The dream returned.
Lyra was running through a temple of mirrors, every reflection showing a different version of her—some younger, some older, some with golden eyes like Kael's. In each, she wore a different expression: sorrow, rage, love, despair.
One mirror cracked as she passed it. Another one whispered her name.
But the final one—she paused there.
It showed her standing in a silver dress, barefoot, smiling... beside Kael. The moment she reached out to touch the glass, it shattered inward—and the darkness swallowed her whole.
She bolted upright in bed, gasping.
This time, she didn't wake up alone.
Something groaned from the chair across the room.
Kael.
He was slumped over in the armchair like a dead prince, limbs dangling at odd angles, wrapped in a fluffy blanket covered in cartoon ducks.
Lyra blinked. "Why... why are you wearing that?"
Kael stirred, cracked one eye open. "I think your grandmother put it on me. I was cold. Also, I didn't want to die."
"From hypothermia?"
"No. From her wrath. She slapped me with a spatula when I tried to leave."
Lyra laughed, groggily. "Yeah, she does that."
Kael looked around. "Where are we?"
"My grandma's cottage. You passed out after the Harrowshade incident. You were glowing, then muttering about runes and cinnamon rolls. I figured you were either unlocking lost powers or having a snack craving."
He groaned. "I vote both."
"Rest first," Lyra said, getting up to pour tea. "Grandma says you need to stay until you can walk without seeing dragons."
Kael rubbed his forehead. "They were tiny dragons. On fire. Probably symbolic."
She handed him tea. "Symbolic of what?"
"I dunno. Rebirth? My lack of sleep? The time I tried to reheat soup with my powers and exploded the microwave?"
She laughed harder, nearly spilling the tea. "Wait—you exploded a microwave?"
"Only slightly. It kind of... became sentient for like three seconds. Then caught fire."
Just then, her grandmother—a tiny whirlwind of scarves, braids, and sass—bustled in.
"Oh good, the wizard's awake," she declared, clapping her hands. "You owe me a chair, young man. You set the last one on fire when you twitched in your sleep."
Kael blinked. "I did?"
"You also snored in three languages," the old woman added, before turning to Lyra. "I made waffles. Eat before your fates catch up with you again."
As she vanished into the kitchen, Lyra leaned in and whispered, "She thinks you're a lost prince from another dimension."
Kael shrugged. "She's not wrong."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Wait... seriously?"
Kael gave her a sly smile. "I mean, I have been royalty in at least three past lives. One time I had wings made of starlight. Another time I ruled a city that floated."
She stared at him. "Did you just humble-brag about being a sky-king?"
He sipped his tea innocently. "Only a little."
When they finally sat down for breakfast, the moment shifted—softened. Lyra watched Kael eat waffles like a man who hadn't seen food in centuries.
"Question," she said between bites.
"Answer."
"In the dream… the one with the mirrors. I saw versions of me. Different lives, different ages. One of them looked like... like she was happy. With you."
Kael nodded. "That's a memory echo. Happens when you get close to a soul-bond."
"You mean like... like we were lovers in all those lives?"
He set his fork down and looked at her gently. "Yes. Sometimes enemies who fell back in love. Sometimes strangers who met just once. Sometimes married for fifty years. Always you and me."
Lyra's heart skipped. "That's kind of romantic."
"It's also kind of cursed," he added. "Because every time we get too close, they reset everything. They don't want love like ours to survive."
Lyra frowned. "Why?"
"Because it breaks their order. The ones who keep the timelines straight—Harrowshades, Threadweavers, whatever you want to call them—they think love distorts fate."
Lyra snorted. "Love is fate."
He smiled. "Exactly."
Just then, her grandmother returned holding a large, dusty book. "I found this in your mother's old things," she said, placing it on the table. "You might want to read it."
The book had no title, only a silver moon embossed on the leather cover.
As soon as Lyra touched it, something clicked inside her—like a lock turning.
Flash.
She was standing beneath a blood-red sky, cloaked in silver, surrounded by whispers.
Flash.
Kael bleeding in her arms, whispering, "You have to forget me."
Flash.
A child's laughter—her own—while a woman with golden eyes sang a lullaby in a language long dead.
Lyra snapped the book shut, gasping.
"Are you alright?" Kael asked, grabbing her hand.
"I... I think this belonged to my mother."
The grandmother nodded. "She left it for you, said it would only open when the stars aligned again. Whatever that means."
Kael's expression darkened. "It means the countdown has started. Lyra, that book... it's a memory key."
"A what?"
"It holds fragments of your sealed past. Things even I don't remember. If we can unlock all of them, we might break the cycle."
She opened it again—slowly this time.
On the first page, a single line was written:
"If you're reading this, it means you found him again."
Lyra felt the world tilt.
Her mother knew.
The next page had a small, painted sigil—the same one that had appeared on Lyra's wrist.
Kael traced it with a fingertip. "The Eclipse Bond."
And beneath it, a warning written in crimson ink:
"They'll come for you at the next moonrise. Be ready."
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