Lyra was already in the kitchen when Hassian came in, barefoot and sleepy-eyed, dragging his fingers through his hair. The dogs trailed behind him, stretching and yawning as if they, too, had just rolled out of bed.

“Hello, handsome. We need more meat,” Lyra said casually, dropping a few eggs into a pan. “Think you could head out today? Just a little hunt?” she asked, too casually, her smile a little too quick. The whisk nearly slipped from her hand when he looked at her.

Hassian raised an eyebrow. “Good morning, beautiful. I thought we were set for a while.”

“Well… the plumehounds eat a lot,” she said quickly, not quite meeting his eyes.

He stared at her, one brow still raised, then glanced down at Tau, who was licking the back of his paw with zero urgency. “Do they now.”

Lyra turned, trying to look very focused on the eggs. “I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt to have extra. You never know when someone will show up with a hungry mouth and no manners.”

Still watching her, Hassian moved to her side and kissed the top of her head. “All right. I’ll go. You’re acting weird, though.”

Lyra gave a too-innocent smile. “Me? Never.”

She packed him a small lunch and handed him his pack like she wasn’t shooing him out the door. “Have fun. Be safe. And don’t hurry back.”

That last part slipped out too quickly.

He paused in the doorway. “You sure?”

“Positive,” she said. “Give the forest my regards.”

He gave her a look, clearly debating whether to press the issue. In the end he slung his pack over his shoulder and whistled for the dogs.
“All right then,” he said slowly. “I’ll see you tonight. Just be safe!”

Lyra gave him a cheery wave. “Bye, bring back something good.”

Later That Evening

The scent of grilled sernuk steaks filled the warm summer air as Lyra carefully plated dinner—his favorite: crispy fried potatoes, honey-glazed carrots, garlic bread toasted just right. She’d worked hard all afternoon, even hiding the cake under the sink like a criminal hiding stolen goods.

The outdoor table near the conservatory was set simply but thoughtfully—her best plates, two candles flickering in soft glass jars, and a fresh cloth over the wood. She could already hear Hassian’s steady footsteps and his low whistle to the dogs like music she could identify blindfolded.

She met him at the door, grinning. “Perfect timing. Why don’t you get a quick shower? Dinner’s almost ready.”

He didn’t say much, just leaned in and kissed her, looking around the house as if it was the first time he’d seen it.

They ate in companionable silence for a while; Hassian was visibly relaxed, freshly showered, his hair still damp. He devoured the food with a pleased hum after the first bite.

“You’ve been in the kitchen too much,” he said around a forkful of potatoes. “It’s starting to show.”

Lyra beamed. “I take that as the highest compliment.”

After the last of the bread was gone, he started to gather the dishes, but she stopped him with a hand to his wrist.

“Wait here. You’re not done being spoiled.”

Suspicion lit his eyes, but he sat back slowly. “Should I be worried?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she disappeared inside and returned moments later carrying a cake—simple, charming, topped with fluffy white frosting and tiny golden flakes. Candles glowed across the surface like stars just beginning to appear. Hassian’s eyes widened, and for a moment, something flickered behind them—surprise, gratitude, a little disbelief that anyone would go to such trouble for him.

“I knew she told on me,” he murmured, voice rougher than before.

Lyra smirked. “Be happy it’s just me. I considered inviting everyone and throwing a real party.”

He leaned back, exhaling. “I’m so happy then.”

She set the cake down. “Make a wish.”

He held her gaze for a long second, then said, “As if you’ve left me anything to wish for.”

But he closed his eyes anyway. He thought then of that prayer he’d once whispered to the stars—the quiet, half-foolish thing he’d asked for before he’d ever met Lyra. For someone to stay. For someone to love him back. For one steady presence he could trust.

And for a heartbeat he felt that old prayer fold into the present as something answered.

He blew out the candles in one breath.

“Now, cake,” Lyra said, slicing a thick piece and offering him the first bite on the end of her fork.

He took it, eyes closing for a moment. “Stars, that’s good.”

She took a bite from his fingers in return, licking a bit of frosting from his knuckle with deliberate mischief. “Happy birthday, Hassian.”

The smile he gave her was soft and slow—rare, but real. “You’re going to make me think birthdays aren’t so bad.”

Lyra took a seat in his lap, offering him another bite, another streak of frosting—this time across her cheek, placed there by Hassian with a smirk.

She swatted him playfully. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?”

