Chapter Twenty-Eight: Unwanted Answers

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The chill of the evening wrapped around Jace as he stepped out into the night. The air was damp, carrying the faint metallic tang of ozone that seemed to permeate every corner of the world. He let his mind wander, his feet carrying him toward the darker parts of the Stronghold, away from the buzz of Merchant’s Circle. Tonight, though, he had a purpose—a need to escape, to breathe.

Activating Shift, Jace launched himself toward the rooftops, his movements fluid and silent. The power surged through him, light and exhilarating, propelling him upward. His boots landed softly on the aged stone tiles, his silhouette blending seamlessly with the shadows. He smiled in acknowledgeable of his rapid improvements in the skill. Activating Etheric Cloak, he felt a faint shimmer ripple across his body, his form merging with the surroundings, leaving only a faint outline that bent and wavered in the dim moonlight.

He moved like a wraith over the rooftops, his steps light as he scanned the quiet streets below.

That’s when he saw her.

The lithe, hooded figure moving with practiced ease across the street, slipping through alleys and darting between buildings. Jace froze for a moment, recognition sparking in his mind. It was her—the stranger who had helped him before. The one who had moved like the wind, precise and unyielding. He’d never gotten a chance to thank her, and now curiosity tugged at him.

Staying crouched, Jace followed her, keeping his distance as they leapt from rooftop to rooftop. She moved effortlessly, her steps almost weightless, but Jace matched her pace, his Etheric Cloak hiding him from view. His heart pounded in his chest, the thrill of the chase quickening his pulse.

Then she stopped. Her hooded head turned slightly, her body still as a statue. Jace froze, his breath caught in his throat.

She’d spotted him.

Without warning, she bolted, darting across the rooftops with a sudden burst of speed. Jace cursed under his breath and gave chase, pushing his abilities to keep up. His movements were precise but deliberate, each step calculated to match hers. He felt his Moonstone Shard thrumming in his chest, boosting his agility.

The chase took them over the sprawling city, weaving between chimneys and leaping over gaps between buildings. Jace pushed himself harder, the flicker of her hood always just ahead, like a phantom slipping through his fingers. He barely noticed the night air growing cooler as they ascended higher, the buildings thinning until they reached the outer edges of the city.

The chase ended at the base of The Wall, a colossal monolith of stone and steel rising into the dark heavens. It wasn’t just a barrier—it was a promise, carved and cast to hold back the creeping void beyond. Crags of black rock jutted from its surface, and the faint glow of warding sigils hummed in the night, pulsing like the heartbeat of the stronghold itself. The wall loomed so high it seemed to scrape the stars, which blinked down like distant, dispassionate spectators.

Jace barely had time to catch his breath before the figure vanished into the stairwell carved into the ancient structure. He followed without hesitation, his boots striking the worn stone steps in a rhythm that matched the pounding of his heart. Each step pulled him further from the world below, the biting wind growing sharper, colder. The air thinned, cutting into his lungs with each inhale.

His darkvision sharpened the scene, pulling the shadows into focus and heightening every detail that might have otherwise been swallowed by the night.

The stairs twisted upward in a spiral that seemed endless, the walls narrowing and pressing closer with every turn. Sweat mixed with frost on Jace's brow as he ascended higher and higher, his legs burning, each breath a fight against the altitude.

Occasionally, narrow slits in the wall revealed glimpses of the world outside. He caught fleeting sights of the darkness beyond—an unbroken expanse of churning shadow that seemed alive, clawing at the edges of reality. It roared soundlessly against the base of the wall, an ever-present threat that made the sheer scale of the stronghold's defenses both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

His quarry remained just out of reach, a shadow flitting ever upward. No matter how hard Jace pushed himself, the top remained elusive, the stairs stretching on as if they had no end. His mind wavered between determination and doubt, the climb becoming not just a physical test but a battle against the exhaustion gnawing at his resolve.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the stairwell opened into a vast platform at the summit of the wall. The biting cold eased as he stepped into the open air, though the altitude pressed heavy on his chest. He stumbled forward, his breath misting as he took in the desolate expanse before him.

The top of The Wall was a bleak, crumbling ruin. The battlements stood uneven and cracked, their jagged edges lined with dead weeds that still clung stubbornly to the worn stone. Massive siege engines loomed in skeletal disrepair, their hulking frames warped and rusted, their purpose unclear but undeniably long abandoned. Cogs and wheels sat frozen, their mechanisms seized and useless. Jagged ropes hung limp from their reels, the fibers brittle and frayed, snapping like twigs under the slightest breeze.

