Lyra stepped into the Central Stables and spotted Nai’o sorting through some supplies.

“Hey, stranger,” she greeted.

He looked up, smiling. “Lyra! You picked a good day to visit. I’m helping with construction for a new stables facility here in the Elderwood.”

She nodded, eyeing the tools and half-built fencing. “Looks like a big project.”

“Big, yeah. And speaking of big—there’s a bit of a situation. Word is there’s a lost kid roaming around. Umbraan. While you’re out there, can you keep an eye out?”

“Of course.” Her expression turned serious. “I’ll keep watch.”

Nearby, Subira waited patiently, arms folded. When Lyra turned toward her, she smiled.

“Good morning. I’m glad to see you. How did things go at home?”

Lyra exhaled slowly. “Better than I imagined.”

Subira tilted her head thoughtfully. “I don’t have much experience with relationships, but every time I see the way he looks at you, the thought that strikes me is… he would do anything for her.”

Lyra’s smile faltered. “Yeah. But we all have our breaking points. I don’t intend to push him to his.”

Subira nodded. “Lyra, if we’re going to work together—and I hope we will—I need your full trust. And you’ll need mine.”

“Fair enough,” Lyra said. “I’m in.”

“Have you been to the Elderwood before?”

Lyra nodded. “Yeah. My friends and I come to hunt ogopuu. It’s kinda our current obsession.”

Subira’s expression turned cautious. “Then I’m sure you’ve seen the animals and plants infected by essence.”

“Essence?” Lyra blinked. “We just call it ‘ick.’ All I really know is, if an ogopuu’s contaminated, we can’t kill it. Which is a bummer.”

“Exactly,” Subira said. “Essence—also known as Echo—is everywhere here. It’s in the ground, in the air. Some people can collect it. Use it. If we’re going to get anywhere out here, we need to learn how.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a class?” Lyra asked. “Essence 101? I’d prefer an early session. I like to be home for dinner.”

Subira’s lips twitched. “Unfortunately, there’s only one person I know who could give us those lessons… but whether or not she can be trusted is debatable.”

“Of course it is,” Lyra muttered. “Who?”

“She runs a shop here. Potions, trinkets—things that help you interact with essence.”

“Sounds good. Let’s shop.”

“Her name is Tamala.”

Lyra recoiled like she’d been slapped. “Please tell me I heard you wrong.”

A soft giggle bubbled from behind her.

“I thought I heard my name,” purred a far-too-familiar voice. “Do you require the assistance of little ol’ me?”

Lyra spun, eyes narrowed. Tamala stood a few paces away, all flowing silks and that maddening smile.

“Hello, Tamala,” Subira said smoothly, clearly familiar with her.

Tamala’s eyes lit up when they landed on Lyra. “Ohhh, what have we here? Dear Hassian’s sweet thing! How nice. I don’t believe I caught your name at the fair.”

“You don’t need to know my name,” Lyra said coldly. “Because it doesn’t belong in your mouth. Neither does Hassian’s.”

Tamala turned to Subira, grinning. “Isn’t she delightfully feisty? I love her.”

Then, to Lyra: “I bet Hassian has a wonderful time with you in the bedroom. Tell me, darling—does he get rough? Because he always liked it on the rough side—”

Lyra lunged.

Subira caught her from behind. “Lyra. You don’t want to do this.”

“I’m pretty damn sure I do.”

Tamala had already skipped back a safe distance. “If you want to roll around with me, darling, I’m game. I don’t even mind if you bring Hassian.”

At this point, Nai’o had stepped closer, brows raised.

“Stop her,” Subira snapped as Lyra broke free.

Nai’o did his best. He caught Lyra around the waist as she surged forward, dragging her back like a wrangling professional.

“Stars above!” he grunted. “I’ve wrestled ormuu that didn’t put up a fight like this!”

Lyra snarled, eyes locked on Tamala’s retreating form. “Let me GO.”

“Not happening,” Nai’o said, sweat beading. “I’d like to live to see the next moonrise.”

Lyra began to settle as Tamala disappeared from view.

"You can let me go now, Nai'o. I'm alright."

He released her, cautiously, but didn’t step away. He stood close like a human-shaped shield, eyes flicking between Lyra and where Tamala had disappeared into the mist.

Lyra paced. Sharp turns. Agitated steps. The air around her practically crackled.

