quiet night wrapped around them, the tension in his shoulders finally easing.

“We’ve come a long way from you bringing me food at the Guild shack,” he murmured, voice low with a hint of amusement.

Lyra’s lips curved against his chest. “Oh, I’m still going to do that,” she teased.

He chuckled softly, the vibration running through her. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.” She shifted slightly to look at him. “Though… I have a confession about that jerky.”

His brow arched, curious. “Oh?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be jerky,” she admitted, laughing under her breath. “It was meant to be sernuk strips for a sandwich, but it came out tough. Reth told me I’d accidentally made jerky, so that’s what I called it when I brought it to you.”

Hassian grinned, shaking his head. “I always had theories about why you brought me food. Now I know.”

“Oh, I have to hear this,” she said, poking him lightly in the ribs. “What were your theories, and why do you think I did it?”

“Well…” he began, pretending to think deeply. “Theory one — you were learning to cook and made too much food. Didn’t want it to go to waste, so you pawned it off on me.”

Lyra snorted softly. “Reasonable.”

“Theory two — where I come from, you show people you care by doing things for them. Making food, chopping firewood, that kind of thing. I thought maybe you had… some feelings for me.” He smiled faintly. “Didn’t think that quite fit in the beginning, though.”

Lyra tilted her head, intrigued. “And theory three?”

“Theory three,” he said with mock gravity, “was that I was just your test subject. ‘Give it to Hassian, see if he’ll eat it.’”

Lyra laughed outright this time, covering her mouth. “Okay, fair. But no—it was never one or three. Eventually, yes, it was number two… but not at first.”

“Then what was it?” he asked, voice softer now.

Her laughter faded. She met his eyes, her tone turning earnest. “Just to see you. To spend a minute with you. To get your attention.”

His hand came up, brushing her hair gently away from her face. “You always had my attention, baby. Even if I didn’t always show it.”

Her lips parted slightly. “I did?”

“From the first time you walked up wearing those purple pants with the design at the bottom and the matching hoodie.” His voice deepened, warm and low. “You had my attention.”

Lyra smiled, heart full. “You remember what I was wearing when we met?”

He leaned in until their foreheads touched. “I remember everything, baby. Every word, every glance, every time you made my heart race.” He paused, smirking slightly. “I also remember that jerky was awful—and even Tau wouldn’t eat it.”

Lyra smiled up at him.”You love me?” she asked.

“So much, baby.”

Hassian pulled her closer and she rested her head against his chest. The soft rhythm of his heartbeat became a quiet, steady drum that lulled her toward sleep.

“You're here.” he whispered, brushing a final kiss across her hair.

“I'm not going anywhere.” she murmured back, closing her eyes, letting herself melt into him completely.

“Good,” he murmured, tightening his hold on her. “I never want to be without you.”

The fire crackled low, the stars wheeling overhead, and in the quiet of the Grove, the two of them simply existed together.

Morning in the Grove

The morning mist clung to the Grove, wrapping it in a hushed stillness that made the world feel softer somehow. Birds were beginning to stir, their calls gentle and few, and the low embers from the fire still pulsed with a faint warmth. Lyra blinked slowly, the weight of sleep lifting as she realized she wasn’t in the conservatory. Her cheek was pressed against bare skin, her body half draped across Hassian's, the shared blanket tangled low around their waists. His chest rose and fell with the slow, steady rhythm of deep sleep.

She smiled.

He’d fallen asleep holding her, never letting go.

Last night shimmered in her mind—the letter, the fire, the way his voice had broken when he said I love you. The way he’d looked at her, like she was the only future he could see.

Her fingers brushed lightly across the curve of his ribs. Hassian didn’t stir. He looked almost peaceful, his usual tension softened in sleep. Still very much her grumpy, brooding hunter—but hers.

She shifted just enough to study his face. Her heart clenched in that aching, overwhelming way she was still getting used to. This man, so fierce and guarded, had given her everything. His Grove. His truth. His love.
She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, lips lingering. “I love you,” she whispered. He didn’t wake, but his arm tightened faintly around her.
She stayed there a little longer, warm and wrapped in him, letting the morning take its time. There were no expectations here. No rush. Just the sound of the forest and the man who had become her world.

Eventually, she slipped from his arms, careful not to wake him. She added a few small logs to the fire, their soft crackle filling the quiet, and wrapped herself in one of the blankets, sitting nearby with her knees drawn to her chest. She watched him sleep, the rise and fall of his chest a slow, steady rhythm that mirrored the calm in her own heart.

Hassian’s Gardening Attempt

Earlier that week, Hassian had asked Lyra to teach him to garden. He said it made sense—for the future, if they were going to build a life together, they should both know how to tend the land as well as hunt. Now, in the small garden patch behind Lyra’s house, Hassian stood with a shovel in hand and a furrowed brow, looking as if he were preparing for battle.

“You look like you’re preparing for a fight,” Lyra teased, stepping closer.

He shot her a flat look. “It’s dirt. But it’s stubborn dirt.”

“It’s soil,” she corrected gently, brushing his arm. “It just needs a little coaxing.”

“I coax animals. Not roots,” he muttered.

“Then consider this a new kind of hunt,” she said, grinning, reaching for his hand.

She showed him how to feel for the right texture, how to space each hole just so, and whispered to the seedlings as if they were old friends.

Hassian followed her instructions with surprising patience, muttering occasionally about the “peculiar habits” of vegetables.

By midday, tiny green sprouts peeked from the soil, neat and promising. Hassian wiped a smear of dirt from his jaw and surveyed their work.

“We’ll need a fence,” he said. “Keep out the chapaa. I'll take care of that.”

Lyra laughed, looping her arms around his waist. “Look at you—Farmer Hassian.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t push it.”

But then he bent down and kissed her, slow and warm, tasting faintly of earth and sun, and something sweeter.

When they pulled apart, Lyra caught the look in his eyes—that quiet, steady spark that had been there all along. He didn’t say it aloud, but she felt it: this—here, with her, at her home—was theirs to nurture. Hassian watched her brush soil from her hands, sunlight catching strands of her hair, and let himself linger in the moment. The tiny sprouts before them were fragile, yet full of promise. Just like them. He leaned down, kissing her temple softly. The morning, the garden, the life they were planting together—it all felt like home.

Lyra brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and rested her head against Hassian’s shoulder. The sun warmed her back, the garden smelled of earth and promise, and for the first time in a long while, she felt like nothing could touch them—not the past, not the world outside, not even time itself.
She let out a soft sigh, and Hassian’s arm tightened around her.

“We’ll grow through everything,” he murmured.

“And together,” she added, letting her eyes close for a moment, savoring the quiet.

The day stretched on, unhurried, and for now, that was all that mattered.