Lyanna's eyes widened as she stared at the ravens. She couldn't even tell if it was fear she was feeling, only that her chest tightened in a way she couldn't name. Without thinking, she sprang to her feet. Her legs carried her forward in a desperate dash, straight away from the swarm of black wings. The ravens shrieked in fury, their cries sharp and violent as they hurled themselves after her.
By some fortune, she had been seated near the front, where the doorway stood at the corner. Heart pounding, Lyanna stumbled through, barely slipping outside before she slammed the door shut behind her. For the first time, she allowed herself a long, shuddering breath.
"Yes… I knew it," she whispered to herself. "I knew I couldn't outrun them. They would have torn me apart… but now? How can they reach me when I've sealed their path?
She laughed nervously at her own thoughts, but it didn't last long . Her blood turned cold as the furious cries of the crows rose again, this time from the opposite side of the room. One by one, they began to force their way through the windows, their wings blackening the light.
Lyanna's eyes widened again, frozen on the sight. The sound of their wings was deafening, as though they meant to swallow her whole. In that moment, she felt it , there was no escape. Death had already chosen her. Quietly, her thoughts turned inward.
Life hasn't been all that bad… and even now at the edge of death, there's… a strange peace . At least I spoke my mind until the end.
A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. With quiet resignation, she closed her eyes and embraced the thought of death.
But then
A strange glow seeped through the darkness. In the space between her closed eyes, a sword appeared suspended, radiant, alive.
Take me, it seemed to whisper. Use me as you wish
Without hesitation, Lyanna's hand reached out, and the instant her fingers touched the hilt, light erupted. A sound like thunder, like lightning ripping the sky apart, rushed past her ears. She opened her eyes and staggered back.
The ravens… they were gone. Torn apart.
Her body shook. "W-what… what is this? How could they be cut down so cleanly, so swiftly, that I couldn't even see it happen?"
Her voice cracked into sobs as she turned and ran, this time out of the school entirely, desperate to escape.
From a shadowed distance, Vaelith watched her fleeing figure, a faint smile ghosting across his lips.
Yes, Lyanna, I know you're afraid. No matter how much you pretend otherwise, you're still human, still searching for love like everyone else.
The thought warmed him, but then something strange happened.
Vaelith watched her from a distance as she ran, a small smile curling at his lips. Ah… so that's her, he thought quietly.
"Wait… what?" Vaelith whispered in surprise, "I only smiled a little earlier…"the first in years. He blinked, startled, before chuckling again like a child rediscovering joy. With that laugh came a quiet vow whispered under his breath.
"Thank you, Lyanna. Whatever chains you cannot break alone, I'll shatter for you. I'll give everything I have to help you escape the darkness."
Vaelith recalled the first time she appeared in his shadowy world. When I called to you, you turned toward me… but do you know why I didn't show you my face then?
For a moment, his smile lingered, soft and unguarded. Then his gaze shifted, catching his reflection in a mirror leaning against the corner.
A tall man stared back regal, striking. He wore a deep emerald coat draped like royal attire, the rich fabric flowing over his frame. Sunlight caught the strands of his light brown hair, turning them a faint reddish gold. His eyes, an intense green, held both depth and danger. His sharp nose and sculpted lips carried the kind of beauty that could only belong to a prince one so flawless that no second of his kind could exist.
Vaelith's thoughts drifted back to the memory of the forest. The day he saw her .That day had been like any other. He had ridden out on his favorite white stallion, the forest air cool and sharp, the sunlight breaking through the canopy in scattered beams. But then he felt it an echo, a pull in his chest, as though someone had whispered his name without sound. He knew before he even saw her. Lyanna.
He urged his horse forward, faster and faster, until the trees opened into a clearing. There, by the edge of a shallow pond, she sat. For a heartbeat he thought she was not real at all some woodland spirit born of light and water.
And then he froze.
Her skin caught the sunlight like porcelain, unguarded, bare. She had nothing to shield herself from the world. A mortal girl, fragile and unprotected, yet at that moment more otherworldly than any fairy tale.
Vaelith's breath caught in his throat. His gaze dropped away instantly, shame burning through him not for himself, but for fear she might feel exposed beneath his eyes. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his coat, the deep emerald fabric heavy with his warmth and scent, and held it out to her.
"Here," he had said, his voice quieter than he intended.
When she took it, he allowed himself a glance. Her face had flushed crimson, her eyes swollen from tears.
Those eyes so beautiful, so alive yet streaked with pain. Seeing them wounded him in ways no blade could. Her hair wild and wavy, drifted with the wind like strands of sunlight caught in motion. And her lips soft, faintly red sealed his thought.
She was no spirit, no illusion. She was real. A girl, raw and vulnerable. And yet, to him, she seemed more like a fairy who had stumbled into the mortal world.
Wait… why am I thinking these things?
His chest had tightened that day, his heartbeat pounding like war drums. When she lifted her gaze and their eyes met, he had faltered, afraid of what he felt. Instinctively, he had used his power not to bind her, but to keep her close. He couldn't let her vanish. Not her.
And so, he spoke, his voice firm though his hands trembled.
"Follow me. I know a path. One that will lead you out. I'll guide you myself."
But long after she left, he had sat alone beneath the trees, asking himself what it was he had gained.
Now he understood.
A memory. A single, fleeting moment of not being alone.
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