We left the dining hall slowly, like we weren't quite ready to step back into the larger world yet.
The noise of students faded the further we walked down the corridor, replaced by the quieter sounds of the academy breathing—distant footsteps, the faint hum of wards through stone, the rustle of wind through high windows.
"Training doesn't start for another hour," Lira said, glancing at the sun through a narrow window set above the hall. "We… have some time."
Seris slung her hands behind her head as we walked. "So, what do we do with this rare gift of unstructured time? Sleep again? Steal extra bread? Start a rebellion?"
"You're not starting a rebellion before noon," Lira replied mildly.
"Afternoon rebellion, then," Seris said.
I smiled, feeling a familiar warmth at their banter. "How about the courtyard?" I suggested. "Just for a bit."
Lira nodded immediately. "The east garden is quiet this time of day."
Seris shrugged. "As long as you're not suggesting the library, I'm in."
Lira gave her a lightly offended look. "I like the library."
"We know," Seris said. "It's your natural habitat. I, on the other hand, am allergic to silence where books judge me."
"Books don't judge," Lira protested.
"They do when I try to read them," Seris muttered.
I laughed, and that seemed to settle it.
We slipped out through one of the side doors and into the east courtyard—a quieter part of the academy. The garden there was simple but beautiful: low hedges shaped into soft curves, stone benches worn smooth by years of use, a few small flowering trees with pale blossoms just beginning to open.
The wards here felt calmer.
Less tense.
Less reactive.
The entity's presence wasn't pushing at the edges right now, and the quiet felt genuine—not like a trap, but like a reprieve.
Lira walked a few steps ahead, her fingers trailing briefly over a low hedge as she passed. The sunlight caught on her hair, turning it almost gold at the edges.
Seris nudged my shoulder, tilting her head toward her. "She's thinking about something."
"I heard that," Lira said without turning around.
"Good," Seris replied.
We found an empty stone bench beneath one of the trees. Lira sat first, smoothing her robe underneath her. I took the spot beside her, and Seris, after pretending for half a second she might lean against a tree instead, plopped down on my other side with a quiet huff.
For a moment, we just sat there.
The garden was quiet enough that we could hear the faint splashing of water from a small fountain deeper in. A few other students passed at a distance, but no one came close.
"Feels like another world out here," I said softly.
Lira nodded. "That's why I like this spot."
Seris stretched her legs out. "Good view, too," she said, looking up at the sky. "Less stone. More sky."
I leaned back against the bench, letting the quiet seep in, forcing my shoulders to relax.
It was Lira who spoke first this time.
"Can I ask you something?" she said, turning slightly toward me.
I met her gaze. "Always."
She hesitated, then: "Last night… when we stayed with you. Did it help?"
The answer came without me needing to think.
"Yes."
Lira's shoulders loosened just a bit. "Good."
Seris drummed her fingers lightly against the stone. "Because if we're doing all this emotional work and you're not even sleeping better, I'm filing a complaint."
"With who?" I asked.
She paused. "Good question. I'll get back to you."
Lira shook her head, but she was smiling again.
"It wasn't just sleep," I said quietly. "It was… knowing I wouldn't wake up alone if something went wrong."
Their expressions shifted at that—soft, fragile, fierce all at once.
Lira moved her hand just a little closer on the bench until her fingers brushed mine. "You won't," she said.
Seris turned her head to look at me fully, resting her arm along the back of the bench so it nearly touched my shoulders. "At this point, you'd have to physically throw us out if you wanted to be alone."
"Even then," Lira added, "I'd stay outside the door."
My throat tightened in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
"You know that goes both ways," I said.
They both looked at me.
"If either of you needed us," I went on, "I'd be there. Every time."
Lira's gaze softened, eyes shining in a way that made me want to say more and simultaneously terrified me of what might come out.
Seris, ever the one to turn intensity into something manageable, snorted. "Well, clearly. Who else is going to stop me from doing something reckless?"
"Or me from overthinking until I panic," Lira said quietly.
"You both underestimate yourselves," I replied.
They both, at the same time, muttered a quiet, disbelieving "No," and for a second, the synchronicity of it made all three of us laugh.
The laughter faded slowly, leaving something more delicate in its place.