Ward-stones lined the perimeter, their surfaces dulled and chipped. Some flickered faintly, their dim light a feeble attempt at illumination, while others were dark altogether, broken shards scattered across the stone. The faint hum in the air sputtered, its rhythm inconsistent, leaving an uneasy quiet that hung over the platform like a pall.

Jace stepped cautiously onto the uneven surface, the stone beneath his boots cold and rough. His eyes scanned the scene, taking in the decay with a growing sense of unease. This place felt abandoned, its power forgotten, its purpose a question mark. How could something so vast, so clearly vital, have been left to rot?

Why had this place been left like this?

He glanced over the edge and saw the world far below, distant lights twinkling in the darkness like embers clinging to life. He straightened, his gaze drawn outward toward the void. It churned and twisted beyond the wall, pressing hungrily against the faint, failing glow of the ward-stones.

He turned, his breath curling in the frigid air, and saw a figure standing at the edge of the battlements, a faint silhouette etched against the infinite void. The wind caught her cloak, whipping it into jagged arcs that fluttered like a tattered banner, a stark contrast to the stillness of her stance. She stood as though she were an envoy of the darkness itself, a harbinger poised at the threshold. Behind her, the void churned and twisted, its relentless chaos pressing hungrily against the fragile glow of the wall’s failing wards.

Jace took a step forward, his voice cutting through the chill. “Who are you?”

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, her voice calm but carrying just enough edge to reveal she wasn’t entirely at ease.

The figure turned, and Jace’s breath caught. The hood fell back, revealing silver hair that shimmered in the moonlight and deep blue eyes that regarded him with quiet amusement. Lyra. He blinked, momentarily stunned, before regaining his composure.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a faint smile. Jace stepped closer, but kept a respectful distance.

“What do you think?” she asked, her tone light, yet something unspoken lingered beneath her words, elusive and difficult to define. She gestured toward the expanse beyond the Wall, where the darkness churned endlessly, shifting like it had a will of its own. “Whenever we visit the Stronghold, I try to come here. To think. To be alone.”

Jace hesitated, his response caught for a moment. He could sense the quiet she sought, the kind that settled over wounds too deep to close easily. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice barely louder than the wind. He understood that kind of silence. “I’ll leave you to it. I just… wanted to thank you. For what you did back there—with Caspen.”

Lyra leaned against the railing, her gaze fixed on the endless void beyond the Wall. The silence was profound, broken only by the faint rustle of the night wind, and the void seemed to pulse with its own quiet menace.

“Well, you’re here. Might as well have a seat and enjoy the view.”

The faint shimmer of moonlight caught the silver in her hair, giving her an ethereal glow. For a moment, she seemed lost in thought, the weight of something unspoken resting on her shoulders. She perched on the edge of the wall, her legs swinging freely over the abyss below, her arms braced against the chilled railing.

“I try to remind myself that this is what we’re fighting. Not each other,” she said finally, her voice soft but edged with a weariness that spoke of deep, hidden cracks. It sounded more like a mantra—one she’d clung to for far longer than she cared to admit.

Jace studied her for a moment, his gaze drifting to the endless void beyond the Wall. The words slipped from him before he could stop them, quiet and tentative. “What are you trying to get away from?”

She turned slightly, her expression flickering with something guarded, though she didn’t seem surprised by the question. “I’m not sure if it’s just one thing,” she said after a moment, her tone measured but unsteady, like she was feeling her way through her own thoughts. “The Egyptians… the Pharaoh has been good to me. They’ve become more my family than anyone else has. But even with them, I sneak away sometimes. To think. To breathe. To remind myself who I am when no one’s looking.”

Jace nodded, unsure what to say. His Truthsense hummed faintly at the edges of his awareness, but it wasn’t what told him she was being honest—it was the familiarity of her words, the echoes of his own past reflected in them.

Jace eased down beside her, his Etheric cloak billowing in the frozen winds, its faint glow casting a soft, wavering light against the darkness. The cold bit at him, but the cloak held it at bay, just enough to let him focus. He nodded silently, words eluding him as he watched her. There was a quiet strength in her profile, a resolve etched into her features, but beneath it lingered something raw—an unspoken pain that hung heavy in the space between them.

