Lyris's Probe

The aftermath of Watchfort Alpha was a grim tableau painted in shades of ash, drying blood, and weary relief. The demonic assault had been broken, the remaining Imps and Voidlings fleeing back into the fissures and shadows from whence they came, driven off by the combined might of the Holy Knights, the garrison's desperate stand, and the terrifying, draconic fury that had momentarily held the battlefield in thrall. The air still hung heavy with the stench of sulfur and void taint, but the frantic clash of steel had been replaced by the groans of the wounded, the crackle of controlled fires, and the low murmur of orders.

Elias lay on a makeshift cot in the same storeroom-turned-infirmary, propped up slightly by rolled blankets. Color had begun a tentative return to his cheeks, chased away by the lingering chill of void backlash and profound exhaustion, but the deep shadows beneath his eyes spoke volumes. Theron Blackwood sat on a sturdy crate beside the cot, positioned so close his armored thigh pressed against the cot's frame. He hadn't moved since depositing Elias here hours ago. His posture was rigid, a statue carved from vigilance. The unnatural heat radiating from him had lessened but hadn't vanished entirely, a low ember banked beneath the steel plates. His amber eyes, while no longer displaying the terrifying vertical slits, still held a predatory intensity, constantly scanning the doorway, the wounded soldiers being treated nearby, the very air itself. They snapped back to Elias every few seconds, a silent, possessive check-in. The fierce protectiveness was a palpable force, a dragon coiled protectively around its hoard, radiating a silent warning to the world: Approach with caution.

Lyris Eventide moved through the crowded infirmary with quiet efficiency. Her indigo robes were smudged with soot and ichor, but her storm-grey eyes were sharp, analytical. She carried a small mortar and pestle, grinding dried herbs into a fine powder that smelled sharply of camphor and something faintly metallic. She stopped beside Elias's cot, acknowledging Theron's presence with a slight, unreadable nod that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Cardinal Vance," she said, her voice calm and professional. "A restorative draught. To counter the void chill and replenish core vitality. Standard alchemical principles, amplified by a touch of focused light." She held out a small wooden cup containing a murky, steaming liquid.

Elias managed a weak nod. "Thank you, Magus Eventide." His voice was still thin, but clearer than before. He reached for the cup, his hand trembling slightly. Theron's gaze tracked the movement, his own hand twitching as if to intercept it, to ensure Elias didn't spill it on himself. He restrained the impulse, but the tension in his frame was evident.

Lyris watched Elias sip the bitter concoction, her expression one of detached observation. As he swallowed, grimacing slightly at the taste, she placed a cool, surprisingly strong hand on his forehead. Her touch was impersonal, diagnostic. Elias felt a subtle pulse of energy, not unlike his own Light but colder, more analytical, less feeling. It probed gently at the lingering void residue, the deep depletion in his core. Theron stiffened beside him, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest, barely audible. The air temperature spiked momentarily.

Lyris ignored the growl, her focus seemingly entirely on her diagnosis. She withdrew her hand after a moment. "The void taint is receding," she stated clinically. "But the depletion is significant. Your core Light is like a drained well, Cardinal. It needs time, deep rest, and…" she paused, her gaze flickering for the first time from Elias to Theron, who was watching her hand like a hawk watches a mouse, "...absence of further extreme resonant expenditure." Her tone was neutral, but the word resonant landed with deliberate weight.

She busied herself with gathering her herbs, her movements precise. Then, as if commenting on the weather, her voice low enough that only Elias and Theron could hear clearly over the infirmary's background noise, she spoke again.

"Fascinating energy signature you possess, Cardinal Vance," she murmured, her eyes fixed on her mortar as she ground another herb. "Truly unique. It doesn't just heal; it harmonizes. Seeks equilibrium on a fundamental level." She glanced up, her storm-grey eyes meeting Elias's briefly, sharp and knowing. "And the way it interacts with other potent energy fields… particularly… adjacent ones…" She let the implication hang, her gaze drifting pointedly towards Theron for a fraction of a second before returning to her task. "It creates a rather complex, interwoven pattern. Quite unlike anything in the standard Celestial archives. Very… interesting."

Elias froze, the bitter aftertaste of the draught forgotten. His blood ran cold. She knew. She wasn't just talking about his Light in general; she was talking about its interaction with Theron. The resonance. The Soul Concerto's forbidden harmony. His eyes widened slightly, panic flaring in his exhausted gaze. He instinctively looked towards Theron.

Theron's reaction was immediate and visceral. The low growl intensified, becoming audible. The ember-heat radiating from him flared noticeably. His hand, resting on his armored thigh near the hilt of the dagger at his belt, clenched into a fist. His amber eyes, already intense, locked onto Lyris with a look of pure, predatory warning. The air crackled with tension. He didn't speak, but the message was clear: Proceed with extreme caution, Mage.

Lyris seemed utterly unfazed by Theron's threatening aura. She continued grinding her herbs, the rhythmic scrape of pestle against mortar the only sound in the suddenly charged space immediately around the cot. She finished, dusted her hands, and then turned her full attention to Theron. Her expression remained calm, almost scholarly, but her storm-grey eyes held a spark of pure, analytical daring.

"And Commander Blackwood," she continued, her voice still low, conversational, but layered with subtle steel. "Your battlefield efficacy was… remarkable. Truly awe-inspiring." She paused, letting the compliment hang for a beat. Then her gaze sharpened, fixing on Theron's eyes with unnerving directness. "That moment, after the Cardinal fell… the focus in your gaze…" She tilted her head slightly, a gesture of pure intellectual curiosity that felt incredibly dangerous. "It was… quite memorable. An intensity I've rarely witnessed, even among the most devoted Paladins. Almost… elemental."

She didn't say draconic. She didn't mention the vertical pupils, the crushing aura, the waves of heat. But her words, her pointed observation of his gaze, her emphasis on elemental intensity, were arrows aimed straight at the heart of Theron's most dangerous secret. She had seen. She had understood far more than she should.

A jolt of pure ice shot down Elias's spine. His heart hammered against his ribs, loud enough he feared Theron could hear it. This wasn't just about their resonance anymore. This was about Theron's very nature, the beast beneath the knightly veneer, exposed to the Church's sharpest, most unorthodox mind.

Beside him, Theron went utterly still. Not the coiled tension of before, but a terrifying, absolute stillness, like a predator freezing before the strike. The heat radiating from him intensified, becoming uncomfortable even for Elias. The growl died, replaced by a silence more menacing than any sound. His amber eyes, fixed on Lyris, narrowed to slits – not the reptilian slits of before, but a human expression of lethal, calculating fury. The air felt thick, suffocating, charged with the potential for violence. Theron's hand on his dagger didn't move, but every line of his body screamed readiness.

Lyris held his gaze, unblinking. That faint, enigmatic smile touched her lips again, devoid of mockery, filled instead with a chilling, intellectual satisfaction. She had prodded the dragon, deliberately, and witnessed the reaction. The unspoken challenge hung in the heavy air between them: I see you. Both of you. What will you do now?

The infirmary bustled on around them, oblivious to the silent, deadly confrontation happening beside the Cardinal's cot. Elias Vance lay trapped between them, his healing body trembling not just from exhaustion, but from the terrifying realization that their most dangerous secrets were no longer safe. The sharp-eyed mage had seen the forbidden harmony and glimpsed the dragon beneath the armor. The fragile sanctuary they had carved was crumbling, and the path ahead seemed fraught with a new kind of peril, wielded by a woman whose motives were as shadowed as the magic she studied. The probe had landed, deep and true, and the reverberations threatened to shatter everything.