Subira crossed her arms, serene as ever. "Oh, you've met."

Lyra snapped her eyes toward her. “You know how we were just talking about breaking points, Subira? Well, I just hit mine. I am not doing anything that involves that old witch.”

“Yeah,” Subira said evenly. “That sums her up.”

Lyra huffed a breath that was half-laugh, half-growl. “And I just gave her exactly what she wanted. The drama. The reaction. The thing I didn’t let Hassian give her at the fair, I just handed over like a steaming plate of …...”

Nai’o blinked at her. “Lyra, your face has changed ten different shades of red. Let me take you home to Hassian.”

“Yes,” Lyra said without hesitation, still pacing like she might burn a track into the ground. She turned a sharp look on Subira. “That’s where I’ll be. Home. If you come up with something that doesn’t involve that—” she paused, searched for a clean word, “—that witch, you let me know.”

She turned on her heel, and Nai’o, ever the gentleman farm boy, offered his arm like she was a dignitary at a palace ball. She didn’t argue. She took it.

He guided her forward gently. “Let’s get you some tea. Or something harder.”

“I want to punch a tree,” Lyra muttered.

Nai’o grinned. “We’ll do both.”

As they walked, Nai’o kept a respectful distance, but close enough to catch her if she suddenly decided to tackle a bush out of spite.

“You know,” he said gently, “if you do feel the need to punch something, we’ve got some spare fence posts on the farm. My dad says it builds character.”

She groaned and rubbed her temples. “I can’t believe I lost it like that. In front of her.”

“Oh, I can,” Nai’o said. “Honestly, I’ve seen less fire in a forge. You kind of lit up the whole Elderwood.”

That earned a tiny, reluctant smile.

He continued, “Look, if it makes you feel better, everyone’s scared of her. Even the mushrooms avoid her stall. She’s probably already writing in her diary about how you’re her favorite enemy now.”

Lyra shook her head. “That’s not the vibe I was going for.”

“Yeah, but it’s the vibe you nailed.”

As they reached her plot, “You gonna be okay?” Nai’o asked.

She gave him a long, tired look. “Eventually.”

Nai’o nodded and stepped back, giving her a respectful nod like he’d just escorted royalty through enemy territory. “Well, I’ll go see if our barn’s still standing. Just in case.”

Lyra didn’t laugh—but her mouth twitched. “Thanks, Nai’o.”

He grinned. “Anytime. Just… maybe no tree punching until after lunch.”

She waved and walked into the empty house, her footsteps echoing softly against the wood. The silence wrapped around her like a second skin—warm, familiar, and much too quiet for the way her thoughts were racing.

Hassian wasn’t home yet. Probably still in the Grove.

And maybe… maybe that was for the best.

Honey, I’m Home

Hassian stepped through the front door, brushing some dirt off his shoulder and kicking his boots off next to the others. The sight of Lyra’s boots there—their usual place, slightly crooked—made something unclench in his chest. He heard sharp, rhythmic chopping from the kitchen.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

He stepped to the doorway and leaned a shoulder against the frame. “Hello, beautiful. You’re back sooner than I thought you’d be.”

Lyra didn’t look up. Her knife paused mid-chop, then resumed with just a bit too much force. “Where were you at?” she asked, gruff and clipped.

“The Grove,” he said, voice easy. “With Saraya and Lexi. I sketched out a wedding arch while they plotted the Grove’s downfall. I just want your approval, and I’ll build it.” He pulled a rolled sheet of paper from his quiver.

“Great,” she said flatly. The chopping resumed.

Hassian watched her for a long moment. He knew this mood. It wasn’t anger. Not entirely.

He stepped forward and tried to pull her into his arms.

“Please,” she said, voice cracking slightly. “Not now. I need some time.”

But he didn’t let go.

He held her anyway. Quietly. Without questions or conditions.

He felt her trembling, just slightly, like a bowstring pulled too tight. So he didn’t speak. Just anchored her against his chest, steady and warm, until he felt her begin to settle.

Then softly, “Let’s walk.”

She nodded, and he kept an arm wrapped around her waist as they stepped outside together.

They headed toward the river. The air was cooler here, and the hush of running water filled the silence between them.

“This is where Kaja flipped out the other day,” Hassian murmured, glancing at the bank. “She stuck her nose in the water trying to watch a fish. Jumped back like it bit her.”

