The sun had already dipped behind the mountain ridge by the time Lyra, Arden, and Friezzar left the guild hall. The sky was streaked with deep orange and violet, the first stars trembling awake. Arnvale's lamps flickered to life, warm golden light spreading across cobblestone paths and wooden fences.
It was the first evening Friezzar had ever seen.
The first twilight.
The first fading of daylight.
And the puppet stopped walking.
Not abruptly—no alarm, no panic.
He simply froze.
Lyra glanced back.
"Friezzar? Are you okay?"
Friezzar lifted his head slowly, eyes widening as he stared at the sky. The light he loved so much—sunlight, bright and warm—was fading.
The shadows stretched.
The color drained.
The world darkened.
And something inside him tightened painfully.
"…Li…ght…" he whispered, voice roughening. "Li…ght… gone…"
Lyra's expression softened.
"No… it's not gone."
She walked back to him, gently taking his wooden hand. "The sun comes back in the morning."
Friezzar didn't understand "morning."
He didn't understand the cycle of day and night.
He only understood one truth:
His first comfort…
His first warmth…
His first sense of safety…
…was disappearing.
His lights dimmed slightly—carved runes cooling, like fear sinking into his core.
Arden noticed and exhaled a long, tired breath.
"Lyra, we need to get him inside before he has a meltdown in the middle of town."
Lyra nodded, squeezing Friezzar's hand again.
"Come with us. You'll be safe. Promise."
Friezzar hesitated.
Then followed.
Lyra's Cottage
Lyra lived on the edge of Arnvale, close enough to walk to the guild but far enough that the night breeze carried the sound of crickets and swaying leaves.
Her cottage was small, simple:
A wooden home with ivy along the side
A stone path leading to a round door
Warm light spilling through the windows
Herbal scents drifting from the garden
Wind chimes ringing softly
The moment they approached, Friezzar stopped again.
His head tilted.
The soft glow in his eyes pulsed faintly.
A new feeling stirred inside him—
Something almost like…
Home?
Lyra opened the door and stepped inside.
Warm lamplight flooded the interior.
Friezzar stood at the threshold, staring.
Arden nudged him lightly. "Inside."
Friezzar stepped across the entrance—and instantly froze.
The wooden floor creaked under his weight.
The lantern on Lyra's table glowed warmly.
Her shelves were lined with jars and books.
A hearth crackled with fire.
Fire.
Friezzar locked onto it.
He moved toward the hearth slowly, drawn to the flickering light and warmth. The fire reflected in his hollow eyes, making them shimmer.
Lyra laughed softly.
"You like the fire, too?"
Friezzar crouched in front of the hearth, hands hovering dangerously close to the flames. Lyra rushed over.
"Wait—don't touch—!"
The puppet paused, hand inches from the fire.
"…hot…?" he whispered.
Lyra nodded vigorously.
"Yes! Too hot. It can hurt you."
Friezzar stared at the flames again…
then lowered his hand slowly.
He understood.
Not fully.
Not clearly.
But he understood "don't."
Settling In
Lyra fetched a blanket—
then hesitated, staring at it.
Friezzar tilted his head.
"Are you… tired?" Lyra asked.
The puppet blinked.
He didn't know what "tired" meant.
He didn't need sleep.
But the long day—
the sun, the noise, the judgment, the fear—
had all made something inside him feel heavy.
He sat on the floor, cross-legged, perfectly still.
Arden leaned against a wall.
"So what's the plan?" he asked Lyra. "Take him out for walks? Teach him words? Make sure he doesn't accidentally eat anyone?"
Lyra shot him a glare.
"You're not helping."
"Wasn't trying to."
Lyra turned to Friezzar.
"I'll teach you more words tomorrow. And… um…"
She glanced awkwardly at Arden. "Should we… feed him? Do constructs eat dinner?"
Friezzar tilted his head.
Arden sighed.
"He devours essence, not meat. Just… no monsters around here. He'll have to… fast."
Friezzar didn't know the word "fast."
But the hunger inside him—
always present, always quiet—
remained manageable.
Instead, he studied Lyra's lantern again, fascinated.
Lyra sat beside him, lifting the lantern and placing it gently in his hands.
"Here. You can hold it."
Friezzar looked down at the lantern.
Carefully—
delicately—
he curled his fingers around the handle.
His runes brightened.
"…light…"
Lyra smiled warmly.
"Yes. Just like before."
Arden muttered, "If it imprints on that thing, we're doomed."
But Friezzar was too absorbed in the lantern's warm glow to care.
He didn't devour it.
He didn't drain it.
He simply held it.
Cherished it.
Arden's eyes softened, despite himself.
"…it's acting like a child," he murmured.
Lyra's expression warmed.
"He's new. Everything is new to him."
Friezzar looked up at her.
His voice was small, fragile.
"…safe…"
Lyra touched his arm gently.
"You're safe too."
Friezzar lowered his head.
He didn't know why those words made his chest glow brighter.
But they did.
Night Fear
Hours passed.
The cottage quieted.
Lyra yawned, settling onto her bed.
Arden stayed near the door, half asleep in a chair.
Friezzar remained on the floor, lantern held close, watching the shadows dance across the room.
For a while…
He was calm.
Then—
The lantern flickered.
Just once.
Its light dimmed.
Friezzar's chest locked with panic.
The shadows expanded.
The corners of the room grew dark.
The walls felt too far, too open.
The ceiling too high.
His first memory—
awakening in darkness—
surged violently through his mind.
He stood abruptly.
Lyra stirred.
"Friezzar…?"
The lantern flickered again.
Friezzar's hands shook.
"No…
No…
Light…"
Lyra sat up instantly.
"Oh—oh no—Arden, he's scared of the dark!"
Friezzar's breathing—though he had no lungs—came in rapid, hollow rasps. His runes dimmed—
flickering like a dying flame.
The lantern dimmed further.
Friezzar panicked.
"No—no—no—Light—LIGHT—"
He dropped to his knees, gripping the lantern desperately, trembling like a terrified child.
Lyra rushed to him, gathering him into her arms.
"Hey—hey—shhh—shhh—it's okay. I'm here. You're okay."
Friezzar shook violently.
The shadows felt like the dungeon before awakening—
cold, empty, endless.
Arden lit a second lamp instantly.
But Friezzar didn't look at that one.
He buried his face into Lyra's shoulder.
Her warmth.
Her light.
Her safety.
His trembling slowly eased.
Lyra held him gently.
"I'm here," she whispered over and over. "You're not in the dark. You're not alone."
Arden watched, stunned by the raw, childlike vulnerability.
After several minutes, Friezzar finally calmed.
Lyra stroked the carved ridges on his back softly.
"You don't have to be afraid," she whispered. "You're not in that dungeon anymore."
Friezzar lifted his head.
His voice was soft.
"…alone…?"
Lyra shook her head.
"No. You're not alone."
Friezzar stared at her—
—and something inside him shifted.
A new word.
A new meaning.
A new anchor.
"…Ly…ra…" he whispered.
Lyra's heart stopped.
Arden's jaw dropped.
"You—he—HE SAID YOUR NAME!"
Friezzar lowered his head, leaning against her again.
"Lyra…
safe…"
Lyra hugged him tighter.
And outside the cottage…
something watched.
In the trees.
In the shadows.
A figure cloaked in black.
Whispering:
"So the puppet lives."
A pair of glowing eyes narrowed.
"And it's learning."