Lyra hummed as she walked the winding path to the town square, basket swinging gently at her side. The morning air was crisp and golden, clinging to the last traces of night’s cool. She’d only meant to grab eggs and milk from Zeki’s—but the walk was welcome, giving her space to think. And there was much to think about… especially him.

Since the Maji Market, Hassian had barely left the house.He’d been… clingy. Not smothering, not in a way that stifled—but quietly, constantly present. His hand in hers, an arm around her waist, his body curled against hers in sleep, anchoring her in the rhythm they now shared. Two mornings ago, he’d asked her not to go on a planned trip to the Elderwood with Saraya and the others. It had surprised her. He’d never asked that before—he’d always been the first to say, “Don’t let me stand in your way.”

Then last night, while they lay tangled in each other beneath the soft, pale canopy of their Nest, he’d apologized.
“I had no right to ask you that,” he’d murmured. “I just felt… shaken. Needed a little time to get over it. I’m starting to feel better now.”
And he was. She could see it. Slowly, steadily, he was coming back to himself.

Still, he hadn’t stopped treating her like royalty. Breakfast in bed one morning. A long, very thorough massage the next night. And he’d told her he loved her every day since the market. That was the part that struck her most. Hassian wasn’t someone who said things just to say them. He believed words were easy. Actions, not promises, showed someone they mattered.
He had said it before—but not like this. Not daily. Not quietly in passing as she brushed her hair. Not whispered into her shoulder before sleep claimed them.

It made her chest feel full, the kind of warmth that spilled over into her smile.

With her errands nearly done, Lyra paused in the square. Her eyes drifted toward the forge. She hadn’t seen Sifuu since before the market. It was time to check in.

She found the forge hot and humming with life. Sifuu stood near the anvil, sleeves rolled to her elbows, strong hands guiding metal with the kind of focus Lyra had come to admire.

“Hey,” Lyra called, stepping just inside.

Sifuu glanced up, her face brightening. “Well look who the wind blew in. I was starting to think you’d moved to a different region.”

Lyra laughed. “Sorry, things have just been… quiet. Hassian and I have been spending some extra time together.”

Sifuu arched a brow, a glint in her eye. “You don’t have to explain. I remember being young and in love. Stars help anyone who lived below my apartment back then.”

Lyra flushed scarlet. “I just came to check in,” she mumbled, already half-turned toward the door.

“Hold on.” Sifuu set down her hammer and wiped her hands. “Is there anything you two need for the house? Hassian’s living with you now, right?”

Lyra hesitated. “I mean… he hasn’t stayed at the Grove in over a month, so… yeah. I guess he is.”

Sifuu smiled knowingly. “I figured. I’m trying to think of what to get him for his birthday, and he never likes what I pick.”

Lyra blinked. “His birthday?”

Sifuu gave a chuckle. “Are you really surprised he didn’t mention it?”

Lyra groaned. “No. I shouldn’t be.”

She paused, thinking. Then an idea flickered to life in her eyes. “Hey—do you remember that telescope you built for Chayne? Could you make one for Hassian? If I get the materials?”

Sifuu tilted her head, intrigued. “A telescope, huh?”

“He’d love it. And it could be from both of us.”

The older woman grinned. “That’s actually a brilliant idea. I’ve still got the design somewhere. Just bring me iron and glass, and I’ll get started.”

“Perfect. I have both at the house. I’ll run and grab them now.”

“Take your time,” Sifuu said, already reaching for a scrap of parchment to sketch out plans. “Oh, and Lyra?”

She paused in the doorway.

“Thanks for loving my boy.”

Lyra’s heart squeezed. She smiled. “Thanks for letting me.”

And with that, she turned and headed home.

Lyra pushed the door open with her hip, balancing the basket of groceries on one arm. The smell of baked fruit still lingered faintly in the kitchen from the tart Hassian had made that morning. Tau and Kaja padded in to greet her, tails wagging.

Hassian appeared from the kitchen, casually toweling off his hands. “You’re back.” He leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek and glanced at the basket. “What do you want me to make you for dinner tonight?”

Lyra smiled, setting the basket down on the counter. “Nothing for me. Just make something for yourself and feed the dogs, okay?”

His brows lifted, arms crossing loosely. “You’re not eating?”

“I will later.” She brushed a kiss to his jaw. “I’m helping your mother with something. We’ll be at the forge. I promise, I’m not sneaking off to the Elderwood or anything.”

Hassian tilted his head, squinting like she’d just recited poetry backward. “Wait. My mother wants your help in the forge? Not mine?”

