The next evening, Lyra found herself drawn back to the orphanage. Not to hunt, she told herself. Just to understand what was happening.
"This is madness," Moira said, floating beside her. "You're becoming obsessed with him."
"I'm trying to understand my enemy."
"Your enemy is showing you exactly what he wants you to see. A mask of kindness."
But when they arrived, Peter was alone in the orphanage garden. He sat on a simple wooden bench, head in his hands. His shoulders shook with silent sobs.
"Lord Peter?" Sister Margaret appeared in the doorway. "Are you alright?"
Peter quickly wiped his eyes. "I'm fine, Sister. Just... tired."
"You've been pushing yourself too hard. The children love you, but you don't have to carry the weight of the world."
"Don't I?" Peter's voice was bitter. "How many children died today while I was in comfortable meetings? How many families went hungry while I dined on fine food?"
"You can't save everyone."
"But I have to try." Peter stood and began pacing. "My family's name is written in blood across this kingdom. If I don't spend every moment trying to make amends..."
"The sins of the past are not your burden to bear."
"Aren't they?" Peter's voice cracked. "When I wake up, I see their faces. The people my family murdered. The children who died because we chose fear over compassion."
Lyra drifted closer. This wasn't the performance of a manipulator. This was genuine torment.
"You're not your ancestors," Sister Margaret said gently.
"But I carry their blood. Their name. Their legacy." Peter said as he slammed his fist against the garden wall. "Sometimes I wonder if it would be better if I just... disappeared. If the Ravencrest line ended with me."
"Don't say such things."
"Why not? What good has my family ever done for this world?"
"They created you," Sister Margaret said firmly. "And you are good, Peter. I've watched you for years. You have the kindest heart I've ever known."
"Kind hearts don't erase centuries of evil."
"No, but they can build a better future."Sister Margret said but Peter was quiet for a long moment. Then he pulled out a small, worn out book.
"I've been reading my great-grandmother's journal," he said quietly. "She wrote about the early days of the witch hunts. About how afraid people were."
"And?"
"She wrote about a young witch named Seraphina. A healer who worked in the lower districts." Peter's voice was soft. "She said Seraphina was the kindest person she'd ever met. That she treated everyone with equal care, regardless of their station."
Lyra's form flickered. Her name. He knows her name.
"What happened to her?" Sister Margaret asked.
"She was burned alive. My great-great-grandfather ordered it personally." Peter's voice was hollow. "She was innocent. Completely innocent. And we killed her anyway."
"I'm so sorry."
"According to the journal, she had a gift. She could see when someone was about to die, and she would try to save them. She saved dozens of lives." Peter said as he closed the book. "We called her a monster and murdered her for helping people."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because sometimes I feel like she's watching me. Like she's judging every choice I make." Peter looked up at the stars. "I wonder if she could ever forgive someone like me."
"Someone like you?"
"Someone who carries the blood of her killers." Lyra felt her heart breaking. He was torturing himself with guilt for crimes he never committed.
"I think," Sister Margaret said carefully, "that a woman who spent her life saving others would want you to find peace."
"Peace?" Peter laughed bitterly. "I'll never have peace. Not while children go hungry. Not while people suffer for the accident of their birth."
"Then what will you do?"
"I'll spend every breath trying to undo the damage my family caused. Even if it kills me." Peter said as Sister Margaret squeezed his shoulder. "Come inside. You need rest."
"In a moment." As the nun left, Peter remained alone in the garden. He pulled out a small silver pendant, worn smooth by years of handling.
"I wish I could tell you how sorry I am," he whispered to the night air. "I wish I could bring you back. Give you the life you deserved."
He kissed the pendant and tucked it away. Then he looked directly at Lyra's hiding spot.
"I know you're there," he said quietly. "I've felt your presence for days now."
Lyra's form solidified slightly. She couldn't help herself.
"I don't know what you are," Peter continued. "Spirit, ghost, angel of vengeance. But I know you're in pain."He said as he stood and walked closer. "I can feel your sadness. Your anger. It echoes my own."
"He's trying to manipulate you," Moira hissed. "Don't listen."
But Peter's eyes were kind and genuine, with no calculation or deception.
"I understand if you hate me," he said. "I understand if you want to hurt me. My family has caused enough pain to justify any revenge."
He was close enough now that Lyra could see the tears on his cheeks. "But if you're here for justice," he continued, "then know that I'm already trying to serve it. Every choice. I'm trying to be the man my ancestors should have been."
Lyra found herself materializing, becoming visible as Peter's eyes widened, but he didn't run.
"You're beautiful," he breathed. "And so sad."
"I'm not sad," Lyra said, her voice hoarse with disuse. "I'm angry."
"Anger is just sadness wearing armor."
"Don't." Lyra's form flickered with emotion. "Don't try to understand me."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm here to kill you."
Peter nodded slowly. "I know."
"You... know?"
"I've known since the first night you followed me. You're not exactly subtle." He smiled sadly. "And I've been expecting someone like you for years."
"Then why aren't you running?"
"Because running won't change what my family did. It won't bring back the innocent people we killed." Peter sat down on the bench. "If my death can provide justice, then so be it."
"That's not..." Lyra was confused. "That's not how this is supposed to work."
"How is it supposed to work?"
"You're supposed to be evil. Cruel. A monster I can kill without guilt."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you."
"Stop being sorry!" Lyra's form blazed with spiritual energy. "Stop being kind! Stop making me.Question everything I believed." Lyra's voice broke. "You're supposed to be like them. Like the ones who killed me."
"Killed you?" Peter's eyes were wide with understanding. "You're not just any spirit. You're one of the victims, aren't you?"
"I was Seraphina Moonwell."
Peter went very still. "The healer. The one from my great-grandmother's journal."
"The one your family burned alive."
"Oh, gods." Peter fell to his knees. "I'm so sorry. I'm so incredibly sorry."
"Your apologies mean nothing to me."
"They shouldn't. Nothing I say can undo what was done to you." Peter's voice was thick with tears. "But I need you to know that I've spent my entire life trying to honor your memory."
"My memory?"
"Every person I've healed. Every hungry child I've fed. Every act of kindness I've shown." Peter pulled out the silver pendant. "I carry this to remind me of what we destroyed. Of what we lost when we chose fear over love."
Lyra stared at the pendant. It was carved with the symbol of her coven. The healing moon that was surrounded by stars.
"Where did you get that?"
"It was found at the execution site. My great-grandmother kept it, along with her journal. She left them to me with a note." Peter's voice was barely a whisper. "She said that if I ever met your spirit, I should tell you that she tried to stop it. That she fought for you until the very end."
"She... tried to stop it?"
"She was overruled by the men. But she never stopped believing you were innocent." Peter held out the pendant. "This belongs to you."
Lyra reached out with trembling fingers. The moment she touched the pendant, the world exploded into light.
Vision. Death vision. She was watching Peter die.
But it wasn't her killing him. It was a woman in red robes, standing over his broken body. Lady Vivienne Ravencrest, his own aunt.
Lyra gasped, jerking back from the vision but Peter was staring at her in concern.
"What did you see?" he asked.
"Your death," she whispered. "But not by my hand."
"When?"
"Soon. Very soon." Lyra's form was flickering wildly. "And if you die now, everything you've worked for dies with you."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I." Lyra said as she looked at him with new eyes. "But I think I've been hunting the wrong enemy."