Page 21

His words barely make sense in the haze of my emotions. I wipe my face with the back of my hand, then look at him, my voice cracking again as I ask, “Why did you bring me here? Why did you want me to see this?”

The still air stretches between us, charged with an intensity I can feel building, but it is his eyes that answer before his words do, so full of weight, of things unsaid.

He hesitates at the question that hangs in the air longer than it should have. Maybe it is a truth that he isn’t quite ready to give me.

When he finally speaks, his tone is deeper now. “Because you needed to see what’s at stake,” he says finally, his voice almost somber and full of an urgency that makes my heart skip.

“Because this . . .” He motions toward the desolation, his focus shifting to the ruined horizon. “. . . is the price of everything. If you think you’ve seen your world burn, Lyra, you’ve only seen the beginning.”

His words press down on me, a truth I’m not sure I am ready to carry.

The tension between us tightens, something in the air shifts, the distance between us narrows, even though I still feel so far away from him. I don’t know whether to fight the sudden wave of warmth rising in my chest or the unrelenting ache that his presence stirs.

There is a hardness to him, a coldness beneath everything he says, but in that moment, his voice and his presence feel like something more than just a command. It feels like . . . he is trying to share this pain with me. Or maybe it is my own fear of being connected to him that makes everything feel heavier than it should.

I swallow the lump in my throat, my voice steadying with effort. “What are we supposed to do with this?”

Oberon’s eyes darken as he glances out at the ruin, pain flickering in his face. He isn’t quite looking at me anymore, his thoughts seemingly far beyond the moment. The silence between us stretches heavily with things left unsaid, and I know he isn’t ready to give me all of the answers.

His voice is quieter this time, almost reluctant, as if the weight of his knowledge is too much for him to bear alone.

“What do we—” he pauses, his gaze flickering back to the landscape before us. “I can’t answer for you. Not yet.” His jaw tightens as if he is battling with something inside himself. “But what I can tell you,” he continues, his tone shifting, “is that it’s not about what’s already been lost. It’s about what we still have to protect, what’s still worth fighting for.” His eyes meet mine then, the intensity of his gaze like a spark igniting something in me.

His words, though cryptic, hold a deeper meaning I can almost reach out and touch, but not yet, not until he is ready.

A long silence extends between us, as though he is waiting for me to understand something he isn’t ready to say aloud. He finally stands, his movements fluid and deliberate. “For now, you need to hold onto what you believe in. Whatever that is. Because that is the only thing that will guide you through what’s coming.”

The impact of his words sways in the air, and as he walks away, the space between us seems to spread in ways I didn’t expect.

He isn’t giving me the answers I want, but there is something in the way he says it, the way he feels the truth of it, that makes me wonder if I’m not meant to know everything just yet.

But the more I look at him, the more I realize . . . whatever he is keeping from me, whatever this journey is going to demand, I’m not ready to walk away from it without knowing more.

The question is—do I need Oberon for that, or can I figure it out on my own?

The walk back to the cabin stretches on. Each step feels like fighting an invisible force that tries to pull me down, the darkening sky offering little to guide my way. The path beneath my feet is barely visible, the shadows of the trees closing in around us as the world seems to shrink into nothingness. Oberon moves with ease. I can’t help but stay close to him

The thought of running seeps into my mind. I know I won’t get far. The necklace around my neck, a constant reminder of my captivity, is an ever-present force that keeps me tethered to him. Even if I manage to escape, the vast, unforgiving woods surrounding us will swallow me whole.

So, I walk in silence, each step weighed down by the haunting images of the destruction I have just witnessed.

Neither of us says anything, the quiet giving me time to process what just happened while allowing the scene to play again and again, haunting my thoughts. I feel it in my every breath, each one harder than the last. I can feel Oberon’s presence beside me, his steady, measured gait as if he knows exactly what I am feeling without me saying a word. But me? I can’t read him at all. He is incomprehensible, his focus forward, and I am left wondering whether he is carrying some eerie secrets I will never understand.

As we near the cabin, the flickering light from the windows seems to insult the bleakness around us. Oberon reaches out, his hand extended toward me, a silent offering.

I hesitate, my gaze drifting over the clearing, searching one last time for some kind of escape in the darkness.

The pull of freedom, however fleeting, is a temptation I can’t ignore.

Can I outrun him? Can I test the limits of this world, this cage?

But the reality of it hits me sharply. Where will I go? What will I do?

The world I knew is gone, and I have nothing left but the echo of my own desperation.

With a deep breath, I finally let go of the urge to flee, my fingers trembling as I place my hand in his. The touch of his skin is electric, a reminder that even in this moment, I am still tethered to him, to whatever path he has set for me. And as he leads me into the cabin, I can’t help but wonder if that path is the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.

With one final glance, he guides me back inside. The moment I cross the threshold, the heavy, stifling weight of my small prison closes in around me once more.