A few hours passed, and the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky streaked with twilight as the moon began its slow ascent. I rose from my seat with a soft sigh, reluctant to leave the warmth of the living room behind. The flicker of candlelight illuminated the hallway, casting long shadows against the walls as I moved down it, each step quiet, almost hesitant. When I reached the guest bedroom, the one that had been mine for the past eight months, the door clicked shut behind me. For a moment, I simply stood there, taking in the familiar space.
The room was dimly lit, and I felt the coolness of the air on my skin. It was still, peaceful, and oddly comforting in a way I couldn't fully explain. I exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the weight of the day before crossing to the closet. My fingers brushed against the cool wood of the door as I opened it, the quiet creak of hinges sounding louder than it should have.
The long red dress clung to my form, the silk warm and soft against my skin. It flowed like liquid over me, and I couldn't help but appreciate the way it moved with me. But it was time to shed it. My fingers reached up to the delicate straps, undoing the clasps with practiced ease. The fabric slipped from my shoulders, the cool air meeting my skin as it fell away in a smooth cascade. The dress pooled at my feet in a river of rich red silk, its edges brushing the floor in soft, undisturbed folds.
For a moment, I simply stood there, watching my reflection in the mirror as the dress hung loosely from my arms. The sight of it, pooling around my feet, was oddly serene. I carefully lifted the fabric at the hem, stepping out of it with a delicate grace so as not to trip. Once the dress was completely off, I hung it on the nearest hook, a quiet reverence in my movements.
I turned back toward the mirror, the cool air still clinging to my skin. Her body was slim, toned from years of travel and training, the faint curve of my waist and the soft lines of my hips accentuated in the dim light. I couldn't help but notice the matching red undergarments I wore beneath the dress—delicate lace and satin that shimmered faintly in the mirror's reflection. It was as if the color itself echoed the richness of the dress, and I couldn't help but appreciate the simple elegance of it all and smiled at it.
After a moment, I turned away, the soft rustle of fabric following me as I moved to the closet. I reached inside and pulled out a set of sleepwear. The garments were a soft blend of cloth and leather, designed for comfort yet still practical—light enough to wear during the warmer nights, but thick enough to protect me should I need to move quickly. The deep indigo fabric was trimmed with fine silver thread, and I smiled as I slipped it on, the fabric cool against my skin as it settled into place.
Once dressed, I stood there for a moment, the quiet of the room surrounding me. The soft glow from the moon outside cast a pale light through the window, and I felt a strange peace settle over me.
Lyra Moon moved across the room, her footsteps light, as though the floor beneath her had been made of the softest clouds. The room around her was bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, casting long, flickering shadows against the walls. The soft rain outside pelted against the windows, providing a gentle soundtrack to her quiet movements.
Her body flowed with an effortless grace, the faint rustle of her sleepwear, the only sound accompanying her dance. Her arms moved in sweeping arcs, tracing invisible patterns through the air, while her feet barely seemed to touch the floor. Each motion was fluid, a delicate balance between control and freedom, as if she were floating rather than dancing. A soft, melodic laugh escaped her lips, and her face, for a brief moment, was alight with pure joy.
The room itself seemed to reflect her energy—cozy, intimate, and welcoming. The soft quilt on her bed was a deep shade of violet, its fabric smooth and plush, inviting comfort. The bed's headboard was carved from dark wood, intricate swirls etched into its surface, giving the space a regal yet personal touch. At the foot of the bed was a deep, inviting throw blanket, its color mirroring the calming hues of twilight.
A nightstand stood beside the bed, made of the same dark wood as the headboard. A small candle flickered softly atop it, casting a warm, golden light across the polished surface. Next to the candle was a small vase filled with delicate white lilies, their petals opening wide, still fresh from a recent gathering.
As Lyra's dance slowed, her movements softened, and she crossed the room once more, a hand gently resting on the edge of the closet door. With a quiet click, she closed it, her eyes lingering on the clothes inside, the dresses that would wait for another day. She turned, moving toward the bed as the soft sheets beckoned her.
She slipped beneath the covers with a fluid motion, the softness of the quilt wrapping around her as she settled into the warmth. Her body sank into the plushness of the bed, the fabric enveloping her in comfort. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she closed her eyes, her breathing slow and steady, as the world outside continued its quiet dance of rain and night.
A few hours have passed by since she had fallen asleep and in the middle of the night, the stillness of Lyra's room shattered.
