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The moon hung lower than usual, amber and heavy in the velvet sky, casting strange light through the small cottage windows. Kael stood by the pane, unmoving, eyes narrowing as the shadows outside stretched unnaturally long.
"They're early," he murmured, half to himself, half to the quiet wind that had begun to hum against the glass.
Lyra sat cross-legged on the floor, a leather-bound book open before her. The golden glyphs on the pages pulsed softly, responding to her touch like they recognized her. Her fingers hesitated over one line—an inscription written in a language she had never learned, yet understood instantly.
"They're coming for me," she said, her voice small, but firm.
Kael turned slowly, meeting her eyes. "Yes."
A beat passed. Then another. He hadn't even tried to deny it.
She raised a brow. "You're really bad at comforting people."
"I'm not here to comfort you," he replied, stepping forward. "I'm here to protect you."
She let out a soft, exasperated laugh. "Very knightly."
"Only without the horse. Or the armor. Or the… respect for authority."
A flash of a grin played across her lips, but the tension never left her eyes. The shadows outside thickened, the warmth of the cottage beginning to thin as an unnatural chill crept in.
Three sharp knocks shattered the silence.
Kael's head snapped toward the door. Lyra's grandmother paused mid-stir at the stove, her back stiffening.
"That's not the baker," the old woman muttered.
Kael moved to the door, placing one palm against the wood. He closed his eyes. "Null signatures. Two of them."
Lyra frowned. "Null what now?"
"Void-walkers," he said, voice grim. "They're not supposed to be able to track you. Not yet."
The knocks came again, softer this time, as if mocking their delay.
Her grandmother dropped her ladle and snatched a crooked broom from the corner. "Kael. Step back."
He blinked. "What are you going to do, sweep them away?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she slammed the base of the broom against the wooden floor.
A low pulse rippled through the house. The walls shimmered faintly, as if a second layer of reality snapped into place. Outside, the air shifted—the knockers paused.
"You warded the house with a broom?" Kael asked, stunned.
The old woman squinted at him. "Boy, if I could turn back time, you think I'd waste my spells on pretty walls?"
Kael raised a hand. "Respect."
But then came a whisper. Not from the door. Not from outside.
From inside the walls.
"Lyra…"
Her name, drawn out like a thread unraveling. She flinched. Kael moved closer to her instinctively.
A hum began to build in her ears. A voice—no, voices—layered over each other. Male, female, old, young. They all spoke the same message:
"Choose again. Forget again. Or he will burn."
Kael's grip on her arm tightened. "Don't listen. They're trying to break the bond."
A gust of wind burst through the room, extinguishing the lanterns. The book before Lyra flipped open on its own. More symbols burned bright across the pages.
She stared.
And then she saw it again—
The battlefield of stars.
Kael's chest bleeding.
Her hand pressed to his cheek.
His voice, broken but steady: "Love you? Even in my next life."
"Kael," she whispered. "I saw you die."
His face was still. "You did. Four times."
"And I forgot. Every time?"
He nodded once.
The door cracked. Then shattered.
Two figures floated through the splinters. They wore robes of rippling void, their faces featureless—white masks that gleamed with an inner cold. They didn't walk. They hovered, silent as tombs, their presence a weight in the chest.
Kael stepped in front of her.
"Stand down," one of them spoke, not with a mouth, but directly into their minds.
Kael summoned flame to both hands. "Not this time."
The figures raised their hands—and the fire in Kael's palms died instantly.
He staggered. "Damn it. They're null-binders."
Lyra pushed forward, standing at Kael's side. Her pulse roared in her ears.
"You don't get to erase me again," she said.
The masked figure tilted its head. The voice returned, inside her skull.
"You are an echo that does not belong. You will forget. Or be forgotten."
Lyra clenched her fists. "Try me."
And just like that—her eyes burned gold.
The air cracked around her. A shockwave burst from her chest, hurling the Void-walkers into the far wall. They shattered like glass, vanishing in streaks of black smoke.
Silence fell. The firelight returned, flickering nervously.
Kael stared at her, mouth parted slightly. "Your core activated…"
"I didn't mean to," she breathed.
"That was… ancient-level energy. Lyra—your cycle's accelerating."
She looked down at her hands. They still glowed faintly.
From the table, the book flipped again. A new line burned across the page:
"One of you must die to break the seal."
Kael's face darkened. "That's not a prophecy. That's a command."
Lyra shook her head. "No. We're not doing this again."
Her grandmother, who had remained unshaken, pulled a small leather pouch from the cupboard and dropped it on the table. "Then you'd better get moving."
"Where?" Lyra asked.
"The Hollow Vault," the old woman said. "It's where your mother hid the last shard of your memory. And the only place the Walkers can't breach."
Kael nodded. "Then we go now."
Her grandmother handed Lyra a folded map. "It's a three-day walk. Don't lose the path. And don't look back."
Lyra hesitated. "Will you be safe?"
The old woman smiled, her eyes glinting. "Darling, I was throwing hexes before you were born. Let them try."
As they stepped out into the night, Kael reached for her hand. She took it, lacing their fingers together.
"I remember your laugh," he said softly. "From a life where we lived on a boat and fished at dawn."
She looked up at him, surprised.
"And I remember your voice," she said. "From a dream where we danced beneath cherry trees."
Kael grinned. "So you do remember."
"Little pieces," she said, smiling. "But they're growing."
They walked into the darkness together, the moon watching above like a silent witness. Behind them, the ashes of the Void-walkers blew away on the wind.
And far beyond the trees, something ancient stirred… watching.
Waiting.
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