I should have left.
The moment she touched the scar—the moment my body leaned toward her like it remembered something my mind had buried—I should have vanished into shadow and stone, leaving her standing there with questions she didn't deserve answered.
Instead—
I stayed.
The earth breathed around us. Wind tugged at loose gravel, moonlight reflecting off her white hair. She stood too close. Close enough that I could feel her heat, even through the dragonbane still clinging to her veins. Close enough that my lightning stirred—restless, irritated.
Dangerous.
Then the earth shifted.
Not violently.
Deliberately.
Princess Willow emerged from behind a stone outcropping like the mountain itself had exhaled her into being. Dust clung to her boots, her expression sharp and strained, eyes flicking first to the Primal Dragon—
Then to me.
Her gaze lingered.
Just long enough.
Recognition sparked there—quick and volatile.
I tensed.
Lyra stepped half a pace forward without looking back, shoulders squaring subtly—blocking Willow's line of sight like it was instinct rather than choice.
Interesting.
"We're not alone," Willow said, voice tight. "And you're not as far from the capital as you think."
Lyra didn't turn. "I figured."
The wind shifted, carrying the distant echo of horns and shouted orders. The Earth Kingdom was waking up properly now.
Willow crossed her arms. "You need to keep moving."
"I will," Lyra replied. "After we get Revik."
The words landed like a blade.
Willow stiffened. "No."
Lyra finally turned, brows lifting. "No?"
"That prison is not a holding cell," Willow snapped. "It's a sinkhole. Wards stacked on wards. Anti-shift fields. Null zones. Suppression anchors. You don't break people out of there."
Lyra tilted her head. "Sounds cozy."
I stifled a laugh.
"This isn't a joke, Primal."
"I know," Lyra said. Her voice softened, but her stance didn't. "But that's where my family is."
Family.
The word should not have mattered.
It did.
Something inside my chest twitched—sharp and unwanted.
"Also," Lyra added, "I prefer being called Lyra."
Lyra.
Why did that name sound so sweet on the tongue?
Willow's jaw clenched. "You don't understand what you're asking."
"I do," Lyra said calmly. "And I'm not leaving without him."
Silence stretched.
Willow glanced at me again—longer this time.
I gave her nothing.
No movement. No reaction.
Just shadow and stillness.
"This is suicide," Willow said finally.
Lyra's mouth curved. "Only if we don't succeed."
"You're insane," Willow shot back.
Lyra shrugged. "And yet—you haven't left."
A beat passed.
Then Lyra added softly, "If I'm going to die horribly, I'd rather do it trying to save someone I love."
Love.
The word scraped something raw.
Willow dragged a hand through her hair. "You are infuriating."
"I've been called worse."
Another pause.
Willow's shoulders slumped—just slightly. Not defeat. Decision.
"…Getting in won't be the problem," she said reluctantly. "The lower corridors still answer to me. I can bend the approach paths, reroute patrols."
"And getting out?" Lyra asked.
Willow met her gaze. "That's where things get… complicated."
Lyra smiled—slow and sharp. "Then it's a good thing we're good at complicated."
Her eyes flicked sideways—toward me.
"And we've got help."
Willow followed her gaze. Studied me.
"The masked one," she said carefully. "He doesn't speak much."
Lyra snorted. "More of the brooding type, I imagine."
Willow huffed despite herself.
Then—
Lyra laughed.
Not loud. Not careless.
Just a small, breathless sound that slipped out like it surprised even her.
It hit me harder than lightning.
My heart skipped.
Actually skipped.
The darkness recoiled like it had been struck.
I clenched my fists inside my gloves, grounding myself as shadow surged instinctively, trying to smother the reaction before Mortimer could feel it.
What is this?
Why does that—
I turned away sharply and started walking before either of them could notice the fracture.
They followed.
The path Willow chose dipped steeply, stone folding beneath our feet to form a narrow descent. The Earth Kingdom hid its most valuable prisons deep—not beneath dungeons, but beneath infrastructure. Under the bones of the city itself.
"High-security facility," Willow said. "Built long before my father's reign. No windows. No natural exits. The wards aren't decorative."
Lyra hummed. "They never are."
"Anti-wielding fields."
"Smart. Yet unexpected."
"Anti-dragon."
Lyra winced. "Well. That's just annoying."
"And fail-safes that collapse entire corridors if tampered with."
Lyra glanced at me. "You hear that? We're not allowed to tamper."
I said nothing.
But something inside me twisted again at the ease of her tone. As if we were planning a theft instead of walking into a place designed to erase people.
As if she trusted me.
The thought burned.
Why are you protecting me?
Why hide my identity?
Mortimer stirred behind the wall I'd built in my mind, curiosity burning on the other side.
She shielded me.
I shoved the thought away.
The corridor narrowed, iron bands reinforcing stone, sigils layered so densely they blurred together.
Somewhere down there—
Revik.
Her family.
Alive.
For now.
Lyra stopped at the threshold.
"I'm serious," she said quietly. "If either of you tries to turn back once we're in there—don't."
Willow met her gaze. "You're asking me to commit treason."
Lyra's eyes softened. "I'm asking you to choose what kind of ruler you want to be. Ruled by fear like your father—or to rule with understanding and wisdom."
The words landed.
Willow looked away first.
I watched from the edges of shadow, something tight and unfamiliar coiling beneath my ribs.
She makes people choose.
Not with force.
With presence.
With refusal to bend.
It was infuriating.
And—
Admirable.
We moved again.
Downward.
Toward the prison that did not let people leave.
And as Lyra walked ahead of me—steady, determined, weakened but unbroken—I felt it again.
That pull.
That echo.
Something calling out to her.
I didn't want to feel it.
It was something else.
Something worse.
Something that reminded me of who I was before I decided the world was easier to burn than to feel.
And for the first time since Mortimer claimed me, a thought surfaced that did not belong to him.
I don't want her to see what I become in there.
The darkness tightened its grip.
But it was already too late.
The fissures had formed.
And they were spreading.