LYRRISE'S POV...
(🔞 Warning: Mature Content. This chapter contains scenes intended for adult audiences. Reader discretion is advised. If sensitive to explicit themes, please skip this chapter.🔞)
Two years passed like a blur.
No great wars, no disasters, no shadows clawing at the walls. Only routine: training, missions with the team, and late-night study sessions in the academy's halls. Everyone around me seemed to have settled into the rhythm of a normal student's life, and for the most part, so had I.
But even in the silence of those years, my heart couldn't forget. Rael. Lior. Their names never left my mind. Every smile I gave, every laugh with Kaelenna or Soryn, every sarcastic retort to Deyon—beneath it all, I was still waiting. Waiting for them to return. Waiting for answers.
That morning, I thought it would be just another day. My sword was still warm from sparring when I headed down the hallway, only to pause at the sound of laughter.
Cyril's voice.
I turned, instinct guiding me, and there he was. Tall, sharp-eyed as always, his posture calm as he spoke to someone I didn't expect to see with him. Selendra.
She laughed, her pink hair catching the light as she leaned closer—too close. I told myself it was harmless, maybe just a conversation. But then, without hesitation, Selendra looped her arms around Cyril's.
I froze.
She hugged him with the confidence of someone claiming ownership, her head resting lightly against his shoulder, as if she had every right. And worse—Cyril didn't pull away. Together, they walked toward the cafeteria, her hand still wrapped around him.
Something sharp twisted inside my chest. It wasn't anger—not exactly. It wasn't even jealousy, I told myself. It was… something I didn't want to name.
I gritted my teeth, forcing myself to look away. Why does it matter? Why should I care what Cyril does, or who he lets cling to him?
But deep down, I already knew.
I shouldn't have followed them.
But my feet carried me into the cafeteria anyway, my heart heavy with something I couldn't shake.
And there they were. Cyril and Selendra sat together near the middle of the room where everyone could see them. The laughter spilling from Selendra's lips was sharp enough to cut.
But what made my chest tighten was the sight of Selendra holding a spoon—feeding him.
I froze in place. My breath caught. Why? Why is he letting her do that?
Cyril wasn't fighting it. He wasn't even uncomfortable. He simply accepted it, his expression unreadable but far from resistant.
Do I even have the right to feel this way? I clenched my fists. He's not mine. We're not even lovers. For all I know… maybe he is hers. Maybe they're dating. Maybe this is just something I refused to see until now.
My chest ached with each thought, heavy and unrelenting.
"Is this seat taken?"
I blinked and looked up to find Jacob standing there with his usual polite smile, holding a tray. I forced myself to shake my head and nod. "No, it's free."
He sat down across from me, and we shared lunch together quietly. I tried to focus on my food, but my eyes betrayed me, flickering back toward Cyril and Selendra every chance I got.
Every time Selendra leaned closer, every time Cyril accepted it without flinching, a part of me crumbled further.
And yet… I smiled at Jacob, pretending everything was fine.
By the time I worked up the courage, they were already leaving. Selendra had her arm linked with his as they walked out, and for a second, I almost turned the other way.
But when Cyril finally broke away from her, standing by the corridor alone, I couldn't stop myself.
"Cyril…" I called softly, forcing a small smile. "Can we—"
He didn't even look at me. His steps were firm, his voice colder than ice.
"You're needed in the training room by noon. Don't be late."
That was it. No glance, no warmth. Just a wall shutting me out.
My throat tightened. Why does it feel like he's slipping further away every time I reach out?
"Oi, Lyrrise."
I turned to see Deyon leaning lazily against the doorframe, his crop top hanging loose as usual, arms crossed. His sharp eyes softened a little when he noticed my expression. "What's going on with you two? You look like you've just been stabbed."
I hesitated before blurting out the question gnawing at me. "Why… why is Cyril being so cold to me?"
Deyon let out a short laugh, not mocking but heavy with meaning. He shrugged. "That's one of Cyril's lovely traits—when he's overwhelmed, he shuts people out. Toxic habit, honestly. He won't admit it, but he'd rather push someone away than deal with his own mess."
I blinked at him, surprised by how easily he said it.
Deyon gave me a half-smile. "Don't take it too personal, Lyrrise. That's just how he is. Doesn't mean it hurts any less, though."
And with that, he walked past me, leaving me with more questions than answers.
