LYRIAN AND REONE
The hidden room still glowed in the torchlight, its flickering amber hue casting restless shadows across the carved stone walls. The air here was warmer—almost comfortable—and for the first time since the battle, Lyrian allowed herself to breathe.
She stepped forward slowly, taking in the small but fully furnished chamber: shelves lined with books and canned supplies, a bed pushed neatly against the wall, and a small iron stove in the corner. Too domestic. Too human. For someone like Damon, it felt… wrong.
"This is insane," she muttered, her voice echoing faintly. "He had a secret apartment in an old tower?"
Reone leaned against the wall nearby, his face pale but steadier than before. "Well," he said dryly, "I'm not complaining. At least it's not freezing."
Lyrian ignored him, moving toward a row of cupboards. Inside, she found neatly stacked jars of dried herbs, preserved fruit, and sealed containers that glowed faintly red—enchanted rations, probably charged with restorative magic.
She raised an eyebrow. "Guess even dark sorcerers get hungry. Think it's safe?"
"Don't know," Reone said. "But unless you'd rather starve, it's all we've got."
That ended the debate.
They each grabbed two of the fruits.
Lyrian turned back to him, noticing the exhaustion in his eyes and the stiffness in his movements. He was pretending to be fine, but she knew better. She wished she could help him somehow, but she knew that the best she could do for him right now was force him to rest. And it would have to be here, in Damon's place.
This brought down her mood significantly.
"We're spending the night here, aren't we?" she asked him softly, almost nervously.
Reone looked at her for a long moment—his expression softer than usual, almost pitying. He figured that this was a far cry from the five-star hotels that a performer like her was used to.
"Look, I want to get out of here too, but we don't know where we are or where to go. And at our current state, if we tried braving both the night and the magical elements, we probably wouldn't survive. This is our only option."
She nodded, swallowing hard. "Fine. But you're taking the bed."
She didn't mean to go there, but it had been on her mind and she couldn't stop herself from blurting it out. And it was too late to take it back.
He blinked. "What?"
"I'll take the couch," she said firmly.
"And before you go all macho-man on me about how you 'don't need the bed,' just know this isn't up for discussion. You're hurt, and you need to rest somewhere comfortable."
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "It's not macho, it's called being a gentleman."
"Not when you do it," she shot back.
Reone didn't bother denying it. He just looked faintly amused—and tired. Then, with a deceptively innocent smile that always drove her crazy, he said, "You know, there's a third option. We could share the bed. There's enough room."
Lyrian froze. She'd considered that too—and quickly dismissed it. The idea of being that close to him again… it was dangerous. Little good would come from it, she was sure.
"Don't look at me like that, Lyrian," he said gently. "I'm not gonna bite. I can barely move."
"Uh… I know, Reone." Her voice came out awkwardly. "It's just that—with our history—it feels like a bad idea."
She instantly regretted bringing up their past. It was easier to be in the same room if they pretended that their relationship didn't exist.
Reone's eyes softened, though his tone carried a teasing edge. "So it's not me you don't trust—it's you?"
Lyrian's eyes widened. He'd hit the nerve she didn't want to expose. "Don't flatter yourself, macho man. I am so over you," she said, crossing her arms.
Reone smirked on the inside.
"Uh-huh," he said, unconvinced.
She was lying and both of them knew it. He'd seen the longing looks she gave him—which probably mirrored the ones he gave her. But he didn't call her out on it; this was hardly the place or the time.
And after she broke up with him last time and shattered his heart, he was reluctant to go there again.
"Let's just… get some sleep," he said finally, ending the conversation. He turned away quickly, limping to the bed. After a moment, he grabbed a spare blanket and pillow, then turned back to her. "Here," he muttered, avoiding her eyes.
Their fingers brushed as she took them. Both of them froze, then pulled back as if burned.
"Thanks," Lyrian said quickly.
"Yeah," Reone murmured, his voice unreadable.
She busied herself arranging the blankets on the couch. It was something to do—something to keep her mind from wandering to how close he'd been just now.
When she finally lay down, she glanced over to see Reone settling into the bed. He stared up at the ceiling casually.
"Good night," he said flatly.
That arrogant tone made her roll her eyes. "Same to you," she muttered, pulling the blanket around her.
The couch wasn't exactly comfortable, but it wasn't bad. Lyrian exhaled deeply, letting her exhaustion sink in. The silence of the underground chamber pressed around her, and for the first time since everything went wrong, she felt the full weight of it.
Her friends. Mia. Rhys. The chaos they'd left behind.
She wondered how they were—if they were all okay.
Probably not, she guessed sadly.
She dismissed the thought immediately. Lyrian told herself to be hopeful because negative thoughts were definitely not going to help her in any way.
She blinked hard, willing back the sting of tears.
She turned her head slightly. Across the room, Reone's head was casually resting on his hand, his eyes closed.
It was obvious to her that he clearly wasn't plagued with the same worries as her.
Lyrian sighed softly and rolled back toward the wall, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.
She bit her lips and blinked back the tears.
It was weird.
She had been alone before—but somehow, here with Reone, she felt lonelier.
Sleep came quickly, and she welcomed it as it dragged her into a place where she wasn't haunted by her complicated feelings for the guy not too far from her.
REONE
The air around Reone twisted and darkened.
He was standing in a place that wasn't real—black, endless, and cold. His pulse thundered in his ears as he spun around, searching for light, for sound, for anything.
"Lyrian?" he called out. No answer.
Then—softly—her voice echoed through the void. "Reone."
He turned. And there she was.
Lyrian stood before him in a shimmering gown, her hair loose and glowing faintly under invisible light. She looked like she had the day of the wedding—graceful, radiant.
"Lyrian," he breathed.
"Dance with me," she whispered, offering her hand.
Something deep inside him screamed don't. This wasn't going to end well. But her eyes—those warm, luminous eyes—pulled him in. She took his hand and guided it to her waist. Music rose from nowhere. Soft. Beautiful. Wrong.
They began to move.
For a while, the darkness didn't matter. Just her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin, the ghost of her laugh.
And then—voices.
He turned though he definitely didn't want to.
"Reone," someone called. "Really? After everything that happened, you want to get into a relationship?"
He froze. Rhys's voice. Then another—Varek's. Cold. Condemning.
His blood ran cold. They were standing there, shadows of people that he loved.
He recognized the figures as the illusions the Sisterhood had cast earlier today—but he didn't remember that they weren't real.
All he knew was that they were furious—and right to be.
"You know how I feel about her," Reone reasoned with Rhys.
Varek sneered. "He thinks he deserves love."
"How can he, after killing us?"
Reone's chest tightened painfully.
"I didn't kill you," he whispered.
"You failed to protect us," Varek hissed. "It's your fault as well as Damon's."
"No…" Reone stumbled back. "Please. Don't say that."
He turned to Lyrian—but she was fading, her expression full of sorrow. "Lyrian!" he called out. "Tell them—please!"
She disappeared from his view though he could hear her calling his name.
"Lyrian, where are you?" he called.
Nothing changed.
Rhys's and Varek's laughter echoed—cruel, malicious, growing louder and louder until it became unbearable.
Lyrian's voice didn't stop either.
Reone dropped to his knees, clutching his head, feeling like he was losing his mind. "Stop it!" he shouted.
The laughter didn't stop.
"Make it stop!" he yelled.
He woke up gasping.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and grabbed it, thinking it was a threat—until he heard Lyrian's voice again.
"Reone, are you okay?" she asked.
He squeezed her hand gently to make sure that she was real this time. When he felt himself touching her solid flesh, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the warm skin.