"Sometimes love begins not with a kiss... but with a war."
— Myraean Saying
---
I didn't sleep.
Not because the bed was too firm or the night too quiet, but because every time I closed my eyes, she was there.
Nysa.
The woman I was "paired" with. The one who saved me. The one whose presence stirred things I couldn't name — things I wasn't ready for.
Every word we exchanged replayed in my head like echoes in a cavern.
She'd said my name like she already knew the real me — the one I'd spent years burying.
--
When the morning sun stretched across the strange white sky, I left the room quietly.
Outside, the village shimmered in warm gold. The buildings were carved from stone that caught the light and changed colors as it passed — soft pink, silver-blue, pale rose.
Women moved around gracefully. Laughing. Training. Living. No men. No children. Just women — strong, calm, fearless.
I didn't know where I was.
But for some reason, I didn't feel unsafe.
Just... wrong.
Like I didn't deserve to be here.
---
"You're up early," a voice said.
I turned quickly.
Nysa stood at the edge of the courtyard, dressed in dark training leathers, her long braids tied back.
She looked like she belonged here — like she could command armies or quiet storms with a glance.
I straightened my posture. "Couldn't sleep."
"Still scared?"
I hesitated. "Confused. Not scared."
She smiled slightly. "Better answer."
We stood in silence for a moment, until she said, "Come."
---
She led me to a wide stone circle where women were sparring. Some used swords, others fought hand-to-hand. None of them looked away from what they were doing — even when we walked past.
No whispers. No stares. Just acceptance.
Nysa handed me something.
A dark red ribbon.
"What's this?" I asked, inspecting it.
"Your pairing thread. It's symbolic — how the bond begins. When both wear it, it deepens the connection."
I stared at it. "I'm not wearing this."
"You already are," she said, and lightly tapped my wrist.
I looked down.
Under my skin, glowing faintly, was the same red — as if the ribbon had already woven itself into my blood.
I dropped the thread like it burned.
"This isn't fair," I said, voice rising. "I didn't ask for this. I don't even know you!"
"No one asks," she said calmly. "The mirror chooses."
"Well, the mirror made a mistake!"
"The mirror doesn't make mistakes," she said, stepping a little closer. "But people do."
I backed away a little. "You don't understand. I've never... I'm not like this."
Her voice was soft but steady. "Not like what?"
"Like you," I whispered. "Like... them."
I motioned toward the women training.
She nodded slowly. "You mean women who love freely? Women who don't lie to themselves?"
"I'm not lying—"
"You are."
Her eyes met mine, unwavering. "I know what fear looks like. And I know what it looks like when someone wants to run... and be held at the same time."
I couldn't breathe.
Something about the way she said it — like she knew me. Like she'd seen all the walls I'd built and didn't care how tall they were.
I turned away.
"Stop trying to read me," I muttered. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about me."
"I know you were never allowed to be yourself," she said quietly. "I know you're not afraid of me — you're afraid of what being near me makes you feel."
That was it.
The truth I didn't want.
---
I walked away — fast, desperate to escape the heat rising in my chest, the burn in my throat, the confusion tightening around my ribs.
Back in the quiet of the temple, I found a small mirror and stared at myself.
Same eyes. Same lips. Same girl who always pretended to be okay.
But something had shifted.
Because now, when I looked at my reflection...
I didn't just see the girl I used to be.
I saw the girl I was running from.
And for one breath, one blink, one stolen heartbeat—
I wished I wasn't afraid.