"Deyon," I called, catching up to him before he got too far. He raised a brow as I blurted out, "Are you free right now? My treat, if you say yes."
A slow grin spread across his face, like he'd been waiting for me to say that. Without hesitation, he slung an arm over my shoulders. "Well, since it's your treat… I'd be a fool to say no."
We walked through the town streets, the cool breeze brushing against us as people bustled around. I wanted to distract myself, but instead my heart betrayed me. "Can you… tell me more about Cyril?"
Deyon glanced down at me, lips quirking. "You really want the truth?"
I nodded, bracing myself.
He shrugged casually. "Cyril's… Cyril. He's had his fair share of flings. Slept with someone before. Maybe even Selendra."
My steps faltered. That tight feeling in my chest returned, heavier this time. Selendra… of course.
Before my mind could spiral deeper, Deyon suddenly yanked me off course. "C'mon."
"What—?"
I stumbled into a small photography booth, blinking at the decorated backdrop. Before I could protest, Deyon had already pulled me in front of the camera, grinning wide as he draped his arm over me like we were lifelong best friends.
The camera flashed, capturing the silly moment — me looking startled, Deyon looking like the troublemaker he always was.
He chuckled. "There. A better memory than moping about him."
I couldn't help it. Despite the ache inside, a small laugh escaped me too.
Deyon and I lingered by the shop window, laughing as the photo developed.
"Look at your face," he teased, pointing at my startled expression while his grin looked annoyingly perfect.
I nudged his side, chuckling despite myself. "And look at you. You look like you own the world."
We shared another laugh, the kind that made my chest feel lighter. But then, in between the teasing, I asked softly, "So… what else should I know about Cyril? I mean—his real personality."
Deyon leaned back, hands behind his head. "He's serious. Cold, sometimes too much. He's… stubborn, but loyal when it counts. And… he's got demons, Lyrrise. Stuff he never talks about."
I absorbed every word, my heart conflicted.
The sky slowly turned crimson, painting the streets in shades of fire. Deyon stretched. "We should head back. Training again tomorrow, remember?"
We parted ways with a casual "goodnight," and I slipped into my dorm with the photo still in hand. Sitting on my bed, I looked at it again — Deyon's easy smile, my awkward one beside him.
For the first time in a while, I smiled… until the door slammed open.
Cyril stood there, his eyes sharp, almost burning.
"Why didn't you show up to training?" His voice was clipped. "You were with Deyon all the time, weren't you?"
I blinked, then narrowed my eyes. "And you? Busy with Selendra?"
His glare deepened, but I refused to back down. "Don't act like you care, Cyril. You don't have the right to stalk me just because I'm with Deyon."
His jaw tightened, but before he could speak, the words tore out of me:
"Why does it even matter to you? We're not lovers. You have no right to tell me what to do."
The silence that followed was sharp as a blade, the weight of it pressing between us like something about to snap.
The argument spiraled like wildfire.
"You're always like this!" I snapped, standing from my bed. "Controlling, cold, acting like you care when you don't!"
Cyril's eyes blazed, his fists clenched at his sides. "Because I do care, Lyrrise! You think I'd waste my time—"
"Enough!" My voice broke, raw and trembling. "I wish I never met you!"
The words hung in the air like a dagger. Cyril froze. His breath caught, his eyes widening with something I'd never seen before—something fragile.
I sank onto the bed, exhausted, but before I could steady myself, he moved. Slowly, deliberately, Cyril walked forward. My pulse raced. He knelt in front of me, lowering himself like he was surrendering.
"Lyrrise…" His voice cracked, heavy with yearning. His gaze locked on mine, shimmering with unshed tears. "Don't say that. Don't take me out of your world like that."
I couldn't move. My chest tightened painfully as he reached for my hand, trembling fingers brushing over mine before he lifted it. He pressed his lips against my skin—soft, desperate, lingering.
"I—" his voice faltered, breaking apart. "I can't lose you, Lyrrise. Not you. Say you didn't mean it. Please."
The stoic, unshakable Cyril I knew was gone. This was a man undone, begging me to take back words that had pierced him deeper than any blade.
"Please," he whispered again, eyes glistening. "Tell me you didn't mean it… or I swear I'll—" His voice shook. "I'll cry."
I froze, my heart racing so hard I thought it would leap out of my chest. Cyril's face was so close—his lips still brushing the back of my hand, his eyes shimmering with desperation.
