Nyx did not return with noise.
She returned with absence.
Lyra noticed it first during breakfast.
The bond hummed steadily—Kael laughing softly across the table, Selene arguing with Riven about training schedules—but something was… missing. The background thrum of the academy's magic, usually alive with whispers and movement, felt muted. As if the world had leaned away from her.
Lyra pressed a hand to her chest.
"You feel it too," Kael said quietly, eyes already on her.
"Like the air stepped back," Lyra murmured. "Like I'm standing in a hollow."
Selene frowned. "I don't feel anything."
Riven shook his head. "Me neither."
Lyra and Kael exchanged a look.
Nyx had learned.
Don't fight the Anchor, Lyra realized. Isolate her.
The first sign came in class.
Professor Halden paused mid-lecture, blinking. "Ms. Vale… could you repeat that?"
Lyra stared at him. "Repeat what? I didn't speak."
Murmurs rippled.
A girl two rows down whispered, "I thought I heard her."
Lyra's wolf stirred uneasily.
By midday, it had happened four times.
Words attributed to her she hadn't said. Emotions attributed to her she hadn't felt. Students avoided her gaze, confusion giving way to quiet discomfort.
Nyx Raventhorn was rewriting perception.
That evening, Lyra stood alone in the moon garden, trying to breathe through the weight pressing in on her chest. The roses had stopped blooming where she walked. Petals dulled, color draining softly—not dying, just… withdrawing.
"You're pulling back," Lyra whispered to herself. "You're protecting me."
The garden did not respond.
Slow footsteps crunched on gravel behind her.
"Talking to plants now?" Nyx's voice drifted softly.
Lyra turned.
Nyx stood beyond the garden's threshold, immaculate as ever, violet eyes glowing faintly. No guards. No unclaimed. No ritual circle.
Just her.
"What do you want?" Lyra asked.
Nyx smiled gently. "You."
Lyra's jaw tightened. "You already tried that."
"And failed," Nyx admitted calmly. "Because I attacked what you share."
She stepped closer—but the roses recoiled, thorns rising.
Nyx paused. Studied it. "Ah. You're learning too."
Lyra crossed her arms. "You won't reach Kael through me."
"No," Nyx said softly. "I'll reach you through you."
The air shimmered.
Suddenly, Lyra was not in the garden.
She stood in a long corridor of mirrors.
Each one reflected her—but different.
In one, she stood alone, eyes hollow, the bond thread severed and bleeding light.
In another, she was surrounded by people—but they stared at her with fear.
In a third, Kael turned away from her, jaw tight, duty weighing heavier than love.
"Stop," Lyra whispered.
Nyx's voice echoed everywhere. "This is what happens when anchors remain unregulated."
Lyra spun. "You're inside my mind."
Nyx appeared behind her reflection. "No. I'm inside the space you create."
Lyra's chest tightened painfully. "Get out."
"Not until you see it," Nyx replied softly. "Anchors don't just stabilize bonds. They expose them. You make people confront truths they've buried."
The mirrors shifted.
Lyra saw Selene crying alone, terrified of being left behind.
Saw Riven standing over a fallen rival, guilt etched into his face.
Saw unclaimed students watching bonded pairs with aching envy.
"You think I caused that," Lyra whispered.
"No," Nyx said. "You force it to surface."
Lyra shook her head violently. "That doesn't make me dangerous."
Nyx stepped closer. "It makes you lonely."
The mirrors darkened.
"You don't belong among them," Nyx continued quietly. "They love you now. But when the academy realizes peace requires your distance… they'll choose stability."
Lyra's breath came shallow. "Kael won't."
Nyx tilted her head. "Won't he?"
The image shifted.
Kael stood before the council—older, weary, crown heavy on his head. Lyra stood behind a barrier, unreachable.
"He leads," Nyx said softly. "And you anchor alone."
"Enough!" Lyra cried.
The mirrors shattered.
Lyra gasped—and found herself back in the moon garden, on her knees, hands pressed to the ground. Nyx stood a few steps away, watching intently.
Tears slid down Lyra's face—not from pain, but from the crushing weight of possibility.
"You're trying to make me leave," Lyra whispered.
Nyx did not deny it. "Voluntary exile. The most effective kind."
"You won't touch Kael again," Lyra said fiercely.
Nyx smiled. "I don't need to."
She leaned in slightly. "Because the most dangerous thing to an Anchor… is believing they're the problem."
Nyx stepped back.
"And now," she said softly, "we wait."
She vanished.
Lyra didn't tell Kael everything.
Not at first.
She told him she was tired. That the academy felt heavy. That her power felt… distant.
Kael watched her carefully. Too carefully.
That night, when she woke shaking from dreams of mirrors and silence, he held her without questions. But the bond pulsed—uneasy now, as if something pressed against it from the outside.
Days passed.
The isolation grew.
Students stopped approaching her directly. Professors spoke around her, not to her. Doors closed softly when she entered rooms. Not hostility.
Caution.
"She makes things… intense," Lyra overheard someone whisper. "Being near her feels like standing under judgment."
Lyra stood frozen in the corridor long after they left.
That evening, she found Kael on the training field, striking harder than necessary.
"Stop," she said gently.
He turned, breathing hard. "They're afraid of you."
She swallowed. "I know."
"They shouldn't be."
"They don't choose it."
Kael stepped closer, hands framing her face. "Listen to me. You are not the danger."
Lyra's voice trembled. "What if I am? What if peace only exists when I'm not in the room?"
His expression tightened.
Nyx's strategy worked because it wasn't false.
It was incomplete.
The breaking point came during assembly.
An unclaimed student stepped forward, voice shaking. "Since Lyra Vale awakened, my nightmares returned. My magic surges when she's near. I can't control it."
Murmurs spread.
Another stood. "I feel exposed around her. Like she sees everything I don't want seen."
The Headmistress turned slowly to Lyra. "Ms. Vale… do you deny this effect?"
Lyra opened her mouth.
No sound came.
She felt it then—her power pulling inward, retreating instinctively. The anchor withdrawing to prevent harm.
Kael stepped forward. "This isn't—"
Lyra caught his hand.
She looked up at the assembly, heart pounding.
"I don't deny it," she said softly.
Gasps echoed.
Kael stared at her. "Lyra—"
"I don't deny it," she repeated. "But I never chose it."
Silence followed.
The Headmistress nodded slowly. "We will convene to discuss protective measures."
Protective.
Lyra heard the word Nyx wanted her to hear.
That night, Lyra stood at the academy gates alone, cloak wrapped tightly around her. The wards hummed, uncertain.
Kael appeared behind her, breathless. "You're leaving."
She turned, tears spilling freely now. "Just for a while."
"No," he said, gripping her hands. "This is her doing."
"I know," Lyra whispered. "And that's why it has to be my choice."
Kael shook his head. "You're not the problem."
"Maybe not," she said. "But I'm the pressure point."
The bond pulsed painfully—stretching, not breaking.
"I need to understand this power," Lyra continued. "Before it costs everyone else something they didn't agree to."
Kael pulled her into his arms. "Then I go with you."
She sobbed. "You can't. They'll say you abandoned them."
"Let them," he said fiercely.
She looked up at him. "And that's why I love you. But this… this is something I have to face alone."
The bond shimmered—not dimming, not severing.
Waiting.
From the shadows beyond the gates, Nyx watched silently.
Not smiling.
Not triumphant.
Thoughtful.
Because Lyra Vale was doing exactly what Nyx had predicted.
But not for the reason Nyx expected.
And that difference… might change everything.