Shadows Beneath the Lantern Light

The Reaver’s blade missed by inches.

Lyria twisted instinctively, her sword rising just in time to deflect the fatal blow. Sparks flew as steel clashed against the unnatural edge of the Reaver’s weapon. Caelum was already on him, a burst of power erupting from his stance, slamming the intruder backward with enough force to crack the crystal ground beneath their feet.

The masked figure vanished into the shadows again.

And did not return.

Only silence remained.

Caelum stood there for several moments, eyes scanning the Nexus for any trace of the Reaver’s presence. Nothing. Just the hum of fading light.

Lyria exhaled shakily. “That… was close.”

“Too close,” Caelum muttered. “He breached the Nexus. That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Who was he?”

Caelum’s gaze hardened. “A Reaver. Once human. Now… corrupted by something worse.”

Lyria glanced at him, sweat still on her brow. “Do we have time to rest?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Then he said, “We need information. And supplies. There's a city near the outer edge of the Aether lands. We can stay there for the night. But we’ll move at dawn.”

The city of Vaelora was a miracle nestled in twilight.

Built into the cliffs over cascading crystal waterfalls, it glowed with arcane lanterns and drifting mist. A gentle magic warded off creatures of the dark. Floating bridges connected tall towers, and the streets buzzed with music and the scent of spiced food. It felt alive—untouched by the horrors of the outside world.

Lyria leaned over the balcony of their rented inn, watching people laugh and dance below.

“I can’t believe places like this still exist,” she said.

Caelum stood behind her, arms crossed, his expression soft for once. “Most people don’t even know this city exists. It stays hidden, veiled by old magic.”

“Why’d you bring us here?”

“Because even warriors need to breathe. And you needed a reason to smile again.”

Lyria turned her head slightly, her golden hair catching the lantern glow. “You say that like you don’t need to smile.”

He didn’t answer—but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

They spent the evening walking through the vibrant streets.

Vendors offered enchanted trinkets and relics. A masked juggler performed spells midair, juggling orbs of flame and water. Children chased glowing butterflies created by illusion magic.

Lyria pulled Caelum toward a stall selling honeyed fruit slices. He tried one. Made a face. She laughed.

“You don’t like sweets?” she asked.

“I like focus. Not fruit.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she teased.

They passed a scribe’s tower and a moonlit plaza where couples danced to a slow, haunting melody played on floating crystal harps.

When Lyria paused to watch, Caelum stood beside her, still and quiet. For a moment, the world felt normal.

“Ever dance before?” she asked.

Caelum gave her a sideways glance. “I’ve fought in a hundred wars.”

“That’s not a no.”

She grabbed his hand.

He tensed slightly, then let her lead him.

They stepped into the edge of the dance floor, their movements awkward at first. But the rhythm came slowly, like distant memory. Caelum’s hand on her waist, her fingers brushing his. The hum of magic around them.

“You’re not bad,” she whispered.

He leaned closer. “I’m learning.”

For a moment, it felt like something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, a flicker of something tender. Something human.

Lyria’s heart pounded harder than it had during any battle.

That night, they stayed in the same room.

Not by necessity. But choice.

The room had one bed. Caelum took the floor without hesitation. Lyria didn’t argue.

She lay beneath the soft covers, watching the dim lantern on the wall flicker shadows across the ceiling.

“Do you ever wish… things had been different?” she asked softly.

Caelum’s voice came from the dark. “I try not to. Regret doesn’t fix the past.”

“I still do. Wish it, I mean.”

A pause.

Then he said, “If I’d met you in another life… maybe I could’ve been someone else.”

She turned her head toward him. “You’re already more than you know.”

The silence stretched between them again, deeper now.

She didn’t say it, but she felt it—the desire to close the gap between them, to reach out, to find comfort in a world constantly ripping itself apart.

But they didn’t move.

Just breathed.

Together.

The next morning, they left early.

Vaelora’s gatekeeper gave them provisions and a scroll sealed with royal glyphs. A token of gratitude. Word of their battle at the spire had reached the city overnight. They were heroes here, even if the rest of the world didn’t know it.

They descended through the misty paths toward the edge of the broken cliffs.

And found the road ahead blocked.

A figure stood alone in the trail.

Armored in black and gold. Masked. Holding a halberd taller than a man.

Caelum froze.

“No…” he whispered.

Lyria’s hand found her sword. “Who is it?”

“Not him,” Caelum said. “Her.”

The armored figure removed her mask.

Sharp green eyes. Silver hair. A scar across her cheek.

Lyria felt a chill crawl up her spine.

“Who is she?” she asked.

Caelum’s voice was hollow.

“My sister.”

The woman raised her halberd.

“Caelum of the Fallen Sky,” she said. “You are charged with the highest crimes against the realms. Surrender. Or be judged.”

Caelum stepped forward.

“I won’t kneel to ghosts.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Then I’ll make you bleed for them.”