Lyra ducked inside, the canvas flap whispering shut behind her. The scent of herbs and clean linen wrapped around her, cutting through the memory of smoke and blood that still clung to her armor. The air was cooler here, quieter, as though the tent itself was holding its breath.
Selene sat propped up against a mound of pillows. Her face was pale, her movements slow, but the shallow, ragged breaths of the night before were gone. A faint flush had returned to her cheeks. She was alive.
On a stool beside her, Livy clutched a clay bowl of stew. She held out a spoonful with the concentration of a priest at ritual. When she saw Lyra, her whole face lit up.
"General Lyra!" she whispered, proud and urgent. "Selene is eating!"
Selene managed a small smile, fragile but genuine. "I am. My body is stubborn, it seems. But it is healing." She nodded toward the bowl. "Robin says I just need rest and bland food."
Lyra's shoulders sagged. The relief was so profound it nearly buckled her. She crossed the space in three strides and knelt beside the cot, her eyes tracing the bandage wrapped snug around Selene's stomach. The healing was ordinary—no glow, no miracle. Just blood and flesh doing their slow work.
And yet, Lyra found herself lingering, her gaze lingering on Selene's pale face longer than necessary, her heart beating faster than it should. There was a pull she didn't fully understand, a warmth creeping through her chest at the sight of Selene awake and smiling.
"Thank the stars," Lyra murmured, her voice thick. "You gave us all a scare."
Selene reached for her hand, her grip warm but faint. Lyra's fingers brushed against hers, lingering a heartbeat too long, and she felt the familiar, dizzying tug of attraction she'd tried to ignore. "I am sorry for that. But look—I'm getting better."
Lyra nodded, straightening reluctantly, slipping her General's mask back into place. "The two orcs you and the children encountered were likely lured by the noise of the celebration," she said, her voice sliding into command tone. "I've ordered the knights to scout the woods. There shouldn't be any more nearby."
Selene's faint smile faltered. "What if they weren't with the bandits?"
Lyra's jaw flexed. That thought had gnawed at her relentlessly. Her throat tightened as she realized she wasn't just worried for Selene as a comrade—she was worried in a way she hadn't admitted to herself. "There are supposed to be no orcs in these areas. So these were clearly brought in by the bandits," she said, though her eyes kept flicking to Selene's fragile form.
Before Selene could press, Livy's small voice broke in. "General Lyra… are you going to find the bad guys?"
Lyra forced a smile for the child. "It's my job to make sure everyone is safe."
But when she turned back to Selene, the weight of her attraction made her chest tighten. She leaned closer, lowering her voice so only Selene could hear.
"I was wondering," Lyra whispered, her words almost unsteady, "did you try using your magic again… to heal faster?"
Selene's eyes dropped to the blanket draped over her legs. A shadow crossed her face. "I did," she said softly. "Nothing happened." Her fingers tightened around the fabric. "I guess it doesn't work on me."
The words struck Lyra harder than any sword. She felt her stomach twist, not just from concern, but from an unfamiliar ache she couldn't name. Selene's power could heal everyone but herself… and Lyra wanted desperately to help, to fix what she could not.
"Why wouldn't it work?" Lyra whispered, urgency threading through her voice. "Does it have limits? Conditions?"
Selene lifted her gaze, and for the first time, Lyra saw vulnerability so raw it made her pulse stutter. "I… I don't know," she breathed. "Maybe my power is only for others."
Lyra's chest tightened, and she felt an almost desperate need to wrap Selene in her arms, to shield her from the world. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to remain composed.
Livy hummed obliviously, poking the stew with her spoon, unaware of the tension.
Lyra leaned in, her whisper almost fierce, betraying more than concern. "But why? Why only others? Is that—" She stopped, noticing Selene's quiet, haunted gaze. "Is that a curse?"
Selene's brow furrowed as if chasing a memory that refused to be caught. "I think…" Her voice faltered. "I think my memories were taken." She shrugged helplessly. "I just feel it."
The admission hollowed Lyra. A friend unraveling, carrying a power that came with a price too cruel to bear. And beneath that, a fluttering pull in her chest she wouldn't name—an attraction she had buried under discipline and duty.
Before she could answer, the tent flap burst open. A dozen children spilled inside, voices bright and eager. Rory, Enzo, and Finn led the charge, their faces flushed with triumph.
"She's awake!" Rory shouted, elbowing his way to the front.
"Told you she was better!" Enzo added, his grin wide.
Livy jumped up quickly, setting the bowl aside to make room.
"Selene!" Finn piped, his small voice echoing in the canvas. "We came to say thank you!"
Selene blinked at the sudden rush of energy, her pale face softening into a weak but radiant smile. She looked from child to child, her heart swelling with something nameless.
Lyra, still kneeling, felt the clash like a hammer to her ribs. Moments ago, she'd been staring into the abyss of Selene's curse. Now she was surrounded by laughter and the smell of grass on children's clothes. She rose to her feet, trying to mask the quickening of her pulse with her usual command.
"Rory," she said sharply. "What is the meaning of this?"
Rory, bold as fire, stood his ground. He lifted his slingshot, gripping it like a sword. "We wanted to see her since the other day," he said. "And we came to tell her we're training. The older kids want to be trained with the slingshot, but the General" He grinned at Lyra " clearly said they'd be training with bow and arrow."
Enzo, who wanted to learn about the slingshot, protested. "But the slingshot is easy to carry. The bow gives me blisters. And it's only for self-defense. I still want to help with you, Selene."
Selene's eyes didn't leave Enzo's. She reached out with her free hand, her touch steady as the earth itself. "The healers need defenders too. Not everyone holds a sword. Some hold lives in their hands. That's not weakness, Enzo. That's courage."
Enzo's throat bobbed. A shy smile tugged at his mouth.
The tent stilled. Selene's smile deepened, her hand pressing faintly against her bandaged stomach. "Enzo… that's not giving up. That's choosing where you're strongest."
The children crowded closer, voices tumbling over one another—boasting of training, of running drills, of aiming for the straw targets. Their energy filled the tent, drowning out the quiet ache of before.
Lyra's gaze hardened, but inside, she felt the subtle pull of attraction she barely acknowledged. She wasn't just a commander here; she was a protector in a way that went beyond duty. Every glance at Selene, every word exchanged, made her heart skip.
For all her rank, all her skill, she suddenly felt like the weakest person in the room.