Chapter 6: Bound By Curiosity

The grove felt alive in the morning light, its quiet beauty a stark contrast to the many secrets Joren and Lyria sought to clear up. The brook whispered softly over smooth stones, its voice twisted with the distant call of a bird hidden among the canopy of oak and willow. Joren crouched near the brook, his tools and map spread across a flat rock. His hand hovered over the map, fingers twitching with frustration as he traced its mysterious carvings.

"It doesn't add up," Joren muttered, tapping the edge of the map with a charcoal-stained finger. "This pattern should align with the bridge carvings, but here—this symbol—it breaks the sequence."

Lyria stood a few steps away, her back turned to him as she knelt among a patch of wild herbs. The soft rustle of her movements was deliberate, a careful act of both gathering and watching. "Perhaps the sequence isn't meant to align," she offered, her tone hesitant.

Joren glanced over his shoulder, arching an eyebrow. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

Straightening, Lyria tucked a sprig of lavender into the pouch at her side and faced him. "It means you're looking for logic where there might be none. The bridge's markings weren't created by inventors or engineers, Joren. They're ancient, tied to something far older than either of our nations."

"That's convenient." He turned back to the map, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Just chalk it up to the unknown mysteries of Velmoran superstition, and we're done."

Lyria took a step closer, her brows knitting together. "It's not superstition. It's balance. The bridge—this map—they're connected to the river. The river sustains life, but it also takes it. It's not something you can reduce to gears and cogs."

"Balance," Joren echoed, letting the word hang in the air as he looked at her. "What kind of balance drowns entire villages? Or cuts people off from the truth?"

Her expression faltered, her gaze shifting to the ground. "You think I don't know what the river can do?" she said quietly.

Joren hesitated. There was rawness in her voice that cut through his frustration, and he found himself watching her more closely. "What happened?"

Lyria's hands stiffened around the strap of her pouch. "When I was a child, my mother warned the village elders about a drought. She said the river was changing, that it would demand a price if we didn't prepare. They laughed at her, said she was chasing shadows." Her voice hardened, though her eyes remained distant. "The drought came, just as she said it would. We lost everything—our crops, our home, my family. The river took it all."

The load of her words settled between them, silencing the grove save for the brook's steady murmur. Joren leaned back, his gaze fixed on the map but his mind elsewhere. "That's... not fair," he said finally.

"No," Lyria agreed, her tone sharper now. "It's not. But the river doesn't care about fair."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the unspoken tension between them softening into something more fragile.

"Maybe the bridge wasn't meant to divide us at all," Lyria said, her voice almost a whisper.

Joren looked up at her, his lack of conviction giving way to a flicker of something else—hope, perhaps, or just curiosity. "Maybe," he said, his tone softer now. "Or maybe it's a challenge. A way to force us to see what we've been blind to."

Lyria's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. "That's a very Caldrisian way of thinking."

"And what's the Velmoran way?"

"To listen," she said simply.

The faint illumination from the lantern created elongated shadows in Joren's workshop. The environment was scattered, brimming with incomplete devices and an array of tools, yet a certain structure with the apparent chaos for someone who observed attentively. Lyria positioned herself by the entrance, her arms folded as she examined the space.

"It is... unique," she remarked, her eyes fixed on a shelf adorned with glass vials containing luminous liquids.

"Different how?" Joren asked, setting the map down on a cluttered table.

"It's so... mechanical," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Everything in Velmora is connected to the land. Organic. But this—" she gestured vaguely at a device resembling a skeletal bird. "It feels... disconnected."

"Disconnected?" Joren repeated, a touch of defensiveness creeping into his tone. "These are tools. They're meant to improve lives, not mimic nature."

"Do they?" Lyria asked, stepping further into the room. "Improve lives, I mean. Or do they just make it easier to forget the cost?"

Joren frowned, his hands pausing mid-adjustment on the map. "You're quick to judge for someone who's never built anything."

"And you're quick to dismiss for someone who's never listened," Lyria shot back.

The intensity in her voice made Joren Pause. He exhaled deeply, brushing his fingers through his hair. "Fair enough," he said. "But if we're going to figure this out, we need to combine what we know. So... what do you see?"

Lyria stepped closer, her disbelief giving way to curiosity as she examined the map. The glow of the lantern illuminated faint symbols engraved into its surface, and her eyes narrowed in concentration. "Here," she said, pointing to a swirling pattern near the center. "This isn't a mark. It's a current."

Joren leaned in, his brow furrowing. "A current? Like in the river?"

Lyria nodded. "We have a legend about rivers within rivers—hidden currents that guide the land's balance. This pattern aligns with the flow of the River of Arath."