I hated it.
I hated the way his tears made me ache.
I hated the way his closeness made my cheeks burn.
I hated the fact that… he was so damn handsome.
I bit my lip, fighting against myself, but in the end I whispered, "…I didn't mean it."
The relief that washed over his face nearly stole my breath. His lips curved into a smile—so rare, so genuine—and before I could react, his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. We toppled back onto the bed, his weight pressing against me, his embrace unyielding.
"C-Cyril—!" My face flushed crimson, my hands weakly pressing against his chest. He wouldn't let go. He buried his head into my shoulder like he was terrified I'd disappear if he loosened his hold.
I exhaled shakily, trying to distract myself. "…Did you… already sleep with Selendra?"
His grip tightened. For a long moment, he was silent. Then, his voice—low and honest—spoke against my ear.
"Selendra was… my ex." He pulled back slightly, enough for me to see the raw truth in his eyes. "But since you came into my life… I couldn't stop. I—I stalk you. Every day. I take pictures of you. I watch you, afraid that if I blink, you'll slip away from me."
My eyes widened, my breath caught in my throat. He… what?
And before I could even find words, Cyril lowered his head again, pressing his face against me—against my chest. Heat exploded across my body.
"H-Hey—!!" I stammered, grabbing his shoulders. My pulse thundered so loud I could barely think. My entire body burned, every nerve alive with the sensation of him so close.
I hated that I couldn't shove him away.
I hated that every part of me… didn't want to.
Because deep down… this was exactly what I wanted.
His gaze held mine, unwavering. My breath hitched as the silence stretched, his face drawing closer, inch by inch. My heartbeat was deafening—too fast, too loud, like it was trying to escape my chest.
When his lips finally brushed against mine, I shut my eyes tight. Warmth. Softness. My whole body froze, yet at the same time, something inside me melted.
He pinned me against the bed, one hand cradling the side of my face, the other holding me firm so I couldn't run even if I wanted to. His kiss deepened, his lips moving against mine with a hunger I didn't understand—but I could feel it.
I gasped when I felt the gentle press of his tongue against my lips, and he pulled back just enough to whisper, his voice husky, "Do you… even know about this?"
Shaken, I shook my head, my face burning hotter than fire.
His lips curved into a smirk, but it wasn't mocking—it was something else, something dangerous. "Good," he murmured, brushing his forehead against mine. "That means I'm your first."
Before I could protest, his lips trailed lower—down to my jawline, sending shivers down my spine. My breath grew uneven as he pressed featherlight kisses along my neck, each touch warmer, deeper, until I felt his mouth graze against my collarbone.
My skin betrayed me. Sensitive. Weak. The moment a soft sound escaped my lips, barely audible, I slapped a hand over my mouth, mortified.
But he noticed. His lips stilled against my skin, his eyes flickering up to meet mine again.
I was trembling. I wasn't used to this. Every touch of his felt overwhelming, stealing pieces of me I wasn't ready to give—but at the same time, some part of me ached to keep him there, to never let him stop.
(Again, Content Warning – Mature / Intimate Scene Ahead This chapter contains explicit romantic and physical intimacy. Reader discretion is advised.)
The air in my room grew heavy, almost suffocating. My body felt feverish beneath him, his warmth pressing into me, his lips trailing fire across my skin.
"Cyril…" I whispered, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop, or for him to keep going.
He lifted his head, his eyes burning into mine, darker than I'd ever seen them. "You don't know what you do to me, Lyrrise," he murmured, voice low, hungry.
His hands slid down my sides, exploring as though he wanted to memorize every part of me. My heart raced, confused and overwhelmed, yet I couldn't bring myself to push him away. My body betrayed me—burning, aching—for something I didn't even fully understand.
When his lips returned, they didn't stop at my neck this time. He kissed lower, slower, each press of his mouth deliberate, until I realized where he was headed.
My breath caught. My face flamed. "C-Cyril, wait—"
He paused, lifting his eyes to me. "Do you trust me?" he asked softly.
I froze. My chest rose and fell rapidly, nerves clashing with the strange, intoxicating heat that flooded through me. And then, against my better judgment, I nodded.
His smirk curved into something softer, tender but still full of mischief. "Then let me taste you," he whispered, his voice almost sinful.