After a long moment, Jace shifted, boots scraping against the stone edge of the Wall as he stared out at the horizon. The forcefield shimmered faintly, a translucent barrier that held back the roiling black void of the Dark One's territories. Beyond it, nothingness stretched endlessly, a blank canvas of despair that swallowed the night sky. Closer to the Wall, the heavens clung to a fading sense of normalcy—a deep indigo bruised with purple, the stars trembling like they knew what lay just a heartbeat away.

“Strange view, isn’t it?” Lyra’s voice was soft, but it cut through the quiet like a blade. She sat beside him, her posture relaxed, though her fingers gripped the edge of the stone tightly enough to whiten her knuckles.

“Strange’s one word for it.” Jace glanced at her, her silhouette stark against the faint glow of the barrier. “You’ve stepped in before. Twice, actually. Back in the marketplace and the Commoners’ Circle. Why?”

She sighed, her breath fogging briefly in the cold air before the world consumed it. “Because it was wrong.” Her tone was clipped, but her gaze remained fixed on the horizon, the muscles in her jaw tightening. “And because… it’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” he pressed, leaning slightly toward her.

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Her voice turned sharp, her shoulders snapping back like a soldier bracing for impact. Then, without looking at him, she said, “I am the daughter of Tetzomoc, the Obsidian Flame. Leader of the Aztec Tribes.”

The words hung in the air, as heavy as the darkness pressing against the forcefield. Jace didn’t reply, sensing there was more.

Her posture softened, the sharp edges of her presence melting into something smaller, almost fragile. “That used to mean something, you know. Before I was born, my father warred with the Pharaohs. It didn’t end well.”

She picked up a small pebble from the ground and hurled it at the edge of the darkness. The moment it struck, ripples of iridescent purples and shimmering twilight cascaded outward, like light dancing on the surface of a disturbed pond.

Jace blinked, trying to piece it together. Everything he’d learned at Olympus University painted the kingdoms as united—joined in common cause against the encroaching darkness. “I thought… weren’t they all allied? Against the darkness, I mean. Why would he go to war? Is that… normal?”

Her laugh was bitter, dry as scorched earth. “Common enough. Though they don’t ever call it ‘war.’ Not technically. But it is. Land grabs, power plays, station... petty skirmishes dressed up as noble causes. Long ago, when the Dark One struck relentlessly, there was peace between us. Uneasy, but real. Every kingdom sacrificed their dead to hold the line. But centuries pass. The attacks dwindled. The treaties stayed, but the peace?” She shrugged, the motion tight and cold. “A fragile balance. Some kingdoms honor it. Others… well, less so.”

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“And your father?” Jace pressed. “Why did he fight?”

She turned her head, her gaze distant, as if searching the shadows for an answer that would never come. “Take your pick—land, pride, revenge. Depends on who’s telling the story. But one thing’s certain: he lost. That’s all that matters, in the end. And my people have been paying for it ever since.” Her laugh was sharp, hollow, a sound that cut rather than comforted. “I was part of the price.”

Jace froze, his thoughts stumbling over her words. “What do you mean?”

Her chin dipped, and for a fleeting moment, the unyielding armor she wore cracked, just enough for him to see a flash of what was underneath. Then, her wrists lifted, revealing the golden cuffs encircling them like chains disguised as jewelry. The faint glow of runes etched into the metal pulsed with a quiet, mocking rhythm.

“I know what it’s like to be owned, in my own way,” she said, her voice raw.

Jace’s stomach turned. “You’re a slave?”

Her laughter came again, bitter and jagged. “I like you, so I won’t have you beaten for asking me that.” She took a deep breath and when she continued, her voice was colder. “No, I am not a slave. Nobles don’t call it that. They dress it up, polish it, make it sound less... offensive. I’m a ‘Treasure.’” She spat the word like it burned. “A living guarantee that my peoples won’t rise again.”

She nodded, her lips pressing into a tight line. “One child for each offended kingdom, given away as a token of surrender. A symbol of good faith, they called it. My sisters and I were scattered like ashes on the wind. I ended up with the Pharaohs, living under their rule. Their ways. Their systems.” Her voice dropped, laced with venom.