The bond hummed gently, warmth radiating from both sides into my chest.
Lira spoke again, softer this time. "Can I ask you another thing?"
"Yeah," I said.
"If…" She hesitated, searching for the right words. "If we hadn't stayed last night—do you think the entity would have tried to reach you again?"
I thought back to the pressure at the edge of the wards, the faint whisper pressing against the fracture.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "Maybe."
Lira swallowed. "Then I'm glad we did."
"Same," Seris said. "I'd rather lose sleep than let it get close to you without us there."
"That works both ways too," I said softly. "If it tries to reach through the bond again, that risks you both."
Seris shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah. And?"
Lira nodded. "We made that choice already," she said simply.
The warmth that rolled through the bond at that nearly stole my breath.
They weren't tied to me by obligation.
Not because of the Council.
Not because of the shrine.
They were choosing this.
Choosing me.
Every day.
The realization settled into my ribs like a new kind of anchor.
Without thinking about it too hard, I turned my hand and properly laced my fingers with Lira's. Her breath caught—a soft, startled sound—but she didn't pull away. Her grip tightened instead, shy but certain.
On my other side, Seris made a small noise in the back of her throat.
I glanced at her, half-worried. "What?"
She frowned. "Nothing. I just—" She huffed. "You two are going to kill me with all this softness."
"You're the one who stayed the night too," I reminded her.
She looked away for a second, ears reddening faintly. "Yeah, well. Someone had to make sure neither of you rolled off the bed."
"That's not how beds work," Lira said, amused.
"Still," Seris muttered.
I reached out with my free hand and nudged her hand lightly where it rested on her knee. She glanced down at the contact, then at me.
"You're allowed to be soft too," I said.
The words made her freeze.
A moment passed.
Then she turned her hand over, just enough for my fingers to curl into hers.
Her grip was different from Lira's. Still warm, still careful, but more sure. Like she wasn't used to gentle things, but she was determined not to crush them.
"If you tell anyone," she warned lightly, "I'll deny it."
I smiled. "Your secret is safe."
Lira watched us, her expression open and warm. Instead of jealousy, there was a kind of quiet contentment, as if seeing the three of us linked like this made the world feel more right to her too.
The three of us sat there under the small flowering tree, hands linked between us, bond thrumming gently like a low, steady chord.
No training.
No Council.
No entity.
Just us, for a moment.
Just this.
"Arin?" Lira said softly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad it's you," she whispered.
The words landed like a physical touch.
My chest tightened. "Me?"
She nodded. "The one in the center."
Seris's thumb brushed the back of my hand. "Same. Anyone else, and I'd have set them on fire already."
I laughed, but my voice was a little unsteady.
"Sometimes," I said quietly, "I still don't understand why it's me."
Lira squeezed my hand gently. "Maybe it doesn't matter why."
Seris nodded. "What matters is what you do with it. And right now? You're not doing it alone."
The bond pulsed again, stronger this time. The mark under my skin warmed, not with danger, but with something that felt strangely like acceptance.
The fractured part of me—the imprint tied to another life—stirred faintly, but the pressure of it wasn't overwhelming. Not with their hands in mine. Not with their voices grounding me.
For now, it was quiet.
For now, I was here.
With them.
A bell rang somewhere in the distance, signaling the next training block.
Lira sighed softly. "We should go."
"Or," Seris said, "we pretend we didn't hear that."
Lira gave her a patient look. "We heard it."
Seris clicked her tongue. "Tragic."
I reluctantly let go of their hands so we could stand, but the bond stayed warm, stretched easily between us as we moved.
As we stepped out of the courtyard and back onto the stone path, students moved around us again, the academy resuming its usual rhythm.
But something had shifted.
Breakfast had given us more than just food.
It had given us space to breathe.
To laugh.
To choose this—each other—again, in the daylight, not just in fear and crisis.
And as we walked toward the training hall—Lira on my right, Seris on my left, shoulders brushing, bond humming a quiet harmony—I realized that whatever the entity was watching, whatever it remembered, whatever it wanted…
This was what I remembered.
Not pain. Not fear. Not fractures.
But moments like this.
A table for three.
A bench for three.
A future, maybe, for three.
And for the first time, that didn't feel impossible.
It felt inevitable.