Chapter 7 - Meddle About

After recovering, Deimos jumped back, surprised to see Lyra. Both remained still—the boy on the ground, the girl sitting. Their gazes met, hesitant at first, but soon lingering, as if trying to decipher each other. The silence between them was almost palpable, broken only by the distant sound of the wind, carrying something else with it.

It was the first time they truly saw each other, and for a brief moment, something flickered in her eyes—a spark of interest, or perhaps curiosity. In his eyes, the same doubt seemed to reflect back. Neither of them spoke, but at that moment, there were more questions than words.

Lyra then remembered the situation they were in: both exhausted from the previous battle, unable to properly use their powers, while Ajax faced the pandemonium above them alone. Without hesitation, she stood up and extended a hand to Deimos.

He paused, fixing his gaze on that hand. His own was dirty, covered in dust and dried blood, but that wasn't what concerned him. For a moment, his fingers twitched, almost retreating. Something about touching something so clean, so firm, with the weight of his own filth unsettled him. Even so, Lyra's gaze didn't waver, as if silently telling him she didn't care. He took a deep breath, hesitated, then finally accepted the gesture.

Together, they continued exploring the rocky formations ahead until they found a tunnel. At first, only silence accompanied them. However, unexpectedly, it was Lyra who broke it first.

"How are you feeling?"

Deimos, his eyes heavy, walked a little apart from her.

"Confused... I thought I could just disappear, you know? But here I am, in a situation where my safety isn't the only thing on my mind."

Normally, Lyra would insist that she didn't need anyone's concern. However, after everything they had been through, and upon seeing the fragile figure in front of her trying to stand firm, the only words she found were:

"You don't have to keep up that posture all the time. The world won't end if you lower your guard a little."

Deimos looked at her, then at the ground, swallowed dryly, and kept walking.

Lyra, in a lightly teasing tone, said:

"Don't tell me you think you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders..."

Deimos, without changing his pace, replied in a weak voice:

"Who knows... I hope not. For a long time—longer than I can clearly remember—I've wandered this land. I don't know if I can keep it away much longer."

Lyra felt a certain discomfort; the curiosity to know more about his situation and the fear of digging too deep clashed, leaving only an impasse and, of course, silence.

The damp cave walls narrowed as they advanced, forcing them to crawl and squeeze through the passage.

"And you? How are you feeling?" Deimos asked, his tone more casual than before.

"What do you mean?" Lyra responded, a bit surprised by the break in silence. Their voices echoed through the space, mingling with the sound of water dripping.

"The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was yours… They seemed to want to say more than you could." Deimos's voice trembled slightly.

Lyra remained silent until they reached a more open space, one that felt like a world of its own. In the center, there was a lake. The paintings around it, made with some kind of fluorescent ink, caused the water to reflect a precarious night sky.

Deimos smiled—a timid but genuine smile—at the sight, something that made Lyra focus more on him than on the false night sky above.

Suddenly, an unusual sound broke the silence—a wet, rhythmic noise, like dozens of feet sticking and peeling off the damp ground. From the various passages around the natural chamber, small humanoid figures emerged from the shadows. They barely reached Deimos's waist, and their grayish skin shimmered under the lake's dim glow.

Large, lidless eyes reflected every glimmer in the environment, fixing on the intruders with an unsettling intensity. Small, sharp teeth gleamed under the false night sky painted on the walls, evoking the image of a predator lurking beneath the stars.

The slippery ground became even more viscous under their steps, leaving subtle trails as they moved in a contained march. They didn't seem aggressive, but the way they surrounded the chamber—silent, watchful—conveyed a sense of ancient vigilance.

Cautiously, Deimos reached for something among his belongings. When he raised the silver sphere, the metal's shine reflected in the creatures' pupils with the intensity of a full moon cutting through the shadows. Instantly, they stopped. Their wide eyes shimmered like drowned stars, fixated on that glow as if it carried a meaning only they understood.

Before Lyra could reach Deimos, one of the fish-men, distinct in color—a pale cerulean shade—stepped forward, assuming the role of leader. Its small, webbed hands, adapted for swimming, wrapped around the sphere. In that instant, a melodic grunt rippled through the tribe, growing in unison until it became a chant of victory.

Deimos watched the scene with a satisfied expression, as if he had been waiting for this moment his whole life. Then, without haste, he stepped away from the festival and settled in a corner of the cave. His mind seemed lighter, his shoulders and legs finally relaxed as he sat, contemplating the scene before him.

Lyra's crimson hair caught Deimos's attention as she sat beside him. Her eyes were slightly wider than usual, reflecting the weight of what she had just witnessed.

"How did you know they wouldn't attack you?" Lyra asked, still processing the moment. "More importantly… why did it seem like you've been carrying that trinket just for this?"

"My brother wrote a lot about these creatures," Deimos replied, his tone shifting between casual and nostalgic. "He described them as 'gentle and untouched by the world,' and said they were 'lovers of the celestial.' I've always wanted to see them. In a way, I feel like part of his legacy lives on in these little beings."

Lyra tilted her head slightly, her curiosity evident.

"I didn't know you had a brother. Is he like you?"

Deimos averted his gaze, fixing it on his hands before answering.

"You can't really say he's 'like me.'" His voice carried a subtle weight.

He ran his fingers over the mark on his nape, thoughtful.

"My brother… he found a different path than mine."

Lyra frowned, intrigued. "Different how?"

He took a deep breath, as if carefully choosing his words.

"While I devoured the shadows, he walked toward the light."

She narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means you've probably heard of him."

Tension hung in the air for a moment before he finally said:

"Apollo."

The silence that followed was dense. Lyra blinked, surprised, as if trying to remember where she had heard that name before. Then, something clicked in her mind.

"Wait… Apollo?" Her voice was filled with disbelief. "The same Apollo from the ancient records? But… that doesn't make sense. There are so few mentions of him in the Order, and they're all extremely vague. Some theories don't even consider him real."

"That's understandable," Deimos said, his voice slow, almost nostalgic. "He never liked leaving traces."

Lyra was still processing. "The records describe him as an enigma… the first to manipulate aether. The beginning of everything. But that should have been longer ago than the world itself has existed. There are no records of a time without aether."

Deimos held her gaze for a moment before speaking, his voice carrying an ancient weight.

"And yet, there was."

A corner of his lips curled into a hollow smile, as if that detail were an old irony only he understood.

Lyra felt a shiver run down her spine.

"Don't dig too deep, Lyra."

His voice was low, but not unkind.