Chapter 3- Lyraea

Chapter 3: Through the Storm

The storm swallowed Aevoria whole, its relentless rain washing the city clean of its sins. Or so they liked to say. I knew better. The filth of this place ran too deep to be cleansed by something as simple as water. Only fire could do that. And tonight, I had struck the first spark.

The rooftops were my sanctuary, their slippery surfaces as familiar to me as the calluses on my palms. My heart hammered in my chest, each beat a defiance against the icy tendrils of exhaustion curling around me. Siphoning always drained me, but the fight had sapped more than I expected.

Kaelion Valmont.

I cursed under my breath as his face flashed in my mind. He was everything I'd been warned about and more. Sharp, relentless, dangerous. But it wasn't his strength or skill that unnerved me. It was his eyes.

There had been something in them, a flicker of recognition, as if he'd seen a ghost. Or maybe I was imagining things. The prince and I couldn't have been more different. His life had been paved with privilege, while mine was nothing but scars and shadows. He couldn't know me.

Could he?

I shook off the thought and forced myself to keep moving, leaping from one rooftop to the next. The rebellion's safehouse wasn't far, tucked away in the heart of the lesser district. It wasn't much—a crumbling building hidden behind layers of false fronts and misdirection—but it was home.

By the time I slipped through the hidden entrance, my limbs felt like lead. I leaned against the damp stone wall, trying to catch my breath. The safehouse was quiet, its only occupants a few scattered candles and the faint hum of magic wards.

"Lyraea."

I turned, my hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at my side. Elyndra stepped out of the shadows, her sharp features softened by the dim light. Her gaze swept over me, taking in the mud on my boots and the blood smeared across my gloves.

"You're late," she said, her voice cool but not unkind.

"Ran into trouble," I replied, pulling back my hood. My damp hair clung to my skin, and I brushed it away with a sigh.

"Trouble?" Elyndra crossed her arms, one brow arching. "Or the prince?"

I froze, my eyes narrowing. "How do you know?"

"Word travels fast," she said, her lips quirking into a small smile. "Kaelion's been hunting for you since the moment you vanished. Half the castle guard is combing the city."

Of course, they were. Kaelion wasn't the type to let things go, especially not after being bested. I should have felt satisfaction, but all I felt was unease.

"What about the chest?" Elyndra asked, her tone shifting.

"Empty," I admitted, my fists clenching at the memory. "A decoy. They knew we were coming."

Her smile faded, replaced by a tight frown. "Cyran's handiwork, no doubt. He's always been one step ahead."

Cyran Vael. The advisor who pulled the strings from the shadows, shaping Aevoria's future with every calculated move. I hated him almost as much as I hated the prince.

"What now?" I asked, straightening.

Elyndra studied me for a moment, her gaze piercing. "We regroup. This was a setback, but the mission wasn't just about the chest. It was about sending a message."

"To who?"

"To everyone," she said, stepping closer. "The high-born think they're untouchable. You showed them they're not."

I wasn't so sure. All I'd shown them was that the rebellion was desperate enough to act. But I didn't argue. Elyndra had carried the weight of our cause for years, and her faith was unshakable.

"Rest," she said, her voice softening. "You've done enough for tonight."

I nodded, too tired to argue. As I made my way to the small alcove I called my own, the weight of the evening pressed down on me. I sank onto the narrow cot, pulling the thin blanket around my shoulders.

But sleep didn't come.

Kaelion's face haunted me, his warm brown eyes filled with something I couldn't name. For a prince, he hadn't looked at me with arrogance or disdain. There had been something else there—something that made my chest tighten.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. I couldn't afford to think about him. He was the enemy. A high-born. A Valmont.

But as the storm raged outside, I couldn't shake the feeling that our paths were tangled in ways I didn't yet understand.

And that terrified me more than any blade ever could.