Night fell quickly in the ruined forest.
The skeletal trees stood like jagged silhouettes against a pale, starless sky. No birds sang, no wolves howled. Eternia's nights were too quiet, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Riku struck flint against steel, coaxing a small fire to life. Sparks crackled, then grew into a steady flame that painted their surroundings in flickering orange. He leaned back on a fallen log, watching the fire dance.
Lyria sat across from him, her knees drawn to her chest, cloak wrapped tightly around her. The dagger rested by her side, though her hand still lingered near it, as if instinct demanded readiness even here.
For a while, silence stretched between them. Only the crackle of fire spoke.
Riku finally broke it.
"You've been staring at the flames like they're about to attack you."
Her crimson eyes flicked toward him. "Fire doesn't attack. It consumes. That's what it does."
"…Poetic." Riku tossed a twig into the flames. "But also depressing."
Lyria didn't respond. She just kept watching the fire, her gaze distant.
Riku studied her quietly. The firelight softened her sharp features—the pale curve of her cheek, the way silver strands of hair fell across her eyes. For someone who'd been branded cursed, she looked… fragile. Human.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Back there—you said you didn't belong anywhere. That… no place wanted you."
Her body stiffened. "…I did."
"You did?"
She hesitated, then exhaled softly, as if the words weighed her down. "There was a village. My mother's home. She begged them to accept me. And for a time… they did. She thought the chains would make them feel safe."
Her crimson eyes glowed faintly in the firelight. "But fear doesn't vanish. It grows. Children weren't allowed near me. Merchants crossed the street. Every smile hid a flinch. I wasn't a girl to them. I was… a reminder. A mistake."
The flames cracked. Riku said nothing, his chest tightening.
"One winter," she continued, voice quiet, "a sickness swept through the village. People died. They said it was because of me. That my blood cursed them. So they dragged us to the square. My mother… begged. Pleaded. But they…"
Her voice faltered. She turned her face away, hiding the glimmer in her eyes. "…They killed her. Left me chained and alive. Because killing me was too dangerous. Too 'merciful.'"
The silence that followed was heavier than any chain.
Riku clenched his fists. He wanted to say something—anything—but what words could fix that kind of wound?
"…I'm sorry," he said at last. It sounded pitiful, but it was all he had.
Lyria shook her head slowly. "Don't be. It's just… the way of this world."
Riku leaned back, staring into the fire. "Then maybe this world needs rewriting."
She blinked at him. "…Rewriting?"
He smirked faintly. "I told you. I'm good with books. And if I don't like the story, I'll just… edit it."
For a moment, she only stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, a small laugh escaped her lips. It was soft, fragile, but real—the sound of a crack forming in walls built over years.
"You're impossible," she whispered.
"And yet, here I am."
Their eyes met across the firelight. Neither looked away this time.
Lyria shifted slightly, pulling her cloak tighter. "…You'll regret helping me. Sooner or later."
"Maybe," Riku admitted. "But for now? I don't."
The flames danced between them, warm against the cold Eternian night.
For the first time since she could remember, Lyria didn't feel entirely cursed.
And for the first time in his life, Riku didn't feel entirely alone.