"That... actually makes sense," Joren admitted reluctantly. "If the carvings on the bridge correspond to this... then maybe the bridge is more than a marker. Maybe it's a channel."

Before Lyria could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. Both of them froze as Thalric stepped into the room, his expression darkening as his gaze landed on Lyria.

"What's she doing here?" Thalric demanded, his voice low but sharp.

Joren straightened, moving to stand between Thalric and Lyria. "It's not what it looks like."

"Really?" Thalric crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. "Because it looks like you're associating with someone from Velmora. Have you lost your mind, Joren?"

"It's not like that," Joren insisted. "She's helping me—helping us—understand the bridge. This could change everything, Thalric."

"Or it could get you killed," Thalric snapped. "Do you have any idea what you're risking? What we're all risking?"

Lyria stiffened, her hand tightening around the strap of her pouch. "I didn't come here to cause trouble," she said quietly.

"No?" Thalric turned his glare on her. "Then why are you here? Why now?"

"Because I want answers," she said, her voice firm despite the tension in the room. "Same as Joren."

Thalric scoffed, shaking his head. "This is a mistake, Joren. You don't know what you're playing with—or who."

Joren's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. The silence between them was heavy, filled with doubts and unvoiced loyalties.

The reason why Thalric knew Lyria was a Velmoran was because of her clothes, Velmorans wear garments with natural fabrics dyed in earthy tones such as greens, browns, and soft blues and Caldrians wear structured, ultilitarian clothing that emphasizes form and functionality. Their attire often includes muted colors like gray, navy, and black made of sturdy fabrics.

The River Arath sparkled in the fading light of dusk, its surface a mirror of fiery oranges and deep purples. Joren and Lyria walked along the riverbank in silence, the earlier confrontation with Thalric still fresh in their minds.

"You didn't have to defend me," Lyria said finally, breaking the silence.

"Yes, I did," Joren replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Lyria glanced at him, her expression softening. "Why are you doing this? Risking your life and everything under the sun?"

Joren hesitated, his gaze fixed on the river. "Because I'm tired of building things that only destroy. If there's a chance this map—this bridge—can lead to something better... I have to try."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The river's current seemed to shift, its surface rippling in unnatural patterns that mirrored the symbols on the map. Lyria stopped abruptly, her eyes widening.

"What is it?" Joren asked, following her gaze.

"The river," she whispered. "It remembers."

"What are you talking about?"

Lyria's voice trembled as she explained. "There's a legend in Velmora. The river god punishes those who disturb the natural order. Entire villages have been swallowed by the waters, their stories lost to time."

Joren frowned, his thoughts shifting with the unease creeping into his chest. "You really believe that?"

"I don't know," Lyria admitted. "But I do know this: the river isn't just water. It's... alive."

Joren reached out, his hand brushing hers. "Maybe it's not judgment. Maybe it's a challenge—to prove we can be more than what we've been."

Lyria met his gaze, something unspoken threatening to slip out between them.

By the time they arrived back at the bridge, night had descended. The carvings radiated a brilliance unlike anything either of them had previously witnessed, illuminating the vicinity with a sinister, golden light.

Joren and Lyria approached cautiously, the map trembling faintly in Joren's hands. The symbols on its surface rearranged themselves as they neared the central arch, aligning with the carvings on the bridge.

"It's responding to us," Joren murmured, his voice filled with excitement.

Lyria nodded, her eyes scanning the glowing inscriptions. "There's something here," she said, brushing away a layer of moss to reveal faint Velmoran script.

As they interpreted the inscription, the bridge started to vibrate while intensifying. The earth beneath them quaked, and a deep, vibrant sound shook the atmosphere, like a heartbeat.

A sudden, flash of light radiated on the bridge, unveiling another concealed compartment. Inside was a fragment of an artifact—an ancient shard inscribed with both Caldrisian and Velmoran symbols.

"What is this?" Lyria whispered, her voice laced with fear.

"A key," Joren remarked, although he questioned the validity of his own assertion. 

The humming intensified, and the light became more bright, culminating in a beam of radiant energy that ascended into the sky. The entire valley was enveloped in this luminous glow, awakening villagers on either side of the river.

In the stunned silence that followed, Joren and Lyria stood frozen, their hearts pounding as the bridge's hum faded into the night.

"What have we done?" Lyria asked, her voice barely audible.

Joren's answer was just as quiet. "I don't know."

As the light faded away, leaving the bridge into darkness once again, both Joren and Lyria understood that their lives—and the world around them—had been forever changed.