Lyra said nothing.

After a few quiet moments, he led her toward the back of the property, steering them gently beneath the trees.

“This is the one,” he said. “The tree that owl you like always chooses. The one that sings to the night.”

Lyra just grunted. “Hmm.”

Still no words. But she didn’t pull away.

Eventually, he steered them toward the conservatory, the soft glow from the windows brushing against the grass.

“You ready to sit? Or keep walking?” he asked.

Lyra took a deep breath—her first real one since the kitchen. “Sit, I guess.”

They settled into the lawn chairs beside the telescope, the quiet night humming gently around them. Hassian leaned forward and reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

“I’ve been thinking about what I could’ve done,” he said. “But I know I put the toilet seat down, the cap back on the toothpaste, and I picked up my dirty clothes.”

Lyra cracked a grin. Not much—but enough.

“Would you like to hear about my day?” she asked.

He exhaled through a smile. “Actually... I’m a little scared. But yes. What’s wrong, baby?”

So she told him. In painful, chaotic, repeated detail. Names. Tensions. That woman. Flow. Her own fear and guilt and the deep, gnawing dread of giving that horrible witch exactly what she’d wanted. The kind of mess you can’t untangle once it’s happened.

Halfway through, Hassian’s hand slid to his forehead and stayed there, slowly massaging his temple. His breaths grew heavier.

She finally paused, wiping her eyes. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I know it’s a lot.”

He lowered his hand and met her gaze. Calm. Quiet. Steady.
“I am so sorry, baby.”

Lyra didn’t speak. She moved to his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her face into his shoulder. Then she began to cry. Not from sadness, not exactly—but from the sheer weight of it all. From exhaustion. From stress. From trying to hold it together when she didn’t have the tools to do it anymore.

Hassian held her tight, rubbing her back in slow, reassuring circles. Whispering:
“You’re okay.”
“I love you.”
“You’re my everything.”
“You’re mine... and I’m yours.”

She let it out in waves, soaking into his shirt. Hassian didn’t care. It wasn’t just Tamala, it was everything, and he knew that. He just held her and let it settle deep in his chest, knowing this wasn’t just another hard day. This... mattered.

When the tears began to slow and her breathing steadied, she pulled back, brushing her hand beneath her eyes.

“I know I messed up,” she said, voice rough.

He held her like he could absorb her pain through his chest, arms firm around her trembling frame, one hand gently tracing over her spine again and again. Her tears had soaked into his shoulder, her breath still uneven against his neck.

Hassian swallowed hard, jaw clenched. He could feel it—her heartbreak—in the tight little fists she'd balled against his ribs, in the silent way she broke down, trying to hold herself together.

“I hate this,” he murmured. “Seeing you like this. Feeling you shake in my arms and knowing I couldn’t stop it.”

Lyra didn’t say anything, and he didn’t rush her. Just rested his chin on her hair, held her tighter.

“This is my fault,” he said, voice rough. “All of it. I gave that woman something once. I did. But I didn’t know better then—I was just young and trying to feel something. And what I got in return was poison.”

His arms shifted slightly, framing her face now, thumbs brushing away tears she hadn’t noticed were still falling.

“She’s just a bitter old witch who wants to hurt people because nobody gives a damn about her. And that’s all she’s got left. She has nothing, Lyra. Not love, not friends. Not a life that matters.” He searched her face, voice quieter now. “She’s nothing to us.”

Her lower lip quivered, and she looked away. Hassian caught her chin gently and brought her gaze back.

“You’re stronger than her. Braver. You don’t need magic to fight your battles. You’ve got heart. You’ve got people who would burn the world down for you.” He brushed his thumb along her cheek. “I would.”

He paused for a moment, emotion welling in his throat.

“And you—Lyra, you came along and did everything right. You made me whole again. You showed me what it means to really love someone. What it means to be loved.”

“I’m marrying you. I’m going to be by your side every day, be the father of your babies and grow old with you. It’ll always be you and me against whatever we face.”

He pulled her just a little closer then, like if he could make her heart beat under his skin, he would.

And finally—finally—she looked at him. Really looked. And something behind her eyes unlocked. Her hands came up to cup his face and she nodded, not with dramatic flair but with quiet, anchoring trust.
“I want to see the wedding arch,” she said.