They fed each other cake until fingers got sticky and laughter replaced the quiet. Lyra wiped frosting from the corner of his mouth, and Hassian caught her hand and kissed her palm.

Then she stood and brushed the crumbs from her lap.
“There’s one more thing,” she said with a spark in her eye, heading toward the conservatory.

Hassian leaned back in his chair, arms folded behind his head. “If you’re about to walk out in that little pink nightie, I’m going to forget I just ate an entire steak.”

She laughed over her shoulder. “Tempting. But not yet.”

She disappeared into the conservatory and returned a moment later, cradling the telescope carefully in her arms. The matte finish gleamed under the golden light from the porch lights, and when she stopped beside him and held it out, he froze.

“It’s from me and your mother. We worked on it together,” she said softly.

Hassian blinked, then reached out to run a reverent hand along the scope’s polished edges. “I don’t even have to guess whose idea it was.”

Lyra grinned. “You like it?”

He was quiet for a beat, visibly moved. Then he looked at her—really looked—and said in that low, sincere way that always turned her knees to jelly, “I’m so blessed to have someone who gets me like you do.”

She didn’t answer with words, only leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. It was enough.

Written in the Stars

They set the telescope up in the grass just outside the conservatory. The stars had scattered thick and bright across the velvet dark, the air cool and sweet with the scent of nightflowers. The dogs settled nearby, and Lyra curled her fingers around Hassian’s as he adjusted the lens.

For a long time, they took turns peering into the heavens, pointing out constellations with the breathless wonder of children. Seeing them up close was like looking into a dream—ancient and impossibly alive.

“There,” Hassian said, motioning with a slow nod. “The two lovers.”

Lyra leaned closer, her voice a murmur. “Tell me the story again.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Back in the time of the first Majiri, the woods were full of creatures—intelligent ones, powerful. Among them were wood nymphs. Each one had magic of a kind. Nyota, the youngest, could see into the future.”
He spoke slowly, his voice soft and steady in the hush between them.
“She met a young hunter named Dunn. He was clever, kind. She helped him find game, and he gave her stories of the world beyond the forest. They fell in love. But the first time they kissed, Nyota had a vision—Dunn’s people would flood the nymph’s grove to build a great lake. She begged him to help, and he tried. He fought against the dam, against his own kin. But in the end, he failed. The grove was lost. They drowned together.”

For a while, neither of them spoke. The night air seemed to hush around them, the stars overhead burning steady and solemn. Then Hassian’s voice came quietly— “I used to think it meant people from different worlds can’t be together. That no matter how strong the bond, fate would catch up.”
He paused, turning his gaze toward her, shadows shifting across his face.
“I struggled with that. With us. In the beginning. I was… afraid. But now?”
He leaned in close, forehead brushing hers.
“Now I know the peace you bring me. The life I have when you’re beside me. So if it came to it—if the lake rose and the forest fell—I’d drown with you too.”

Her breath caught, and that was the end of words.

They kissed slowly at first, reverently. But the intensity between them swelled like the tide—urgent, deep, consuming. Her fingers tangled in his hair. His hands found her waist, her back, the small of her spine. The stars burned above, but all the light she needed was in his eyes.

They made their way into the conservatory, where pillows and blankets waited in the low-lit warmth of their shared space. Their nest.

And there, beneath the silent stars and the dome of glass, they gave themselves to each other again—fiercely, wholly, as if no time or world existed outside that room.
They didn’t rush. Every kiss, every touch was deliberate, reverent. Hassian's hands roamed her body like he was memorizing her again for the hundredth time, and still somehow amazed that she was real—here—his.

He laid her down on the bed, pulling her into the soft, golden warmth of the blankets and moonlight. His mouth found hers again, slow and unrelenting, and she welcomed him with open arms, open heart.

At some point, her fingers cradled his cheek, and she whispered, “You’ve caught me, hunter.”

He paused, eyes burning into hers.

Later—when he was moving within her, when they were nothing but breath and heat and the pulse of starlight above—he leaned down and kissed her temple. “You’re mine, Lyra,” he murmured against her skin. It wasn’t possession; it was a promise—a vow forged from every loss he’d endured and every fear she’d quieted.

Her breath caught, hands tangled in his hair, legs tightening around him like she never wanted to let go. “Always yours,” she whispered, fierce and sure.

“And I’m yours,” he answered, voice rough, claiming and yielding in the same breath—his vow sealed in the rhythm of their bodies and the endless fire between them.

