The marketplace had transformed into something out of a fairytale.
Lyria had never seen Nytheris in this light before—lanterns hovered mid-air, glowing softly like captive fireflies. Exotic spices danced in the air with the sweet scent of honeysuckle and freshly baked almond bread. The music—low, rhythmic, and hypnotic—came from a quartet of minstrels seated on floating stones, strumming glowing lyres and whispering verses of an ancient tongue.
It was the Festival of the Twin Moons—Iluyari—celebrated once every ten years when both moons aligned perfectly above the Heart of Nytheris. Legend said the moons' alignment bridged the veil between destinies, allowing lost souls to find their path once more.
Lyria stood at the edge of the crowd, her gown swaying gently with the breeze. It was nothing like the armor she'd grown used to in this world. This time, she wore silver threads woven with stardust—literally. The outfit shimmered as though it breathed.
"Remind me again," she muttered, glancing sideways at Kael, who was equally uncomfortable in his ceremonial robe, "why are we dressed like celestial nobles?"
Kael's lips twitched. "Because tonight is when the sky forgets who it belongs to. And so should we."
"Poetic," she said dryly, though her heart beat louder than the drums echoing in the plaza.
Tonight wasn't just a celebration—it was a moment of delicate peace. The political tension in the Council of Threads had reached a boiling point after the events in the Obsidian Marsh, and Kael's presence at the festival was a message: Nytheris still danced.
Lyria watched as couples spun in glowing spirals on the floating platforms that hovered above the marble stage. Each step activated a trail of silver light beneath their feet, forming patterns in the air—glyphs of old that spoke of unity, hope, and memory.
Kael offered his hand to her.
"No," she said instinctively. "I don't dance."
"But your soul might want to."
She raised an eyebrow. "That's unfair. Using poetic manipulation against someone who's bad with rhythm."
He chuckled. "That's the thing, Lyria. The Iluyari dance isn't about rhythm. It's about connection."
Reluctantly, and to her own surprise, she took his hand.
As their feet touched the floating stone, it lifted them above the crowd. The world below faded into a soft blur of color and warmth, and the music settled into their bones.
Kael moved first—slow, deliberate, and then paused, letting her move in return. There was no choreography, no steps to memorize—just instinct and breath.
And with each movement, the platform reacted.
Light followed them—first a soft glow, then threads of ethereal fire that painted constellations in the air. The glyphs that formed shimmered with meaning. They weren't just decoration—they were reading them. Interpreting them.
"Is that..." Lyria gasped. "A Memory Glyph?"
Kael nodded. "Every pair creates one. If your intentions are pure, and your hearts aligned, the glyph remains forever."
She turned sharply. "Forever?"
"It becomes part of Nytheris' sky. Added to the Celestial Archives."
Her heartbeat spiked. "And if our hearts don't align?"
"Then the platform dims. And your glyph fades."
"No pressure then."
He smiled.
They kept dancing—step by step, silence folding over them until all Lyria could hear was the rhythm of her own breathing and the hum of Kael's magic, like a soft current guiding her spine.
And then something unexpected happened.
A burst of violet light spiraled from beneath their feet. The glyphs shifted rapidly—not memory or unity, but something else.
Emotion.
Confession.
The platform trembled gently, as if whispering: This is not rehearsed. This is real.
Lyria's hand tensed in Kael's. "What's happening?"
Kael looked as confused as she felt. "I don't know. The glyphs—"
They shifted again, forming a symbol neither of them recognized—a star fractured at its center, wrapped in two mirrored wings.
A sudden hush fell over the entire plaza.
Everyone looked up.
The glyph had risen above them—huge, brilliant, spinning gently.
Lyria felt exposed. Naked, even. Her heart was laid bare in light and form.
And then, an old priestess gasped. "That is a Bondmark."
A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Lyria looked at Kael. "What's a Bondmark?"
He was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, strained. "It means… our destinies just aligned. Permanently."
Her throat dried.
Kael continued, "It's not just symbolic. A Bondmark created during Iluyari... binds souls. Across time. Across realms."
Lyria stepped back, the platform adjusting beneath her feet. "But I didn't ask for this."
"Neither did I," he whispered. "But the magic saw something we didn't."
The glyph above them pulsed.
And suddenly, Lyria felt a strange pull in her chest—like a tether tightening around her very essence. She blinked, and for a brief moment, saw flashes of things she couldn't understand.
Kael, falling in battle.
Kael, weeping under a blood-red sky.
Kael, reaching for her in a void of stars.
Visions—not memories. Possibilities.
When she snapped back to reality, Kael was still standing there, his hand outstretched, waiting.
"I'm not ready," she whispered.
"You don't have to be."
"But this changes everything."
"I know."
A silence fell between them. But it was not cold. It was not awkward.
It was alive.
Then Kael added softly, "The moons only align once every decade. Maybe… the universe didn't want to wait another ten years."
Lyria looked up at the moons, now perfectly overlapping like twin hearts beating in tandem.
The glyph began to fade.
But instead of vanishing, it burned into the sky above Nytheris, joining thousands of others—some ancient, some new. Their Bondmark. Eternal.
The music resumed. The crowd exhaled. The world moved on.
But Lyria's heart did not.
She looked at Kael, truly looked at him. Not as a knight, or a prince, or a sorcerer. But as someone she might have been searching for all along—without even knowing.
Maybe destiny had found her after all.