Arin woke with a sharp inhale, the echo of the dream still clinging to him like cold mist. The room was dark, the muted silver of pre-dawn weaving through the curtains and laying soft stripes across the wooden floor. He could feel his pulse in his fingers, in his throat, in the center of his chest—rapid, unsteady.
Lira was already inside the room, she features indistinct for lack of proper lightening. "Arin?" she said, voice thick with concerned. "You're breathing fast."
He swallowed, wiped the sweat gathering at his temple, and forced himself to speak. "Lira… I had the dream again. The same one. But it felt—clearer this time."
She came closer to stand beside his bed, one hand already reaching for him, warm against his forearm. "I felt it. So tell me," she said softly. "All of it."
Arin took a slow breath, the memory flooding back. "There was the greenhouse again… only it wasn't calm like before. The Weave pulsed—like it was aware. And then the ground split, just a little, but I saw light inside it. Not white—blue. Bright blue. Then I heard it whisper something to me. It voice was deeper, almost… inside me."
Lira listened without interrupting, her eyes sharpening with concern even in the dimness. Her fingers tightened slightly around his. "Did it touch you this time?"
"No. But it felt close. Too close."
She studied him for a moment, weighing something silently. Then she exhaled and gently pushed him back toward the pillow. "Arin, lie down."
"What?"
"Lie down," she repeated, softer now. "You're exhausted. You barely slept yesterday after everything that happened yesterday and training with Bram, and whatever that dream is doing to you, staying awake won't help." She reached for the armchair near the foot of the bed and pulled it closer with a quiet scrape of wood. "Sleep. I'll keep watch."
"Lira, you don't have to—"
"I know," she cut in, lowering herself into the chair with deliberate calm. "But I want to."
The armchair's cushion sighed under her weight, the old fabric creasing as she shifted until she found a comfortable position. Moonlight brushed the edge of her hair, giving it a pale, soft sheen. Her eyes—sharp when necessary but warm now—rested on him with a steady, protective alertness.
Arin hesitated, torn between fatigue and the guilt of letting her stay awake for his sake.
"Lira… I'm okay, really."
She shook her head. "You're not. And that's fine. Go to sleep. I'll be right here."
Something in her tone—firm but impossibly gentle—loosened the tension he didn't realize he had been feeling. Arin let out a breath, let his eyes close, and slowly the dream's lingering chill faded under the warmth of knowing she was there, watching over him.
The room settled. The dark softened. Lira's presence, steady and unflinching, stood guard at the edge of his drifting consciousness.
And finally—finally—Arin slept.
*******
The world returned to Arin slowly, like a curtain lifting after a long night. For the first time since his resonance shift, his waking mind felt… quiet. Still. Entirely his own.
He blinked into the dim glow filtering through the shutters. The room felt warmer than he expected, though the early morning air drifting through the cracks was still cold, scented faintly with nightflowers and metal dew. As he turned onto his side, his eyes caught something that made him still.
Lira was asleep.
She sat in the old armchair beside his bed, slumped slightly to the left, her arms folded loosely across her chest. Her head rested against the cushioned back, dark hair spilling over her shoulder in a way it never did when she was awake or on duty. The soft amber of dawn touched the edges of her profile, softening the sharp precision of her features and casting long shadows down her jawline.
Arin didn't move for several seconds.
He didn't want to disturb her.He didn't want to break the quietness of the room, or the sense of fragile normalcy.
Lira rarely slept deeply—she was trained not to. Seeing her like this felt… intimate in a way he couldn't fully understand.
He pushed the blankets aside carefully and stood, feet pressing quietly against the cool floor. He stretched once, feeling the soreness from the prior day's chaos sink deeper into his shoulders. But the silence inside him—complete, total—was grounding. He breathed out slowly.
Good.It was good.
He stepped around Lira quietly and made his way out into the hallway.
The house greeted him with its usual soft warmth. Pale morning light spilled into the sitting area and across the narrow kitchen counter. The lumipool in the courtyard beyond the window rippled with the early breeze, scattering shifting reflections across the walls.
He tied back his hair loosely and rolled up his sleeves.
*******
Something simple—but warm.
He rummaged through the cupboards, careful not to let anything clatter. A tin of grainmix, a small jar of dried herbs, half a loaf of yesterday's bread, and a few pieces of preserved moonfruit—more than enough.
He warmed the stove, letting the soft click of ignition fill the silence. A familiar sound. A domestic sound. One he hadn't realized he missed.
He set water to boil and began preparing the grain porridge, stirring slowly. The scent of simmering herbs, soft and earthy, filled the small room. He sliced the moonfruit and set the pieces neatly in a dish, then placed the bread in the warmer.
By the time steam rose in gentle curls from the pot, soft footsteps approached the doorway.
Lira stood there, half-awake.
Her hair was slightly tangled, her uniform shirt wrinkled from sleeping in the chair. She rubbed the back of her neck with one hand, wincing faintly at the stiffness.
Her voice was rough with sleep.
"…You're awake."
