The walk back to the Solstice Tower was a silent, tense procession. The night-Henry led the way, his face unreadable, the two goddesses floating behind him like satellites in opposing orbits. When they reached his quarters, he didn't say a word to them. He simply went to the bed, lay down, and closed his eyes. Not to sleep, but to rest. The night had been productive.
Dawn arrived, and with it, the inevitable tide of change. The cold clarity and confident power receded, leaving behind their usual residue of pain and exhaustion.
Henry blinked, the soft morning light feeling harsh and accusatory. The memories of the night weren't dream fragments; they were crystal clear. He remembered everything: dissolving into shadow, the terror on Lyra's face, the monstrous form, the cruel laugh.
A wave of nausea and self-loathing washed over him. His other self hadn't physically hurt her, but the invasion, the psychological torture… it was horrifically intimate. He had become someone's monster under the bed. And a part of him, a part he hated to admit existed, felt a dark flicker of satisfaction.
With a groan, he dragged himself out of bed and got ready for another day. The academy uniform felt like a costume, a lie he wore to pretend he was one of them.
In "History of Ancient Runes" class, he couldn't focus. He could feel a pair of eyes locked on him for the entire lecture. It wasn't Helia's analytical gold gaze from beside him. It was Lyra, from across the room. He risked a glance.
Her expression wasn't the usual contempt. It was a confused, unstable mix. Anger, yes, but underneath it was a tremor of fear and something else he couldn't quite place. She didn't know if she wanted to incinerate him or run from him.
The bell rang, and as the students started to leave, Lyra stood and marched right toward him, her intention clear. Henry braced himself for another round of insults.
She stopped before his desk, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her posture was defiant, but her ice-blue eyes couldn't seem to meet his for more than a second. "I…" she started, her voice strained. "I take back what I said."
Henry blinked, confused. "What?"
"I called you weak," she said, the words sounding like they were being ripped out of her. "I was wrong. Whatever you are… it isn't weak." Her apology sounded more like an accusation. "But that doesn't change anything. I am still going to be the strongest mage in this academy. And our rivalry stands."
She leaned forward, her intensity burning. "I will surpass you. Not with mind games or fear tactics, but with pure skill. And when I defeat you, fair and square, I'm going to remake you. I'm going to turn you into someone who looks up to me, who acknowledges my strength above all others."
She got even closer, her face inches from his. Her voice dropped to a whisper so low he could barely hear it, a puff of warm breath against his ear.
"...and make you something that's mine alone."
Henry felt a flush creep up his neck, not of shame, but of pure, utter confusion. Lyra's own face turned bright red.
She straightened up abruptly, as if she'd burned herself. "Hmph!" With that dismissive sound, she spun around and stormed out of the room, leaving Henry completely bewildered.
He had no idea what had just happened.
In his mind, a clear, melodic laugh echoed, full of delighted sarcasm. *Oh, this is just perfect,* Tsukuyomi's voice chirped. *She doesn't just want to beat you, my dear. She wants to possess you. And you, my poor, dense boy, you haven't got a clue, do you?*
Henry stared at the empty space where Lyra had been, his brain trying to unscramble the encounter. He had come to class expecting to be an outcast. Instead, he'd gotten an apology, a renewed declaration of rivalry, and a whispered confession that left him more confused than ever.
The academy was turning out to be a much weirder battlefield than he ever could have imagined.