Pyrehold, Day Twenty-Four
It was just a smile.
Small.
Brief.
Gone in a blink.
But it was seen.
And in Pyrehold, that was enough to spark a thousand whispered rumors.
It happened during rations.
Fenra returned with the tray, accompanied this time by a second guard — a lanky man with nervous eyes and a hand that hovered a little too close to his hilt.
Toy stood as usual to meet them, his cursed hand hidden in his coat. He took the tray and thanked Fenra with a nod.
The second guard lingered.
"You've been quiet down here," the man said. "Too quiet."
Toy didn't answer.
Lara sat on her stone slab, chained loosely, her silver hair braided behind her shoulders. She didn't move. Didn't speak.
"Some of the boys upstairs think the Witch is playing you," the guard said. "You get too close; she sings a spell into your ear. That how it is?"
Toy's jaw clenched.
"I suggest you leave."
The man smirked, clearly emboldened by Lara's silence. "Bet she whispers all kinds of things to you, doesn't she? Maybe you like being her little lapdog."
Then he did something foolish.
He winked at Lara.
And for a heartbeat, the room dropped in temperature.
Not sharply.
Not enough to frost the walls.
But enough for the torches to flicker in warning.
Toy stepped between them instantly. "That's enough."
The guard snorted, but Fenra was already pulling him back by the elbow. "Come on," she muttered. "Let's not be here when the air freezes."
As they turned, the guard glanced back one more time.
That's when it happened.
Lara smiled.
Not mockery.
Not madness.
Just a small, knowing smile.
And the guard froze mid-step.
"…She smiled," he whispered.
Fenra grabbed his arm tighter. "Move. Now."
The door sealed behind them.
That night, Toy sat with Lara again. Closer now. The cursed warmth of his body balancing the chill that always radiated from hers.
"You did that on purpose," he said.
She raised an eyebrow. "Did what?"
"Smiled."
She looked at the door. "He was afraid of the wrong things."
"Then what should he fear?"
Her voice lowered. "Not my magic. Not Kaelith. Not the cold."
She looked at Toy.
"They should fear that I am feeling again."
Toy swallowed.
It wasn't a threat.
It was a promise.
A shift.
A crack in the ice.
"I used to smile all the time," she said quietly. "Before the Empire. Before the Vault. Before they bound Kaelith's body and called it justice."
Her hand grazed the ground.
"I didn't just lose my power here. I lost my name. My laughter. The things that made me… me."
Toy nodded slowly.
"But you smiled today," he said.
"Because you're here," she said.
Another pause.
Then she asked, "Does that frighten you?"
Toy shook his head. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because it means we're not dead yet."
Lara blinked. Then, very slowly, she smiled again.
No one else saw it this time.
No guards. No walls. No Primordials watching from the void.
Just her.
And him.
And Kaelith, the great white serpent, who coiled silently behind her, eyes glowing like twin moons.
In the upper levels of Pyrehold, guards whispered that night.
They said the Witch had smiled.
And they feared it more than any scream.
Because a smiling Witch… meant hope.
And hope was the most dangerous magic of all.