Lyra winced inwardly, improvising quickly. “She got a commission from someone who asked for a more delicate touch. Jewelry, I think. She said she could use a hand, and I owed her a visit anyway.”

He didn’t answer right away, just blinked once. “So… she’d rather have your ‘delicate touch’ than my years of apprentice training?”

Lyra slid toward the door, already halfway gone. “You’re very useful. She said that. But also large and loud and not what this client wants.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I shouldn’t be late,” she called, slipping out before he could press further.

Left alone in the quiet kitchen, Hassian frowned, glancing at the dogs. Tau gave him a look that said nothing and everything all at once. Kaja licked her paw.
“She’s definitely hiding something,” then looked at the dogs again. “If this turns into some elaborate thing, I'm blaming both of you.”

Show Me the Stars

Sifuu wiped sweat from her brow as she set down the final bolt. “There. That’s the frame secured. Glass in next.”

They’d been working in tandem all afternoon, the forge warm and humming with life. Lyra, still streaked with soot in places, carefully fitted the polished lens into the main cylinder. Sifuu watched with a rare, approving smile.

“Chayne was so proud of his,” the older woman said, leaning on the worktable. “Hassian won’t say it, but he always admired it.”

“I hope he’ll like this one.” Lyra paused, then grinned. “Actually, I know he will. But I want it to be more than functional. I want it to feel like it was meant for him.”

Sifuu raised an eyebrow. “Planning to carve poetry into the brass?”

“No,” Lyra said, biting her lip, “but I do want to paint it.”

Sifuu handed her a brush without missing a beat. “There’s enamel in the back cabinet. Mix it well.”

By the time the sun had dipped low outside the forge, the telescope was transformed. Its sleek body gleamed a deep, starry blue—the exact shade of the twilight sky when the first stars appeared. Gold accents rimmed the eyepiece and edges, delicate but strong. And along the main barrel, Lyra had painted tiny constellations, moons and stars in sweeping arcs—her own celestial map.

As she brushed the last star into place, Lyra imagined him standing there, looking through it. She wanted him to see, in every painted star, the way she saw him—her constant, her center in the endless sky.

Sifuu stood back, arms crossed, expression unreadable for a long moment.
Then she nodded. “Now it’s a gift.”

Lyra smiled, tired but proud. “He’s going to love it.”

Suspicious

Hassian sat at the kitchen table, a half-full mug cooling between his hands. He stared at the knot in the woodgrain, his brow drawn. It wasn’t seeing Tamala that had gotten to him. That part was easy—emptied of any real feeling. The hard part had come after, in the silence. Her words had taken root like a splinter beneath the skin: What if humans vanish just as suddenly as they came?

He hadn’t known that fear lived in him until she named it. He thought he’d put his doubts to rest. Lyra had chosen him, and she'd made that clear in every way that mattered. But Tamala’s words had stirred something primal. A reminder that some things couldn’t be fought with reason or will. That not all losses came from betrayal or distance. Some came from nothing at all. A door opened—and then closed again.

He’d asked Lyra not to go to the Elderwood. She hadn’t argued. Hadn’t pushed. Just smiled, kissed his cheek, and said she’d stay. That was Lyra. She understood more than he ever had to say.
Still, he regretted asking.
He wasn’t proud of that moment. It wasn’t who he wanted to be. It wasn’t how he wanted to love her. But damn, he’d needed her close.

His fingers tapped absently against the side of the mug. The house felt quiet without her. Not just empty, but paused. He didn’t know when it had started to feel like that—like this was his rhythm now. Their rhythm.

He glanced toward the fireplace, where Tau had stretched out and sighed.

He’d always told himself he didn’t need a place to call home, that he could drift untethered. Yet here, in Lyra’s kitchen, the truth settled over him fully and quietly. This was home. And he was okay with that. More than okay.

He exhaled through his nose, leaning back in the chair. All he’d ever really wanted was something steady. A place to belong. Someone who saw him and stayed. He remembered that night before she came—when he’d asked the stars for someone to love, someone who would love him back. Someone who would stay.

And Lyra had answered it.

He thought of the nights he’d spent looking at the stars, certain they were the only constant he could trust. But lately, he was beginning to wonder if he’d been looking in the wrong place all along.

He rubbed a hand along his jaw and glanced at the door again.
“She’s definitely hiding something,” he muttered, then looked over at the dogs. “Probably my mother’s idea. Never trust a blacksmith with secrets.”

Tau huffed softly in his sleep.

Hassian gave a small shake of his head. Whatever they were up to, he’d let them have it. He didn’t need answers right now. Just the sound of the door opening. Just her coming home.