Days Remaining: 18Bank Account: ₹600
The walk home from the hotel was excruciatingly quiet. The silence stretched between them like a tightrope. Every time Elian looked at Lyra, he remembered the feeling of her solid warmth in his arms, the way she had clung to him in the alley. Every time Lyra looked at Elian, she remembered begging him not to let go.
They walked five feet apart. Elian cleared his throat. "So..." "Don't," Lyra said quickly, looking at a streetlamp. "Okay."
They kept walking. The tension was thick enough to cut with a scythe. They turned the corner onto 12th Street. It was a steep hill, asphalt cracking with age, leading down toward the park. And there, sitting alone under a flickering light like a shiny metal chariot, was a shopping cart.
It had strayed far from its supermarket home. One wheel looked wobbly. It was rusted. It was perfect.
Lyra stopped floating. She hovered over the cart, inspecting it. "Item #5," she said, her voice a little too loud, trying desperately to break the heavy mood. "Ride a shopping cart down a hill."
Elian looked at the cart. He looked at the steep hill. It was dark, and the road was uneven. "That looks... really dangerous," Elian said, stepping back. "If I hit a pothole, I'll fly out. I could crack my skull."
In the past, Lyra would have said: "So what? You're dying in 12 days anyway. Save time."
But she didn't say that. She looked at the hill, calculating the angle. She looked at Elian, her expression serious.
"I won't let you die," she said softly.
Elian blinked. "What?"
"I won't let you die," she repeated, turning to him with a fierce look in her eyes. "Not today. Not by a shopping cart. You trust me, right?"
Elian felt a lump in his throat. The shift was subtle, but it was there. She wasn't just observing his death anymore; she was guarding his life. "Yeah," Elian whispered. "I trust you."
"Good. Now get in. I'm steering."
"You can't steer! You're incorporeal!"
"I don't need hands, nerd. I have atmospherics." She cracked her knuckles (which made no sound). "Just tuck your knees in."
Elian squeezed into the basket. His knees were pressed against his chest. He looked like a giant baby in a metal cage. He felt ridiculous. He felt alive. Lyra floated behind the cart. She didn't grab the handle. instead, she hovered her hands just inches behind it.
"Ready?" she asked.
"No!"
"GO!"
She didn't push with muscles. She pushed with pressure. She flared her energy, creating a sudden, violent gust of freezing wind directly behind the cart. WHOOSH.
The cart didn't just roll; it launched. Propelled by the supernatural tailwind, it lurched forward. CLACK-CLACK-CLACK. The wheels screamed against the asphalt. They hit the slope. Gravity took over, and suddenly, they were flying.
"WAAAAAH!" Elian screamed as the wind whipped his face.
The world blurred into streaks of orange streetlights and black shadows. The cart was rattling so hard Elian's teeth chattered.
"FASTER!" Lyra yelled. She was flying effortlessly alongside him, riding the wind she had created. "WE NEED MORE VELOCITY!"
"I HAVE NO BRAKES!" Elian shouted, gripping the sides of the basket until his knuckles turned white. "LYRA! POTHOLE!"
A massive crack in the road was rushing up fast. If the wheel hit that, the cart would flip. "I got it!" Lyra shouted.
She didn't grab the cart. She swooped down to the left side of the basket. She inhaled, drawing all the heat out of the air, and then expelled a sharp, compressed blast of cold air against the metal grid. BANG. It sounded like a hammer hitting the cart. The invisible force of the air pressure knocked the cart violently to the right.
The wheel missed the pothole by an inch.
"NICE SAVE!" Elian yelled, adrenaline flooding his system.
"PHYSICS!" she laughed maniacally, the sound echoing in the night. "I AM THE GOD OF WIND!"
For ten seconds, the awkwardness of the alley vanished. There was no death, no "glitch," no crying. Just speed and the rattle of metal and two idiots screaming into the wind.
But gravity is a cruel mistress. They reached the bottom of the hill. The road flattened out, but they were coming in too hot. The curb of the park was rushing up fast. And right in their path was a large, jagged rock.
"ELIAN, BAIL!" Lyra screamed.
"I'M STUCK!" Elian yelled, trying to scramble out of the basket. His shoe was caught in the grid.
"JUMP!"
Elian threw his weight to the side. The cart tipped. He tumbled out, freeing his foot at the last second. But Elian wasn't an action hero. He was a guy who spent 18 years reading books. He didn't tuck and roll. He flailed. He hit the grass hard, rolling uncontrollably. He was heading straight for the cast-iron leg of a park bench.
"ELIAN!"
He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the impact. This is it. Concussion. Game over.
WHOOSH.
He didn't hit the metal. He hit a wall of density.
Lyra had dived. She threw her body between him and the bench. She didn't become solid, that would have hurt her. Instead, she concentrated her field, turning the air around her into a thick, freezing cushion of resistance. Like trying to push two magnets together that don't want to touch.
Elian slammed into the invisible barrier. It felt like landing in a snowdrift, soft, yielding, but freezing cold. The momentum stopped instantly. He gasped, lying on his back in the grass, staring up at the spinning stars.
The shopping cart crashed into a bush nearby with a loud CRUNCH.
Elian lay there, breathing hard. He was freezing. There was frost on his hoodie where he had impacted Lyra's field.
