The tavern was lively as ever, a low hum of laughter and conversation settling over the room like a familiar blanket. Lyra leaned forward, resting her arms on the table across from Sifuu, the old hunter’s wild eyes sparkling with another exaggerated tale of days past.
“…and just when the Tunstag reared back to bite, I looked it square in the eye and told it, ‘You’re not the first beast to try and eat me, and you won’t be the last.’” Sifuu gave a dramatic pause. “Then I jabbed it—straight in the nostril!”
Lyra laughed, loud and delighted. “You’re making that up.”
“I wish I were. Taylin screamed bloody murder when I came home drenched in snot and monster spit.” Sifuu grinned proudly. “But it worked. Never saw that beast again.”
Across the room, Hassian stepped through the door. He’d changed since closing the forge, his usual leathers replaced by simpler clothes that still clung to his frame like armor. Yet the fire from earlier hadn’t left him; it smoldered behind his eyes, banked but restless.
Lyra’s laughter caught in her throat when she saw him. There was something unreadable in his face tonight—something guarded, searching. He made his way over without a word, nodding to both women. He didn’t sit right away. Just stood near the table, arms folded, eyes flicking to Lyra, then away again.
“You look like you’ve swallowed a live cricket,” Sifuu said to him casually, sipping her drink.
“I’m fine,” he said, but his voice was quiet, and even Lyra could tell it was a lie.
Reth passed by not long after, throwing a wink toward Lyra as he slowed briefly near their table. “Evenin’, ladies. Lyra—you’re looking especially lovely tonight.”
“Thanks, Reth,” she replied with an easy smile, not unkind but certainly not inviting.
He was gone before she had time to feel awkward about it. But the effect lingered. Hassian’s jaw ticked. His hands flexed once at his sides, then stilled again. He still hadn’t spoken, and now he looked like he was wrestling something inside.
Eventually, Sifuu excused herself to chat with Delaila, leaving Lyra and Hassian alone in the warm, noisy room.
Then came the softest rumble of his voice, so low she almost didn’t catch it.
“Would you come with me?”
She blinked, surprised. “What?”
He leaned in just slightly, his lips closer to her ear now. “I’d like to show you something.”
Lyra felt her heart hitch in her chest, the whole room dimming for an instant as if the question pulled the air out of it. She nodded, rising without hesitation. “Of course.”
They slipped out together, the noise of the tavern melting behind them as they stepped into the moonlit quiet of Killima’s outskirts. The night air was cool, the path ahead lit faintly by the stars and scattered lantern bugs. They walked side by side, the silence between them not awkward, but brimming.
“It’s a bit of a walk,” Hassian said eventually.
Lyra smiled gently. “It’s a nice night for a walk.”
He gave a small grunt of agreement, and they fell into an easy pace.
They talked as they went—not about feelings, not about themselves, but about what they knew best: hunting. Lyra spoke of the patterns she’d begun to notice in the wild, the way certain creatures changed their routines with the weather. Hassian nodded thoughtfully, occasionally adding a suggestion or comparing her experiences with his own.
It was only when they stepped into the fringes of Bahari that Lyra began to feel the subtle shift in energy. The familiar woods gave way to deeper quiet. Trees thicker, the air slightly cooler. And then she saw it—a wooden door built into a shaded rock outcrop. It didn’t belong here.
She stopped walking, lips parting in recognition. Her breath caught in her chest. She knew what this was. She’d heard whispers about the Grove—everyone had—but never imagined she’d be invited. Certainly not by him.
Hassian stepped forward, unlocking the door with a worn key pulled from his pocket. He glanced at her, eyes soft but serious, before pushing the door open. The scent of wild herbs and damp moss met Lyra as the wooden door swung inward, revealing a warm glow from within.
He turned to her, his voice low but clear. “I wanted you to see my Grove.”
Her breath trembled, the weight of the moment sinking in. To be here, past the threshold, chosen—by him.
As the door closed softly behind them, the tavern’s noise and Reth’s smirk felt like another world away.

Written in the Stars

Lyra stepped through the wooden door behind Hassian, the hush of the Grove folding around her like a secret kept too long. The air smelled of moss and wild herbs, rich and grounding. Her boots sank into the soft, green floor, and she realized at once—this wasn’t just a place. It was him. Quiet. Strong. His world. His Grove. Untouched by anyone else until now.