Arin smiled faintly. "So are you."
She blinked slowly. "You should've woken me."
"You looked like you needed it."
Lira opened her mouth—probably to argue—but then sighed, accepting defeat. She stepped farther into the kitchen, glancing toward the pot.
"You cooked?"
"Only a little."
She rubbed her eyes again. "You're not supposed to do that. You had a long night."
"You stayed awake watching over me," he said softly. "It's only fair."
Lira froze for a second.
Then, very quietly, she murmured, "I wasn't planning to fall asleep."
"I know," Arin said. "But you did."
She looked away—not embarrassed, exactly, but caught off guard.
He handed her a bowl.
She accepted it with both hands. "Thanks."
They sat at the small table, the morning silence settling gently around them. Lira blew on her porridge before tasting it, eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise.
"This is better than mine," she muttered.
"I followed your instructions."
"Exactly. You followed them better than I do."
Arin laughed under his breath, tension easing from his shoulders.
For several minutes, they ate without speaking.
This, he realized, was the first peaceful moment they'd shared in days.
Eventually, Lira set her spoon down. "Arin. About last night."
He tensed. "I'm fine now."
"I know you seem fine," she said, tone calm but firm. "But that doesn't mean we ignore it."
He hesitated. "It was just a dream."
"It wasn't," she said. "You and I both know that."
He lowered his eyes to the table. "The Weave is quiet now."
"That's good," she said. "But it doesn't erase what happened."
Arin didn't respond.
Lira leaned back in her chair. "I'm not saying we should report anything."
His head snapped up. "We're not reporting it."
"Relax," she said. "I said we're not. I just want you aware of the risk."
"I am aware," Arin whispered. "More than you think."
Lira studied him for a long moment, the morning light catching in her dark eyes.
Then her tone softened. "Eat. You need your strength."
"Yes, ma'am," he said dryly.
Lira glared. "Don't call me that unless we're in uniform."
He grinned despite himself.
They finished breakfast quietly. Arin cleaned the dishes again—Lira let him this time—while she prepared for her shift. When she returned to the hallway, she wore her full Warden Officer uniform: fitted dark-blue tactical coat, reinforced gauntlets, clipped badge, and shoulder bands etched with the silver insignia of her division.
The outfit transformed her. Sharper. Steadier. Authority woven into posture and cloth.
"You're leaving now?" Arin asked as he gathered his own things for the Acolyte internship.
"Soon. And you're coming with me."
He blinked. "I thought we split near the central lifts."
"We do," she said. "But we walk together until then."
Arin nodded, grateful despite the neutrality of her tone.
They stepped outside.
*******
Morning in Caelum felt different from the night—brighter, but not truly calmer. Dawn swept through the suspended streets, illuminating the city's imperfections in soft gold.
The uneven pulses from the night before had stabilized into weaker, steady flows. Buildings that leaned under strain now held themselves straighter though still scarred with hairline fractures. The translucent pathways glowed with diluted light, guiding citizens toward their morning routines.
But the atmosphere carried a tension. Like the city was holding its breath.
People walked with more purpose. Conversations whispered lower. Market stalls opened slower.
Arin observed everything quietly.
Lira walked beside him, stride disciplined, eyes constantly scanning—habit, not worry.
As they neared the main district, sound returned to the air: engines groaning under shifting weight distributions, distant chimes signaling work shifts beginning, murmurings of commuters gathering along the mid-tier pathways.
The central lifts towered ahead—massive metal cylinders framed by vertical rails, humming faintly with magnetic stabilizers. Light ran through the rails in thin streams, each pulse marking the lift's descent.
They reached the point where their paths diverged.
Lira stepped in front of Arin, adjusting the clasp of her gauntlet.
"Remember," she said. "Your mentor expects you early."
"I know."
"And if anything—anything—feels off today, don't wait. Find me."
Arin nodded.
Lira reached out suddenly, placing her hand on the side of his arm—not his shoulder, where Kael had clapped him, but lower, almost at the elbow.
"Arin," she said softly, "you're not alone in this."
He swallowed. "I know."
She stepped back, slipping into her professional posture. "Good. Go."
Arin watched her walk toward the Warden Office—her silhouette rigid, confident, unshakable.
Then he turned and descended toward the Acolyte Chambers.
*******
The Warden Office was one of the oldest structures in the district—a towering, angular building built from reinforced sandstone composite, its exterior marked by vertical ridges running from ground to roof. The material was rough-textured, weathered by decades of wind erosion and exposure to the city's unstable altitudes. Framed windows jutted outward in sharp angles, each fitted with protective mesh.
The front courtyard had a polished stone floor engraved with the Warden sigil—a circular knot of intersecting lines, representing vigilance and unity. Several patrol vehicles sat parked along the left side, their metal plating gleaming under the morning light.
As Lira approached, the automated doors hissed open.
Inside, the atmosphere was brisk, urgent. Officers moved in coordinated patterns—some carrying datapads, others already geared for patrol. Voices layered over one another, forming an organized hum of activity.