"You okay?" Lyra's voice was right above him.
He opened his eyes. She was floating over him, looking worried. She looked a little translucent, like the effort had drained her battery.
"You..." Elian chattered, his teeth clicking. "You were the airbag."
"I was the air," she corrected, grinning tiredly. "Technically, I just compressed the nitrogen around the bench. But sure. Airbag works."
Elian laughed. It was a shaky, hysterical sound. "That was awesome," he whispered.
"Let's never do it again," Lyra agreed. "My energy levels are at 10%. I need to go sit in a toaster to recharge."
"Ow," Elian groaned, clutching his elbow. It was scraped and bleeding, the denim of his jacket torn.
Lyra was hovering over him instantly. She looked terrified. Her hands were fluttering around him, unsure where to touch. "Are you okay? Did you hit your head? How many fingers am I holding up?"
Elian blinked, focusing on her. She was holding up three translucent fingers. "Three," Elian wheezed. "I'm okay. Just my arm. The ground is... very hard."
Lyra looked at his bleeding elbow. Her expression darkened. She bit her lip, looking furious with herself. "I miscalculated the velocity," she muttered, pacing in the air above him. "I should have steered left earlier. I let you get hurt. Stupid. Stupid."
"Lyra," Elian said, sitting up slowly. He winced as his arm throbbed. "I'm fine. You saved me."
"You scraped your elbow."
"I was about to crack my skull on that metal bench," Elian pointed out. "You threw yourself between me and the metal. You cushioned the fall."
Lyra stopped pacing. She drifted down until she was eye-level with him. "I promised," she whispered. "I said I wouldn't let you die."
Elian looked at her. She wasn't the chaotic Reaper who wanted him to steal traffic cones. She was shaking. He realized then that she wasn't just keeping him alive for the contract. She was scared. The thought of him getting hurt terrified her just as much as the noise of the hotel had.
"Hey," Elian said softly. "Come here."
She floated closer. "Does it hurt?" she asked, pointing at his arm.
"It stings like fire," Elian admitted.
Lyra reached out. She hovered her hand just over the scrape. She closed her eyes and concentrated. A soothing, numbing cold radiated from her palm. It acted like an ice pack, dulling the sharp sting into a manageable chill.
"Better?" she asked, opening one eye.
"Much better," Elian exhaled, his shoulders relaxing.
They sat there on the grass for a long time. The overturned cart lay in the bushes like a dead metal beast. The crickets chirped in the park. The adrenaline was fading, leaving Elian tired and raw.
He looked at Lyra. The moonlight passed through her, making her glow silver. He thought about the alleyway. He thought about how tight he had held her. He thought about how awkward the walk home had been.
"Lyra?"
"Yeah?" She didn't look up, focusing on cooling his arm.
"We're okay, right?"
Lyra froze. The cold from her hand faltered for a second. She looked up at him. Her eyes searched his face, looking for regret, or pity, or fear. She found none of that. She just found Elian.
"You mean... after the hotel?" she asked quietly. "After I freaked out?"
"After we freaked out," Elian corrected. "I held on pretty tight too."
Lyra looked down at the grass. She picked at a phantom daisy. "I wasn't very Reaper-ish," she mumbled. "I was a mess."
"You were human," Elian said. "I liked it."
Lyra's head snapped up. "You liked that I was in pain?"
"No," Elian said quickly. "I liked that you let me help. Usually... usually I'm the one who needs saving. It felt good to be the anchor for once."
Lyra stared at him. A slow, soft smile spread across her face. It wasn't her mischievous grin. It was shy. "You're a good anchor, Elian," she whispered. "Very sturdy."
"So we're okay?" Elian asked again, needing to hear it. "No weirdness?"
Lyra huffed a laugh. She floated up a few inches, regaining her usual buoyancy. "We just crashed a shopping cart into a bush at 30 miles per hour," she said. "I think that cancels out any weirdness. We're good, Partner."
Elian smiled. The knot in his chest loosened. "Good."
He stood up, brushing grass off his jeans. He checked his phone. "That was Item #5," he said. "The list is almost done."
Lyra stood up too. The playful mood dampened slightly as reality crept back in. "Yeah," she said. "Almost."
Elian turned to look at the street. His house was visible in the distance, just up the hill. The kitchen light was on. His parents were probably inside, eating leftovers in silence. The same silence he had lived in for eighteen years.
His smile faded.
"I have to go home," Elian said, his voice dropping.
"Item #7," Lyra nodded, reading his mind. "Fix things with Mom and Dad."
Elian rubbed his arm. The physical pain was gone, thanks to Lyra, but a different kind of ache was starting in his stomach. "I don't know if I can," Elian admitted. "Falling out of a cart is easy. Talking to them... telling them the truth... that's harder."
"Harder than jumping off a bridge?" Lyra asked.
"Much harder."
Lyra drifted closer. She bumped his shoulder with her own, a gentle, cold nudge. "You faced a Reaper," she reminded him. "You faced a bully. You faced gravity. They're just parents, Elian. They're just people who are scared of losing you."
She looked at the house. "And I've got your back. I won't let you die there, either."
Elian looked at her. Then he looked at the house. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool night air.
"Okay," Elian said. "Let's go face the boss."