I couldn't answer. My throat tightened, my lips parted in shock, in embarrassment, in something I couldn't name. And yet… I didn't stop him.
The moment his mouth touched me there, I gasped, covering my face with both hands. My body jolted, overwhelmed by sensations I'd never imagined. Heat pooled deep within me, spreading through my veins, and all I could do was cling to the sheets, flustered and lost in the storm he created.
I hated how powerless I felt. I hated how good it felt.
But more than anything—I hated that I didn't want him to stop.
The waves of pleasure still shook through me, leaving my body trembling, my breath uneven. Cyril hovered above me, his lips glistening as he smirked—wicked, satisfied.
"You taste better than I ever imagined," he whispered, licking his lips slowly, deliberately, as though savoring me. The heat rushed back to my face, and I covered it with one hand, mortified at how boldly he said it.
But then… he shifted, his body pressing closer, and I felt something hard against my thigh. My eyes darted down instinctively, and I froze.
My breath hitched. He was big. Too big.
"Seven inches, at least…" I whispered under my breath, eyes wide, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. "There's no way that's going to fit…"
Cyril chuckled darkly, clearly hearing me, and leaned in to kiss the corner of my lips. "It will," he murmured. "I'll make sure it does. But only if you want me to."
I swallowed hard, nerves clawing at me. This was it. My first time. I hated how nervous I felt, but the way he looked at me—hungry, desperate, yet gentle—made me want to trust him.
"W-wait," I stammered, tugging lightly at his wrist. "Protection…"
Without hesitation, he reached into his pocket and pulled one out, tearing it open and rolling it on with practiced ease. "Of course," he said softly, brushing my hair back from my face. "I'd never risk hurting you."
That reassurance made my chest ache. Still, when he pressed against me, I tensed, panic sparking inside me.
"It's okay," he whispered, lowering his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my lips. "I'll go slow. Tell me if it hurts, and I'll stop. I swear."
I nodded, clutching his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin. My body was trembling, not just from nerves but from anticipation.
And then—he started to push in.
A sharp gasp escaped my lips as my body stretched around him, the pressure foreign, almost too much. My legs quivered, but Cyril kissed me deeply, distracting me from the discomfort with the warmth of his lips and the softness of his voice.
"Breathe, Lyrrise," he whispered. "Let me in…"
Tears pricked at the corner of my eyes from the overwhelming sensation, but I forced myself to relax, to trust him. Slowly, bit by bit, my body adjusted, and he slid deeper.
I couldn't believe it. He actually fit.
The rhythm was relentless. Cyril moved with purpose, every thrust forcing me to cry out, every brush against my deepest spot pulling my body closer to the edge. My skin was slick with sweat, my legs trembling around his waist as he held me firmly in place.
"Cyril—ah—" My voice cracked, helpless. I was drowning in him, my mind hazy, my body burning.
His lips captured mine, swallowing my cries, his tongue tangling with mine in a desperate kiss. His pace grew harsher, sharper, as if he couldn't get enough of me. I clawed at his back, arching into him, letting him claim every part of me.
The pressure built higher and higher until it snapped. My body shook violently beneath him, toes curling, vision blurring. A broken moan escaped me as I reached my release, Cyril following soon after, his groan vibrating against my lips.
For a moment, the world was only the sound of our ragged breaths and the pounding of my heart.
Then, the heat softened.
Cyril didn't pull away. He stayed inside me, his forehead pressing against mine as he kissed me tenderly—slower, gentler this time. His hand brushed my hair back, his thumb tracing the curve of my cheek.
"You're mine," he whispered again, but now it wasn't possessive—it was fragile, almost pleading. "Don't… don't ever say you wish you never met me again. I couldn't take it."
My chest tightened. He wasn't the cold, untouchable Cyril I knew on the battlefield. Right now, he was raw, open, and almost broken in my arms.
"I didn't mean it," I whispered, my fingers running through his damp hair. "I was just angry… Cyril, I—"
Before I could finish, he kissed me again, softer this time, as if sealing my words. When he finally withdrew, he carefully pulled me into his chest, wrapping the blanket over us both.
He stroked my back slowly, soothing my trembling body, his lips brushing the crown of my head.
"Sleep," he murmured. "I'll stay right here."
Despite the storm that just passed between us, for the first time in a long while, I felt safe in someone's arms.
And in that warmth, my eyes grew heavy.