Her eyes shot open with a sudden jolt, glowing faintly with a white-golden hue that flickered like starlight in the shadows. Her breath caught in her throat as a pulse of energy surged through her chest.
[Oracle: ??? Ring]
A ring etched with the symbol of an hourglass shimmered into existence on Lyra's finger, its silver glow pulsing like a heartbeat. The air around her thickened as visions surged into her mind.
Zay appeared, stepping off the ship at the port, exhaustion etched deep into his features. His movements were sluggish, weighed down by sleepless nights and the ache of distance. He wandered through the rain-drenched streets of Mivor, the familiar path home blurred by fatigue. Then—an alley. A wrong turn. His boots echoed down a narrow stone corridor lined with crooked windows and overhanging eaves.
Above him, a window opened.
A wooden crate, heavy and unbalanced, slipped from the sill.
He never saw it coming.
It fell in silence—striking him squarely on the crown of his head. The impact was immediate. His body crumpled to the cobblestones, lifeless. Blood bloomed beneath him in a slow, widening pool, creeping through the cracks of the street like dark ink. The crate itself landed beside him without a stain, untouched by the violence it had delivered.
And then the vision ended, leaving only the cold echo of death hanging in the back of her mind.
Lyra shot up from bed, drenched in sweat. Her hands trembled, and a sour twist curled in her stomach. A wave of nausea overtook her, and she clutched her stomach as she scrambled from under the covers. She moved fast—too fast—nearly stumbling over her own feet as she open the bedroom door. The hallway stretched in darkness, shadows dancing against the walls as her footsteps echoed in haste.
She reached the bathroom, flicking on the light with a shaky hand. The newly installed toilet gleamed under the glow—just two weeks old, still pristine. She barely made it before the sickness overcame her, and she fell to her knees.
Her body convulsed as she vomited, one hand bracing the wall, the other pressed against the cold porcelain. The scent of lavender soap and lemon polish in the bathroom did little to help. She coughed sharply, throat raw, as her eyes watered from the force of it.
"Lyra?!" Lily's voice rang out, laced with alarm as she sprinted down the hallway and into the bathroom, finding her there, shaking and pale against the tiles.
"Are you okay?!"
Lyra didn't respond at first. Her breathing came in uneven bursts, chest rising and falling rapidly. She slowly lifted her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before grabbing a towel. She rinsed her hands, splashed water on her face, and brushed her lips clean, all in silence.
Finally, her voice came—barely above a whisper, laced with something between relief and dread.
"Y-Yes… I'm fine." She forced a breath through her lungs, a weak smile twitching at the corners of her lips. "Good news... Z-Zay will be here... soon."
She laughed faintly, but her eyes were distant—haunted. No matter how much she washed her hands, she couldn't shake the vision.
Lily slipped an arm around Lyra's waist, guiding her gently through the dark hallway. The warm light from candles flickered over their pale faces, casting dancing shadows along the walls. Lyra leaned against her, weak, and her breathing uneven. They reached the room, and with trembling steps, Lyra walked over to the bed with the help of Lily.
She collapsed onto the mattress, her arms falling open beside her like a pair of unfurled wings. The fabric of her nightclothes rustled softly against the silk sheets. She stared up at Lily with eyes still faintly glowing—gold and white, like distant stars burning behind a veil.
Lily looked at her, confusion pulling at her expression. "What do you mean… Zay will be here soon?"
Lyra's lips parted slowly. Her breath trembled in her throat. "I… I saw it," she whispered, the words fragile, barely audible above the distant rumble of thunder.
She turned her head just slightly, her voice soft but laced with warning. "I don't know when exactly he'll come home… but if he tries to return on his own… he'll die."
The room fell silent.
Lily's mouth opened as if to say something, but no words came. She nodded instead, her throat moving as she swallowed the lump building there. Her steps were quiet as she turned away, her bare feet nearly soundless against the wooden floor. She slipped from the room and disappeared into the hallway, the door gently clicking closed behind her.
Lyra lay still, her arms still spread across the bed like wings stilled mid-flight. Her eyes remained fixed on the ceiling as thunder rolled across the skies above the empire, each low boom rattling through the stone bones of the house. Rain beat softly against the windowpanes, a lullaby for the weary and the broken-hearted.
And after what felt like hours… maybe moments… her eyes fluttered shut again. Sleep took her, slow and silent, like a tide reclaiming the shore.