The Morning After

The early light crept through the windows of the conservatory, casting soft shadows over the tangle of blankets where Hassian still slept. His breathing was deep, steady. Lyra lay beside him, her hand on his chest, feeling the slow, quiet rhythm of a man at peace.

She smiled to herself, slipped out from under the covers, and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The morning felt sacred, still wrapped in the hush of the stars they’d fallen asleep beneath. She wanted to give him something just as gentle. Something warm and ordinary—something that felt like home.

Breakfast, then. Just as he’d once done for her.

She cracked eggs, sautéed mushrooms, and crumbled cheese into golden omelets. Chappa sausage browned in the skillet. Biscuits baked to a buttery crisp. The scent of it filled the house by the time she crept back into the conservatory with a tray in hand.

Hassian stirred as she leaned over him, brushing a kiss to his cheek.

“Up,” she whispered. “You’ve got breakfast waiting.”

He blinked at her, then at the tray. “What’s this? It’s not my birthday anymore.”

She grinned. “If I’d done this yesterday, it would’ve ruined my long list of surprises.”

He sat up with a groggy smile, bare chest catching the morning light. “How can I spoil you properly if you’re busy spoiling me?” he asked as she placed the tray in his lap.

“We just have to learn to spoil each other,” Lyra said seriously, curling up beside him and stealing one of the biscuits before he could protest.

They ate together beneath the canopy of their shared haven, bare feet brushing under the blankets. It was quiet, warm, and soft—another kind of intimacy that felt no less important than the night before.

Lyra licked a bit of honey butter from her thumb and said casually, “I ran into Eshe the other day. She read me the riot act for not choosing a shepp yet.”

Hassian chuckled. “That sounds like her.”

“I honestly forgot,” Lyra admitted. “With everything going on… I’ve just been living. But she’s right. I should have done it months ago.”

“Well,” Hassian said between bites, “you’ve gotten to know the townspeople well. Made a lot of friends. Should be easy to pick someone.”

Lyra looked at him, eyes bright with something more. “It is. I’ve thought about it. And I’ve chosen someone. If they’ll do it.”

He turned his head, a little curious crease forming between his brows. “Then go ask them.”

“I will,” she said, setting her plate down and turning toward him. “Hassian… will you be my shepp?”

His brow lifted. “Seriously?”

She nodded. “Seriously.”

He searched her face, quiet for a moment. “Are you sure you want me? Not a friend you've made, or someone more—public facing?”

“Hmm,” Lyra said, drawing the syllable out thoughtfully. “Another way to tie you to me forever and ever so you can’t get rid of me… yeah, I definitely want you.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Then I’d be honored to be your shepp. And you can tie me up all you want.”

Lyra raised a brow, leaning in with a wicked grin. “So tempting.”

He kissed her before she could go further with it—soft, warm, tasting faintly of coffee and chappa sausage. The laughter lingered even after the kiss ended, folding around them like a second blanket.

Outside, the garden rustled in the breeze. In here, in this little sanctuary they'd built, the morning stretched out like a promise.

Home

The Mayor’s estate was alive with warmth and color. Paper lanterns bobbed in the trees, laughter drifted on the breeze, and long tables groaned under the weight of every dish Lyra had come to love in Killima. Almost everyone was there—friends and neighbors.

The aisle stretched from the garden gate to the raised terrace where Hassian stood waiting. Lyra walked slowly, smiling as townspeople lined each side, reaching out to shake her hand or pull her into brief, heartfelt hugs.
“Welcome home,” they said, one after another.

She caught sight of Sifuu beaming near the front, arms crossed proudly. Chayne stood just behind her, his expression quiet but pleased. Auni waved frantically and almost tripped trying to snap a picture.

At the end of the path, Hassian held her gaze with steady, glowing eyes. In his hands was a wreath woven from bright orange blooms and copper-tinted reeds—her element. Fire.
When she reached him, he lifted it gently and handed it to her.
“Fire,” he murmured, so only she could hear. “Brave. Warm. Impossible to look away from.”
She smiled up at him.
Then he leaned just a little closer, lips brushing her temple. “I’ll be here, at the end of every path you take.”

Before she could answer, fireworks bloomed overhead, showering the evening sky with gold and rose-colored sparks. The crowd let out a cheer.

And Lyra, held fast in Hassian’s gaze, could only think that no place on any world could ever feel more like home—
not when the stars themselves seemed to burn just for them.