Jace struggled for words, but she pressed on, her voice gaining a sharp edge. “It’s not like the Wordrots here, of course, or the way slaves are treated from lower stations. I can’t complain, not really. I might even be lucky, depending on how you look at it.” She exhaled, her gaze distant. “But none of that changes the truth. I’m property. And alliances? They’re nothing but illusions. People cling to peace as long as it serves them. The moment it doesn’t…” She snapped her fingers, her expression hardening like iron. “Gone. Just like that.”

“Then why stay?” Jace asked, keeping his tone soft.

Her head whipped toward him, her eyes blazing. “And do what, exactly? Run? Disappear into the gutters? Abandon what’s left of my people’s honor?” She laughed again, sharp and bitter. “No. Staying means I can at least pretend to matter. I can protect a little. I can… push back.”

“Like with Caspen,” Jace said, testing the waters.

Lyra’s lips twitched into a wry smile. “Caspen’s a distraction. Fun, for now. Even being a Treasured, I outrank him considerably. His family’s on the rise, and they’ll outstrip mine soon enough. Maybe I’ll regret how I’ve handled him. Maybe not. Either way, he doesn’t matter. ”

Jace tilted his head, studying her. “I keep hearing that word—Wordrot. What does it mean?”

Her smile vanished, replaced by a grim expression. “It’s what they call the marked. Liars, dangerous heretics, deniers, and anyone the Nobles want erased. They’re stripped of credibility, cut off from society. Unowned slaves—unprotected. And worse, it technically makes them fair game for every cruelty imaginable. At least a proper slave as the protection of the house they serve.”

Jace’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white against his skin. He turned away from Lyra, his gaze locking onto the hum of the forcefield. “Fair game,” he repeated, his voice low, each word carrying a tremor of restrained anger. “Is that what you call it? Stripping people of their lives, their dignity, and tossing them to wolves because they don’t fit the mold?”

Lyra tilted her head, watching him carefully. “It’s not ideal,” she said softly, almost apologetic. “But it’s how this world works.”

“No,” Jace snapped, spinning to face her, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “It’s not just ‘how it works.’ This system isn’t some inevitable force of nature—it’s a deliberate design. A machine built to keep people crushed under its weight, letting the powerful stomp on anyone with the audacity to step out of line. Calling it ‘the way things are’ doesn’t excuse it.”

Lyra bristled, her voice sharp with anger. “Hey, I defended them—and saved you. Twice! I don’t like it any more than you do. I’m a victim of it, just like them.”

“Victim?” Jace let out a dry laugh, something raw and brittle cracking within him. “Victim? We’re all victims until we aren’t! You said it yourself—your position, your status, they give you power. You put Caspen in his place without breaking a sweat. You’re strong enough to take down a few men—hell, maybe even stronger than me.”

She rolled her eyes then, a sharp, dismissive gesture, as if his words weren’t just true but laughably obvious.

“Then do something about it,” Jace pressed, his voice rising, almost pleading. “For the gods’ sake, Lyra. ‘It’s how it works’? What kind of excuse is that? You have the power to change it. Use it!”

His voice grew steadier, each word sharpened by conviction. “Terra Mythica was supposed to be different. A place where we could escape the chains of our world—the lies, the deceit, the endless cycle of subjugation. A place of freedom, where people could rise on their own merits, where dreams were within reach for anyone willing to fight for them. Not this.”

He gestured sharply, his expression hardening. “Not a hierarchy of nobles and crowns, of silencing anyone who dares to speak out. Not a mockery of liberty where kings rule and slaves are ground into the dirt. To hell with their so-called order, their precious sensibilities. This place was meant to be a sanctuary—a chance to break free from oppression, not to recreate it.”

His grey eyes burned with intensity, his voice swelling with raw determination. “We fled Earth for freedom. Not to build a new prison.”

Her expression darkened, but she held her ground. “And what would you do, Jace? Tear it all down? Burn this world to the ground?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Jace said. “I’m sick of standing by and watching people suffer because someone decided they weren’t worthy. People like Caspen—like you—use words like ‘fun’ and ‘distraction’ to justify cruelty. But it’s not a game. It’s not entertainment. It’s people’s lives.”

Silence fell between them, this time heavier. The faint hum of the forcefield seemed louder now, filling the void left by their argument.

Lyra’s gaze softened, though her lips pressed into a thin line. “You talk like you’ve never been part of a system like this,” she said quietly. “But I see it in your eyes—you understand it more than you’re willing to admit.”

“Understanding it doesn’t mean accepting it,” Jace said, his voice calmer now but no less firm. “Someone has to stand against this, even if it feels impossible.”

