The Moon Garden was quiet.Tucked behind the upper sanctum of the Temple of Reflection, its pool shimmered with starlight filtered through silver leaves. The stillness pressed in — holy, heavy — broken only by a single girl seated on the marble edge.
She didn't notice him at first.
Tavin stood at the entrance, unsure if he should approach. His heartbeat matched the Gate's thrum under his skin.
She looked… different.Not like the radiant vision they'd imagined.She was small, almost sickly in frame, with a sort of willowy fragility. Her hair, a deep shadowed brown, fell around her face like soft vines. Her eyes, wide and doe-like, were a quiet, earthy brown — so unlike the other Lucians who sparkled like glass. She didn't dazzle. She lingered. Elegant in a faded way, like an old painting or a prayer said too many times.
She was beautiful.But not in the way Niah or Kaelara were.Her beauty was a quiet sadness that made you want to know her name.
Tavin took a step forward. "You're… Lysaria?"
She looked up slowly, startled—but not afraid.
"You again," she said softly, studying him. "The shadow in the archway."
He gave an awkward half-bow. "I had to see you."
"Why?" she asked. "Because you think I'm special?"
He hesitated. "Because I think you're trapped."
Lysaria turned back to the moonlit pool. "They say I was born during the war. No name. No origin. I shimmered once when I cried, and that was enough. They took me from the camps."
She touched the edge of her robe, tracing a stitched sigil. "I was raised in light, taught to silence anything that cast a shadow."
"Do you remember your parents?" he asked gently.
She shook her head. "Only flashes. A woman with violet eyes. A song made of wind and dust. They say she died in a raid."
Tavin's stomach tightened. Skotos. Maybe a priestess.
Maybe one of his.
"I'm not like them," she said. "They want me to be a symbol, but I'm only… me."
He sat beside her, closer than he meant to.
"You're more than they'll let you be," he said. "And you're not alone anymore."
Flicker
Their fingers touched.
The Gate pulsed.
Lysaria inhaled sharply as light cracked across her chest — not pain, not magic. Recognition.
A whisper of connection sang between them. Not quite resonance. But the start.
Her eyes widened. "What was that?"
"Truth," Tavin said. "Or maybe potential."
She looked down at her hand like it had betrayed her. "I felt… something warm. But wrong."
"Not wrong," he corrected softly. "Just different."
Bush Ambush:
Not far away, Niah and Kaelara crouched behind a flowering hedge, whispering furiously.
"Look at them!" Kaelara spat. "He's already touched her hand. What is he, allergic to personal space?"
"He's just talking," Niah said, though her jaw was a little tight.
Kaelara narrowed her eyes. "Oh yeah? Talking doesn't usually involve glowing tattoos and emotionally intense hand-holding under the moon."
"Why are you so worked up?"
"I'm not worked up. I'm just saying—this was supposed to be our mission. Not a date."
"Kaelara," Niah sighed. "You've been adjusting your top for fifteen minutes. You're not fooling anyone."
Kaelara scoffed, crossing her arms and adjusting her posture again—accidentally pulling her cloak off one shoulder.
"Shut up."
"Mhmm."
The Echo Deepens:
Back at the fountain, Lysaria stood, dazed.
"If I go with you," she said, voice trembling, "what will I become?"
"Yourself," Tavin replied. "For the first time."
She looked at him like she wanted to believe that.
Then she turned and walked into the moonlight.
Tavin wanted to follow her, but knew she needed time. Time that they did not have.