The moment they stepped into the little teahouse tucked between two flower shops, Lyria felt her heart lift.
It was quiet here. Warm. Safe.
Sunlight spilled through the windows in soft golden shapes, painting the wooden tables with gentle light. The air smelled of honey, jasmine, and freshly baked pastries.
Perfect, Lyria thought.
A place where Raven might relax. Even a little.
They took a seat near the window—Raven beside her, Kara opposite them. A small silver bell chimed when the server arrived with menus.
Kara ordered immediately.
"I'll take the sweetberry tea and the rose cake."
Lyria smiled. "I'll take the same."
The server turned to Raven. "And for you, miss?"
Raven hesitated only a second.
"Just water."
The server blinked. "Oh—no tea? Perhaps mint? Fruit tea? We have—"
"Water is fine," Raven said, soft but final.
He bowed and left.
Lyria watched Raven quietly.
It wasn't the order itself that caught her attention—it was the way Raven sat, guarded even in silence, like someone who expected to be judged for simply existing.
Lyria leaned her cheek on her hand.
"You really don't like tea, do you?"
Raven didn't look at her. "It's not that."
"Then… the pastries?"
"I'm not hungry."
"You weren't hungry yesterday either."
Raven's fingers tightened slightly around the empty glass in front of her—just enough for Lyria to notice.
She softened her voice.
"You know… you don't have to pretend with me."
Raven's shoulders stiffened.
For a second—just a second—Lyria wondered if she had pushed too far.
Then Raven exhaled quietly.
"I'm just… thirsty today. That's all."
Lyria didn't believe her.
But she didn't press.
Instead, she smiled gently.
"Then I'm glad you came with us anyway."
Raven blinked, surprised.
She's so easy to fluster… when she lets herself feel anything at all.
Their drinks arrived. Two teacups shaped like blooming petals—one plain glass of water.
Kara was too busy stuffing a forkful of rose cake into her mouth to notice the delicate tension between Lyria and Raven.
But Lyria noticed everything.
She sipped her tea slowly, watching Raven from the corner of her eye.
The way Raven held her glass carefully, as though she feared breaking it.
The way her gaze drifted out the window, following people walking in the street.
Always watching.
Always alert.
Always somewhere far away.
Where are you, Raven? What are you thinking about?
Lyria wanted to know.
More than she should.
She cleared her throat gently.
"So… do you have any favorite drinks?"
Raven blinked, caught off guard by the innocent question.
"…Yes."
"And?"
"…It doesn't matter."
Lyria laughed softly. "Of course it matters. I'm trying to get to know you."
Raven froze.
Actually froze.
Lyria hadn't expected that reaction—so raw, so unguarded. Raven looked like someone had reached inside her chest and pressed a bruise she'd hidden for years.
Kara looked up from her cake, confused.
"What's wrong with her?"
Lyria nudged Raven's hand under the table—soft, reassuring, a silent It's okay, I'm here.
Raven blinked twice, then whispered,
"…I'm just not used to that."
"Someone wanting to know you?" Lyria asked gently.
Raven didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
Lyria felt her heart ache.
How lonely were you, Raven?
What kind of life makes a simple question feel dangerous?
She smiled, warm and steady.
"Well… get used to it," she said softly.
"Because I'm not going anywhere."
Raven looked at her then—really looked.
Her eyes were dark, stormy, reflecting too many emotions to name.
Something flickered there.
Something fragile.
Something hopeful.
Lyria felt her breath catch.
The teahouse was quiet.
The sunlight gentle.
The moment soft and sweet.
And for the first time all day—
Lyria felt Raven actually relax beside her.
Just a little.
But it was enough.
The walk from the teahouse to the weapon district was short, but Lyria barely heard anything Kara said along the way.
Her mind kept drifting back to Raven — to the way she stiffened when someone tried to know her…
…to the way she relaxed, just a little, when Lyria reassured her.
Lyria wanted more of that tiny peace she saw in Raven's eyes.
She wanted to earn it.
But when Kara suddenly clapped her hands and said,
"We're here!"
—Lyria snapped out of her thoughts.
They had stopped in front of an enormous workshop with a metal sign:
FERRIN'S FORGE — Rare & Enchanted Arms
The moment they stepped inside, Lyria felt Raven's aura shift.
Raven's eyes widened slightly — the closest thing she ever had to excitement — as she looked around at the rows of weapons. Blades glimmered on stands. Spears and halberds lined the walls. Strange magical artifacts floated inside sealed glass cases.
Lyria smiled quietly.
She had never seen Raven look at anything with such open interest.
But before she could enjoy that expression further, a voice called out:
"Welcome to Ferrin's Forg— Oh!"
A girl about their age, with auburn hair tied in a messy ponytail, leaned over the counter. Her brown eyes sparkled with recognition.
"Raven? RAVEN!"
Before Lyria could even blink, the girl ran around the counter and threw herself at Raven — wrapping her arms tightly around her.
Raven froze, startled.
Lyria froze too — but for a completely different reason.