For a moment, Lyra said nothing, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. “You’re not like the others,” she murmured. “Travelers, I mean. You care. I don’t know if that makes you brave or foolish.”

Jace leaned back against the railing, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Probably both,” he said with a dry laugh, though the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. “But someone has to be.”

Lyra’s smile held a vulnerability that Jace hadn’t seen before, as if she were finally lowering a shield too heavy to bear any longer. She moved closer, the faint moonlight catching her features and painting her face in shades of silver and shadow, like a masterpiece rendered in light and dark. Her eyes, steady and searching, held his with an intensity that seemed to speak without words.

The abrupt shift from battle-ready tension to this left Jace unmoored, caught off guard in a way he hadn’t expected.

“Jace,” she said, her voice soft but unwavering. She reached out, her hand grazing his in a touch so light it could have been imagined. The space between them seemed to shrink, the rest of the world fading into the background.

Jace felt his breath hitch, his mind racing even as he remained resolute. He thought of Alice and his heart ached. He couldn’t let this happen. Not like this. He moved back, his motion deliberate, his gaze dropping to the ground for a fleeting moment before returning to hers.

“Lyra, I can’t,” he said, his voice low but steady.

For a moment, her expression didn’t change. Then a flicker of realization passed through her features, followed by a quiet acceptance. She drew in a slow breath, her shoulders lifting slightly before relaxing.

“Your heart is already spoken for?” she asked, her voice carrying a softness that didn’t demand an answer, even though he nodded.

“She… she’s everything,” Jace admitted, the words both an explanation and a confession.

Lyra’s gaze drifted toward the horizon, her smile faint but still present. “It’s strange,” she murmured, her tone thoughtful. “I’ve lived a long life, longer than most. And yet, I’ve never been good at waiting. For us, a thousand years can pass like the turning of a page, but it still feels too short when you’re searching for something real. Someone real.”

For the first time, Jace truly saw her. At a glance, she appeared no older than her mid-twenties, her youthful features framed by an ageless grace. But there was something in her bearing, a quiet strength behind her gaze, that spoke of centuries gone by. His eyes caught on the subtle tilt to her ears—not quite elven, but close enough to hint at something otherworldly. The question rose to his lips, but he swallowed it, deciding better of it.

Lyra turned to face him, her luminous eyes shimmering with a complex mix of admiration and quiet despair. “That’s why you’re different, Jace. I’ve met other Travelers—plenty of them. They see this world as a game, like we’re just background noise in their story.” Her voice caught, a delicate crack threading through her words. “But you… You stood up for us. For our people. Not because it served you, but because it mattered. That’s rare.” She hesitated, the vulnerability in her expression deepening, raw and unguarded. “It’s why I…”

Her words faltered, leaving an unspoken truth hanging between them. Jace felt the weight of her sincerity press against him, stirring something that threatened to unravel his resolve. But then the thought of Alice surfaced—a tether holding him steady. He exhaled slowly, his voice soft yet firm. “Lyra, I meant every word. You have the strength to change things. Even if you don’t believe it yet, I do. And if you choose to fight, I’ll stand beside you. As an ally. Maybe even as a friend.”

Lyra’s lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “A friend,” she murmured, almost tasting the unfamiliar word. She eased back with a quiet grace, her tone tinged with wistful amusement. “Not a word I’m used to. But…” She glanced up at him, her smile brightening just enough to reach her eyes. “I think I like it.”

Jace extended his hand, tentative but steady. “Friends?” he offered, his voice caught between hope and caution.

Lyra studied him for a moment, her expression thoughtful, then nodded. “Friends,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet resolve.

For a time, they stood in companionable silence, the tension ebbing away like a receding tide. Lyra’s gaze shifted back to the Wall, her eyes tracing the endless expanse of darkness that stretched below. The faint stirrings of creatures moved within the void, but her focus was elsewhere.

They sat side by side, staring into the darkness that stretched endlessly beyond the Wall. The void seemed alive, barely perceptible shapes moving faintly at its edges, flickering like the half-formed memories of nightmares.

“Monsters out there,” Jace said, his voice slicing through the heavy stillness.

“And worse things in the Tower,” she answered. It wasn’t loud, but it carried a quiet authority, a weight that made Jace turn his head. Her silhouette was sharp against the void, her golden wrist cuffs glinting faintly in the pale moonlight.

