The room was dim when the door shut behind us, the soft lantern glow casting amber light across the walls. The quiet settled slowly, as if even the air hesitated to speak after what we'd just felt outside.
For a moment, none of us moved.
Lira stood near the window, fingers lingering on the dark glass as if she expected the wards outside to flicker again. Seris stayed near the door, arms crossed—but her posture wasn't defensive. Just watchful. Protecting. Listening.
I took a breath and sat down on the bed.
That small motion broke whatever tension held us still.
Lira turned first, walking toward me with slow, careful steps, like approaching something fragile. "If you want to rest, we'll stay," she said softly. "Just… to make sure you're alright."
Seris snorted gently. "He's not sleeping alone tonight. Not happening."
Her tone was blunt, but not teasing. Serious in a way that tightened something warm in my chest.
I exhaled. "I… don't want you to leave."
The honesty hung in the air, unguarded and raw.
Lira climbed onto the bed beside me without a word—close, but not leaning yet. Seris sat on my other side, one knee bent up, elbow resting casually—but her closeness was anything but casual.
The three of us breathed together in silence for a moment, letting the world shrink down to this small room, this soft glow, these shared heartbeats.
Lira's voice finally broke the quiet. "When the entity reached for the bond… I felt your fear. I've never felt something that strong from you before."
"I'm sorry," I murmured.
She shook her head quickly. "No. Don't apologize. Just… tell me. So we don't have to guess."
Seris shifted a little closer. "We can handle fear. What we can't handle is not knowing."
I swallowed, looking between them. "I wasn't scared of the entity," I admitted. "I was scared of being pulled away from you both."
That silence was heavier—different.
Lira blinked, eyes shining with something soft and aching. Seris looked away for a second, jaw tightening—not from anger this time, but from something she didn't want to show too quickly.
Lira reached out first, laying her hand gently on top of mine.
Seris's hand followed a moment later—covering both.
Warm. Real. Steady.
"You're here," Lira whispered.
"And you're staying," Seris finished, voice low.
I nodded.
Slowly—almost shyly—Lira leaned her head against my shoulder. Seris shifted closer until her arm rested lightly against mine. Their warmth pressed in gently, from both sides, holding me in a way that felt safe in a way sleep hadn't felt in years.
We sat like that for a long time, with nothing but the soft hum of the wards outside and the quiet pull of the bond settling into a calmer rhythm.
"Lie down," Lira murmured at last.
There was no hesitation in her voice. Just trust.
So I did.
Lira curled on one side, close enough that her breath brushed my collarbone. Seris settled on the other, arm draped lightly across my waist—hesitant at first, then firmer when she realized I wasn't pulling away.
The room dimmed further as the lantern responded to the silence. Shadows softened. The bond pulsed gently, lulling me, comforting me.
Lira's fingers brushed my wrist.
Seris's breath warmed the back of my neck.
"Sleep," Lira whispered.
"We've got you," Seris added quietly.
And as my eyes finally drifted shut between them—warmth on both sides, steady heartbeats guiding me into the dark—I realized something simple and true:
Even if the entity watched, even if the fracture waited, tonight belonged to us.
And for this single quiet night, I wasn't afraid.
I woke slowly.
Not with panic clawing at my ribs, not with a pulse of fear through the fractured resonance, but with warmth on both sides and the soft weight of blankets pressing me gently into the mattress.
For a moment, I didn't recognize the feeling.
Then I felt the steady rise and fall of breathing—one against my shoulder, one against my back. Lira's arm draped loosely over my chest, Seris curled against my spine, her forehead resting between my shoulder blades.
The bond hummed quietly, like a heartbeat syncing all three of us into the same rhythm.
And for the first time in a long while, waking up didn't feel like resurfacing from a nightmare.
It felt like coming home.
Lira shifted first, her fingers brushing lightly against my shirt – then she froze, realizing she was touching me in her sleep. Her breath caught softly. I felt her hesitate, deciding whether to pull away or stay.
She stayed.
A moment later, Seris stirred too, stretching an arm across my waist before she even opened her eyes. Her hand rested there naturally, as though it belonged—a quiet claim, without words or expectations.
I didn't move. Didn't want to.
Quiet sunlight filtered through the curtains, warm and golden, painting everything in soft edges. Outside, the academy seemed peaceful, almost unaware of the night before or the watchful presence beyond the wards.
Lira finally spoke, voice barely a whisper. "...You're awake?"
"Just," I replied.
Seris mumbled something unintelligible against my back, then added, louder, "Five more minutes." Her voice was rough from sleep, deeper and softer than usual. "No emergencies allowed before breakfast."
Lira's laugh was quiet, shy. "That would be nice."
I turned slightly, just enough to see her expression. Soft. Gentle. Eyes half-lidded from sleep, strands of hair falling across her cheek. She looked more peaceful than I'd ever seen her.
"Thank you," I murmured.
Her brows rose faintly. "For what?"
"For staying," I said simply.
Seris answered instead, voice still half-asleep. "We're not going anywhere." She shifted closer, pressing her forehead against my shoulder again. "Get used to it."
Lira's hand slid slowly down my arm until her fingers brushed mine. She hesitated only a moment before lacing them together carefully, like she was afraid I might pull away.
I didn't.
The bond pulsed softly.
Warmth. Safety. Belonging.
"Last night…" Lira began, voice fragile. "I thought we might lose you."
I squeezed her fingers gently. "You didn't."
Seris exhaled a slow breath against my back. "You're here. That's what matters."
Silence lingered—comfortable, gentle. The kind that doesn't demand words.
Then Lira nestled a little closer, resting her forehead against my upper arm. "We should probably get up soon."
Seris groaned. "One more minute."
"You said five," I teased.
Seris's hand tapped my side lightly. "Yeah, well, I changed my mind."
The quiet laughter between us felt… healing.
No fear.
No panic.
Just morning light and steady breathing.
Lira slowly brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, almost without thinking. "Arin?"
"Hmm?"
"Does the bond feel different today?"
I thought for a moment.
"It feels… settled," I said.
Seris murmured sleepily, "Stubborn thing finally decided to trust us."
Lira smiled softly. "Good."
The bond pulsed gently, threading warmth through my chest. And as the morning light brightened across the room, I realized something simple and undeniable:
Last night changed us.
Not in some dramatic, earth-shifting way…
…but in a quiet, steady, personal way that rooted itself deeper than fear ever had.
Together—even in sleep—we were learning how to hold each other.
And that was enough for now.