Who… who is this girl?
And why is she touching Raven like that?
A strange heat pooled in Lyria's chest — sharp, bitter, completely unfamiliar.
Ayla squeezed Raven again.
"I can't believe it's really you! You're back?! Why didn't you tell me? When did you return?"
Lyria stood silently.
Her hands curled at her sides.
Kara leaned closer and whispered into Lyria's ear, amused,
"You're glaring at her like you want to stab her."
Lyria jerked, cheeks burning.
"I—I am not!"
"You absolutely are."
Lyria shut her up with a pinch to the arm. Kara yelped, but it didn't matter.
Because Ayla finally stepped back, still holding Raven's arm like it belonged to her.
Raven gently pulled her arm free.
"Ayla… I didn't know you worked here."
Ayla beamed.
"Of course I do! I help my father when the forge is busy. But you— when you left, I thought you were never coming back. I worried about you!"
Lyria felt that heat again.
This time, sharper.
Raven mumbled quietly,
"I came back… for family."
Ayla's smile faltered.
"So you're leaving again?"
"…Maybe."
Lyria's chest tightened unexpectedly — but before she could dwell on it, Kara jumped in.
"You two know each other?"
Ayla nodded eagerly.
"Oh yes! I met Raven when I joined the Hunters Guild at eighteen. She was the youngest and strongest hunter there — everyone tried to recruit her. But she always refused. She preferred working alone."
Ayla said it with pride.
Lyria heard it like a warning.
She knows Raven's past.
She's fought beside her.
She understands parts of Raven I don't… yet.
Lyria hated the twist in her stomach.
It wasn't fair.
Still — she watched Raven, trying to read her expression.
But Raven only looked… calm.
Detached.
Unbothered.
That should make me feel better, Lyria thought miserably.
So why doesn't it?
Ayla clapped her hands.
"Well! Are you here to buy a weapon? I can help!"
Raven nodded lightly.
"If something catches my eye."
Ayla immediately grabbed Raven's hand again — Lyria's eye twitched — and pulled her toward the weapon displays.
Lyria followed silently, staying close enough for them to notice.
Ten minutes passed.
Raven examined weapons one by one — measured, professional, uninterested.
Until her gaze stopped.
Lyria felt it the moment Raven's aura shifted again — sharp curiosity flickering in her eyes.
There, in a dim corner of the workshop, lay a long black sword with unfamiliar runes carved into its hilt.
Raven stepped toward it as if drawn by an invisible thread.
Just as she reached out—
"Don't touch that!" Ayla shouted.
They all spun toward her.
Ayla's face had gone pale.
"That sword is cursed," she explained, voice trembling.
"No one can touch it without being drained. People who tried either collapsed… or worse."
Kara stepped closer, fascinated.
"What do you mean cursed?"
Ayla swallowed.
"I touched it once—only for a second—and it felt like my soul was being ripped out."
Lyria shivered.
But Raven didn't hesitate.
"Ayla," she said quietly, "who brought this sword here?"
"My father said someone sold it to us decades ago. Said it came from one of the sealed dungeons."
Raven's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
And then—
Before Lyria could grab her wrist—
Before Ayla could shout again—
Raven picked up the sword.
Lyria's heart stopped.
For a moment Raven went completely still.
Her breath hitched—just once—
Her aura flared, dark and heavy like a storm.
Lyria felt it—
Raw power, curling around Raven like shadows alive.
Then suddenly—
It calmed.
As if the sword recognized her.
Raven exhaled and lifted her gaze.
"I'll buy it."
Ayla looked horrified.
"Raven, you can't— it's— people DIE—"
But Raven held the sword effortlessly.
No trembling.
No pain.
Kara reached for it.
"Let me try—"
"Cara, don't—!"
Too late.
The moment Kara's fingers brushed the hilt, she collapsed to her knees, gasping, clutching her chest.
"Kara!" Lyria dropped beside her.
Kara choked out,
"I— can't— breathe—"
But Raven knelt immediately and took Kara's hand.
Dark veins pulsed up Raven's arm—absorbing the pain, the curse, the force tearing at Kara's soul.
Kara's breathing eased.
The pain drained away.
But Raven…
Raven's face went pale.
Lyria cupped Raven's cheek without thinking, her voice shaking.
"Raven—Raven, look at me. Are you alright?"
Raven opened her eyes.
They were slightly unfocused.
"…I'm fine."
She stood, despite Lyria's hand still holding her face.
And then she picked up the sword again.
"I'm buying this."
Ayla hesitated, terrified.
"…I need to ask my father."
Raven nodded.
Lyria stared at her — at the sword, at Raven's calm face, at the way her hand still tingled from touching her skin.
She was shaken.
Shaken in ways she didn't understand.
Why do you scare me?
Why do you amaze me?
And why… why does the thought of anyone else being close to you make my chest hurt?
Lyria didn't know the answer.
But she knew one thing:
She wasn't letting Raven out of her sight.
Not today.
Not ever again.