Jace’s gaze remained fixed on the darkness below, though his eyes narrowed at her words. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice low, steady.

Lyra didn’t answer immediately. Her expression turned inward, as though she were searching for the right way to phrase something too heavy for simple words. When she spoke again, her voice softened, but the unyielding steel beneath it remained. “Just… be careful in there, Jace. Find your friends, if you can.”

“You’re not going?” He looked at her then, and the faint curve of her lips told him he was right before she spoke.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “My time with the Tower ended many moons ago. Now, I’m here to support our kingdoms’ contestants.” She turned toward him fully, her piercing gaze meeting his. “They don’t tell you about the real danger.”

“What is it?” Jace asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

“The other participants.” Her voice was quiet, but her eyes flickered with the shadow of old memories. “Find a faction. Build a team. Or learn to survive alone. Because most of the realms, they send their worst—the ones no one wants. The ones willing to do anything. And they… they turn the trials into something they were never meant to be.”

“But why? I thought…” Jace trailed off, his eyes searching her face for answers. Then, like a puzzle piece snapping into place, the realization struck him, sharp and sudden. He felt a flush of embarrassment for not seeing it sooner. “Kingdoms can’t openly war,” he said, the words laced with dawning clarity.

She nodded slowly, lifting one wrist to display the jeweled golden bands that caught the faint light. “No. Not without consequences.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “But there are no recordings in the Tower. And… well, accidents happen.”

Her words hung in the air, and Jace felt the chill that crept into his bones wasn’t entirely from the night. Lyra’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked as though she might stop there. Then, with a breath, she continued.

“Honestly, if it weren’t for that, more people might make it higher. But the truth is… fewer of us survive. And even those who do…” Lyra’s voice faltered, the weight of her words catching in her throat. She hesitated, her gaze distant as though wrestling with memories too painful to relive. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. “Find your allies. Stay away from the factions. And if you can’t… port out. It’s not worth it.”

Her eyes found his then, sharp and unyielding, carrying an urgency that spoke louder than her words. There was something else, something she couldn’t say outright. Jace’s gaze flickered to the golden bands on her wrists, the way her fingers twitched against them. Were they stopping her? Binding her somehow?

“Death isn’t as bad for us as it is for your kind,” he murmured, his tone grim but matter-of-fact.

“True enough,” she admitted. Lyra flinched, her lips pressing into a tight line. “But this year is different, isn’t it? There’s always been an unspoken rule—go after the Travelers first. Pick them off before they get too far. But this year…” She paused, her breath hitching as her hands instinctively clutched her wrists. Pain flickered across her face, raw and unguarded. “There have been shifts. The kingdoms are moving differently. There’s more at play than you realize. More than any of the Traveler Universities and sympathizers know.”

She drew a shaky breath, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Jace. The Tower will test you in ways you can’t imagine. But the real danger isn’t the trials.” Her voice dropped, heavy with warning. “It’s the people. They’ll do whatever it takes to survive. To serve their realm. Anything.”

Jace felt the weight of her words settle like a stone in his chest. His throat tightened, but he nodded slowly, his voice quiet but resolute. “I will.”

Lyra straightened and stood, the rigid tension in her frame easing slightly. Her expression softened, but her resolve didn’t waver. “Good luck, Jace,” she said, her voice steady, though a faint note of something warmer lingered in the edges of her tone. And then she turned, her figure outlined in silver and shadow as she walked away, leaving Jace alone with the horizon and the weight of her words.

That night, as Jace drifted into sleep, his dreams carried him to distant places bathed in the glow of warm hearths and the hum of quiet taverns. He dreamed of familiar sounds, the murmur of comforting words, and the gentle clink of mugs raised in camaraderie. And threaded through it all was a song—haunting and tender, its melody wrapping around him like a forgotten lullaby, stirring something deep within his soul.

“In golden fields where earth and sky,

She wandered lost, her heart's lone cry.

Beneath the stars in night’s embrace,

She moved with grace, a gentle pace.

His words were veiled in shadows deep,

Guarded secrets, night would keep.

A maiden's plea, a gentle sigh,

Beneath the tree where sorrows lie.

In fields of gold, where dreams do bloom,

She shed her tears, the silver moon.

Unknowing of his love’s true flame,

In absence burned, a silent name.

In fields where light and dreams entwine,

Echoes of love forever shine.

Alone she roamed, her heart a tome,

Forever seeking love, a home.”