The clearing opened wide under a canopy of stars, the night sky vast and clear above the treeline. She turned in a slow circle, taking everything in—the large canvas tent nestled under an old tree, Tau’s hand-built doghouse beside it, a shallow pond fed by a gentle waterfall that shimmered under moonlight. The water lapped softly against its stone edges, adding a subtle rhythm to the quiet.
Scattered around were traces of his life. A quiver leaned against the tent. A hunter's horn. A small stack of books near a bedroll. She saw him more clearly here than she ever had before.
“This is incredible,” she said, her voice hushed without knowing why. It just felt right.
Hassian moved with practiced ease, kneeling beside a ring of stones in the center and kindling a small fire. The flames caught quickly, crackling to life and casting a warm glow across the Grove. From a nearby storage box, he pulled out a thick fur blanket and spread it on the ground near the fire.
He looked up at her, something softer in his eyes now. “Come watch the stars with me,” he said, his voice low but steady, as if inviting her not just to look but to belong.
She smiled and joined him, sitting beside him on the blanket. The fire’s warmth wrapped around them, but it was the sky that stole her breath.
Lyra pointed upward, her hand tracing a curve through the dark. “That one there,” she said, “that’s the Smiling Kitsu.”
Hassian turned his head, eyes narrowing as he followed her gesture. “You know the constellations?”
“I’ve been reading about them,” she said, glancing at him. “Studying star charts, trying to learn the stories.”
He seemed genuinely surprised—and a little impressed. “I had no idea you were interested.”
She smiled softly. “I love the stars. There’s something warm, comforting, constant about them.”
He watched her for a moment, then spoke. “My momma used to teach me the stars. She’d tell me the legends behind each one. Said they were our ancestors, watching over us.”
Lyra’s voice was quiet, sincere. “I wish I’d had the chance to know her.”
His gaze left the stars and settled on her. For a long moment, he said nothing, the firelight flickering across his face. Then, almost carefully, he asked, “What is it you want, Lyra? In this life?”
She turned to him, caught off guard by the weight of the question. For a heartbeat she hesitated, as though the truth might be too much. But then she whispered, “Most of all? Someone to love. Someone who will love me. Someone who’ll be there.”
Hassian’s breath caught. His heart quickened in his chest, drawn back in an instant to the prayer he had once spoken beneath these very stars. The words struck with uncanny precision, echoing his own secret plea in his loneliest hours. He couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t let the truth of it slip past.
He shifted first, letting his weight settle back. Lyra followed the movement, their shoulders meeting as they lay back together, quiet for a long while. The moment settled between them. Peaceful. Close.
She yawned, then chuckled and apologized. “Sorry. Didn’t realize how tired I was.”
Without a word, he got up and walked to the tent, returning with another blanket and two small pillows. He knelt beside her, gently unlacing her boots and sliding them off before draping the blanket over her and handing her a pillow. “It gets cool here overnight,” he said as he lay back down beside her. His fingers brushed hers briefly, an unspoken promise lingering in the touch.
Lyra turned toward him, her voice a sleepy whisper. “Do you want me to sleep here?”
“If you’re comfortable,” he answered. “You’re safe here, Lyra. You’ll always be safe… where I am.”
She smiled through half-closed eyes, sinking into the warmth. The fire cracked softly nearby. The waterfall sang. Her heart slowed to the rhythm of peace.
“Hassian,” she mumbled, “where’s Tau?”
“Staying the night at my mother’s,” he said. “Didn’t want to compete with the goodest boy for your attention.”
She let out a soft laugh, already half-asleep. “He’d win anyway.”
But Hassian just looked at her, something in his chest pulling tight. He said nothing more, just watched her as her breathing evened out. Her hair spilled across the blanket, catching firelight and moonlight alike. He had no idea how this had happened… only that it had, and he wasn’t running this time.
He closed his eyes beside her.
When morning broke through the trees, gold and gentle, Lyra stirred first. She turned toward him, blinking awake with a smile still on her lips.
Hassian opened his eyes, already watching her. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, voice rough from sleep.
Lyra’s grin widened. “Hello, handsome.”
She lingered a moment longer in his gaze, warmth blooming in her chest. Morning light painted the Grove in gold, and everything felt impossibly still, impossibly safe.
For the first time since coming to Killima, Lyra didn’t feel like a guest passing through someone else’s story. She felt… rooted. As though the stars overhead had quietly rewritten their lines while she slept.
Hassian stretched, the movement breaking the silence, and rose to tend the fire. But the weight of his glance, the way it lingered a heartbeat too long, said what his voice never would.
Something had shifted in the Grove. Neither of them spoke it aloud, but they both knew it.