The interior walls were painted a muted grey-blue, with metallic beams reinforcing the ceilings. Tubelight strips ran along the floor edges, guiding movement through the broad main hall. A cluster of holographic boards mounted on the left wall displayed real-time incidents, shift rotations, and zone reports.
Lira walked through without pausing, nodding briefly to familiar faces. Her boots sounded sharp against the polished floor.
She headed toward the operations wing.
***
Lieutenant Seris Bonteri stood behind the main operations table, reviewing a projection screen filled with layered maps. He was a tall man with narrow shoulders, short-cropped bronze hair, and a clean-shaven jawline that sharpened the angular planes of his face. His eyes, a muted brown, carried a constant analytical focus that never seemed to soften.
His uniform differed from the officers'—darker fabric, high-collared, with a thin silver stripe running along each sleeve. He wore a multi-panel wrist device, its surface flickering with holographic icons as he toggled through reports.
Lira stopped in front of him and saluted.
"Officer Lira Caelis, reporting in."
Seris glanced up. His voice was clipped and controlled. "You're early."
"I prefer knowing my assignments before the shift crowd arrives."
"That's why you're one of the reliable ones," he muttered, tapping a panel.
Lira waited.
He projected a map onto the surface of the table. "Today, your squad is assigned to District Three. Routine inspection, crowd management, and structural checks along the lower-east platforms."
Lira inclined her head. "Understood."
"There were aftershocks last night," Seris continued. "Microfractures forming along several pressure valves. Keep civilians away from any suspicious vibrations."
"Yes, sir."
"And Officer Caelis—" he paused, eyeing her closely. "You look like you slept here."
She hid her reaction. "Did I miss protocol?"
"No." He returned to the map. "Just don't overexert yourself today. That's an order."
"Yes, sir," she said, voice neutral.
He dismissed her with a small wave. "Go. Your squad is waiting."
***
Lira walked down the corridor toward Bay C, where her squad usually gathered before deployment.
She found them standing near the equipment lockers, already geared and chatting. They all wore their name tags.
Officer Ren Varro, the tallest of the group, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed. He was broad-shouldered, with reddish-brown skin and tightly braided hair pulled back into a knot. His jaw held a faint shadow of stubble, and a thin scar curved from his left eyebrow to his temple—an old injury he never explained.
Officer Tessa Orin, shorter, wiry, and sharp-eyed, stood beside him. Her dark hair was cut into a jagged bob, and she wore small utility lenses over her right eye—a scanning device she had personally modified. Her expression was always a mix of curiosity and impatience.
Officer Jalen Crest, the youngest but quickest, sat on a crate adjusting his boots. He had sandy blond hair, soft features, and an earnestness that made him seem out of place among hardened officers—until he moved. His reflexes were unmatched.
They turned as Lira approached.
Ren lifted a hand. "Morning, Captain."
"I'm not your captain," she reminded.
"You act like one," he muttered.
Tessa snorted. "She acts like someone who didn't sleep."
Lira ignored that. "Lieutenant Vane assigned us to District Three. Lower-east platforms."
Ren whistled. "Lucky us. Cracked platforms before breakfast."
"Routine checks," Lira said. "Nothing unusual."
"Unusual doesn't wait for permission," Jalen murmured, tying the final strap on his boot.
"Exactly," Lira said. "So stay alert."
They nodded.
She locked her gear in place, securing her gauntlets and adjusting the strap on her waist holster. Her squad watched her, waiting for instruction.
"Move out," she said.
They hadn't made it far when Lira heard a familiar voice to the right.
"Well, well. Officer Caelis."
Kael.
He stood beside a patrol vehicle, leaning casually against the door with his arms folded. His dark uniform vest was unzipped, revealing a fitted undershirt that clung to his frame. His hair—usually tied back—hung loose today, brushing the sides of his jawline. His eyes held that same irreverent sharpness she had come to expect.
Tessa elbowed Ren. "Here we go."
Ren smirked.
Lira closed her eyes briefly. "What do you want, Kael?"
"Relax," he said, pushing off the vehicle. "I'm not here to torment you. Much."
"Good. Then don't."
He walked closer. "I heard you're assigned to District Three."
"Information travels fast."
"Only when I make it travel," he said.
Lira crossed her arms. "Is there a point to this conversation?"
"Yeah." Kael's expression softened, surprisingly. "Arin. How is he?"
Her squad fell quiet.
Lira chose her words carefully. "He's stable."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Stable isn't reassuring."
"It's all you're getting."
He scanned her face. "He didn't have another—episode?"
"No."
Kael exhaled. Relief. Genuine.
"Good," he murmured. "He needs a calm day. You do too."
Lira looked away. "…We're managing."
Kael stepped back. "Watch your squad today. And if you run into anything strange—call me before it becomes a mess."
"I'm not calling you."
"You will," he said confidently.
She shot him a glare. "Stay out of my way."
"No promises."
Her squad followed as she strode past him, boots thudding in unison.
Ren leaned close. "You two need therapy."
"Shut up," she muttered.