I didn't realize how long I'd been staring at the ceiling until Lira quietly whispered my name.
"Arin?"
Her voice was soft.
Too soft.
The kind you use for someone who's been hurt.
I blinked and turned my head. She sat on the chair beside my bed again, not leaning forward this time—just watching me, fingers twisted in the hem of her robe like she didn't know what to do with her hands.
Seris sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, arms resting over her knees, chin propped on her forearm. She looked tired in a way Seris rarely allowed anyone to witness.
They both looked like they hadn't left the room in hours.
Maybe they hadn't.
"How's your head?" Seris asked, voice lower than usual. Not joking. Not flippant. Just… worried.
"Better," I murmured. "Still feels heavy."
"Of course it does," she muttered. "That thing practically punched your soul."
Lira winced. "Seris…"
Seris huffed. "What? It did."
Despite everything, I managed a small smile. "It's fine. I'm… here."
A sharp breath left Lira, like she'd been holding it since before I woke.
"You weren't," she whispered.
She didn't often say things like that. When she did, they hit harder.
I pushed myself up slightly, and she instantly reached forward to help, bracing my back with gentle hands.
"You don't have to—"
"I do," she said softly.
Seris slid closer, resting a warm hand lightly on my ankle. "We're not letting you move alone right now. Deal with it."
Her voice tried for playful. It didn't quite get there.
I adjusted against the pillows. Lira fussed over the blanket; Seris adjusted my posture with one hand, stopping when I sucked in a sharp breath.
"You okay?" she asked immediately.
"Yeah. Just a little dizzy."
"You're always dizzy around us," Seris murmured, but her voice cracked halfway through the joke. She cleared her throat quickly.
I didn't call her out on it.
Lira sat again, closer this time. Enough that her knee brushed the side of my leg. She didn't move away.
Neither did I.
For a while, none of us spoke.
There was only the sound of quiet breaths and the faint rustle of healer wards humming along the infirmary walls.
Then Lira broke the silence.
"Arin… what exactly did you hear?"
My chest tightened.
I could still feel it if I closed my eyes — cold, reaching, familiar in a way I couldn't place.
But Lira and Seris waited, not pushing, not demanding.
Just waiting.
"It said… it remembered me," I whispered.
Seris's jaw clenched, muscles in her cheek ticking.
Lira's fingers tightened on the blanket.
"And then it said… that I'm incomplete."
Lira inhaled sharply.
Seris swore under her breath.
"That thing doesn't get to define you," Seris snapped. "Incomplete? As if it knows a damn thing about your life?"
Lira gently shook her head. "It's trying to destabilize him. Draw him out."
"But why him?" Seris shot back. "Why Arin specifically?"
I wanted to answer.
But I couldn't.
Instead, Lira reached out carefully, brushing her fingers against the side of my hand — not grabbing, not claiming, just touching, asking for permission.
I turned my hand over and intertwined our fingers.
Her breath hitched quietly.
Seris saw it, swallowed, then inched closer too, placing her palm just above my knee. She didn't interlace fingers, but the warmth of her touch grounded me all the same.
"Arin," Lira whispered, "you're not facing this alone."
Seris nodded. "We're right here. And we're not leaving."
Emotion swelled in my chest so strongly it hurt.
"I know," I said quietly. "I just… It felt like it was in my head. Deep in. Too deep."
Lira leaned forward slowly until her forehead rested lightly against mine.
Her breath mingled with mine, warm and steady.
"You're with us," she murmured. "Not with it."
Seris's hand squeezed gently on my leg, her voice softening in a way I'd never heard before.
"You came back to us, Arin. That's all that matters."
I let my eyes close for a moment.
Because being here — between them — felt safer than anything had in days.
Warm.
Held.
Anchored.
The bond hummed, soft and low, a quiet thread weaving through the three of us like a shared heartbeat.
Lira lifted her head just enough to look at me. "Can I…?" she whispered, hesitating.
"Can you what?" I asked.
Her cheeks warmed. "Just… stay close. For a moment."
I nodded.
Seris smirked faintly. "She's asking permission for something she already does," she muttered — but her own voice was barely above a whisper, as if even teasing was fragile right now.
Lira shot her a rare glare. "Seris—"
"What? I'm being supportive," Seris huffed.
I reached out my free hand toward Seris.
She froze.
Then her expression softened, and she slid closer, letting my fingers curl into hers.
The three of us stayed like that — a small, warm triangle on the bed — holding each other in the quiet.
No words.
No fear.
No pressure.
Just presence.
Just the relief that we'd made it through something terrifying together.
After a long time, Lira spoke again.
"Arin… what do you feel right now?"
I took a slow breath.
"Safe," I whispered.
Lira's eyes softened.
Seris exhaled shakily and leaned her forehead to my shoulder.
"And tired," I added.
Both of them let out small, half-laughs.
Lira brushed my hair back from my forehead. "Then rest. We'll stay."
Seris shifted closer. "Try getting rid of us. Not happening."
I didn't try.
Instead, I let my head rest against Lira's shoulder. Seris tightened her hand around mine.
The infirmary lanterns dimmed to a warm glow.
My breathing evened.
The bond softened.
And for the first time since the entity spoke my name…
…I slept without fear.
Because I wasn't alone.
And I wasn't incomplete.
Not with them beside me.
Sleep finally pulled me under, gentle and warm, and for the first time since the creature had spoken my name, I didn't fear what waited in the dark. Because even if the world outside trembled, even if something ancient hunted my memories, I knew I would wake with Lira's steady presence and Seris's fierce heartbeat beside me. And as long as the three of us held on to each other, I knew—deep in my bones—that I wouldn't break.