Lysandra's Chambers – Just Past Midnight
Lysandra's gown had long been discarded for a simple robe, her hair falling like silk waves down her back.
She stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself.
The night was too loud—even in its silence.
A gentle knock echoed.
She didn't need to ask who it was.
"Come in, Kylan."
The door creaked open, and Kylan stepped inside. His presence brought the scent of rain-drenched wood and ozone. He looked at her for a long moment, as if memorizing this quiet version of her.
"You always knew when I was behind the door," he said softly.
"I always will," she replied without turning. "Old habits don't die."
Silence stretched between them—familiar, almost comforting.
Then she finally turned.
"Kylan," she said, voice trembling slightly, "why did you come tonight?"
His brows lifted faintly. "To see you."
"That's not the whole truth."
Kylan exhaled, moving toward her slowly. "Because I couldn't watch from afar any longer. Because I had to know if you were really… his."
She flinched, just barely.
"I am," she said.
Kylan's jaw clenched, but he didn't speak.
Lysandra stepped closer, voice softer now. "You've always been my friend. My protector. The boy who shielded me from spells I wasn't ready to cast… the man who stood beside me when the world tried to break me."
"I wanted to be more," he whispered.
"I know," she said, tears pricking her lashes. "And maybe in another life… maybe if there had been no war, no bloodlines, no curses—we would've written a different story."
He looked away.
"But this is the life I have," she continued, stepping closer, placing a hand gently on his chest. "And it's a life that includes him. Caveen."
"You're carrying his child," Kylan murmured.
"I am."
The finality in her voice made the air shift.
Kylan looked at her—eyes filled with longing, pain, but also something deeper. Resignation.
"I could still be here," he said. "As your friend. As the godfather… if you'd let me."
She smiled, a tear sliding down her cheek. "That's all I've ever wanted."
He reached up, gently brushing the tear away.
"No matter what, I'll always watch over you," he said, voice cracking. "But I needed to hear it from you. That you've truly chosen him."
"I have," she said, steady now. "But that doesn't mean I forget you. You'll always be important to me, Kylan. But not as the man I'll marry."
A breath escaped his lips—part relief, part heartbreak.
"Then I'll stay," he said. "But I'll stay as the mage who once loved you… not the man who'll try to steal you back."
Their eyes locked for one final moment, a farewell to what might have been.
Then he turned and walked away, closing the door behind him—quietly, reverently, like closing the last page of a beloved story.
Lysandra sank into her chair, placing a hand on her stomach.
For the first time that night, she breathed freely.
Caveen quietly shut the door behind him after his midnight walk, his steps slow, heavy with exhaustion and raw emotion.
He meant to return to his assigned guest chamber.
He needed rest.
He needed space to think.
But just as he turned the corner of the corridor—
He froze.
At the far end of the hall, he saw Kylan Daikun stepping inside Lysandra's chamber.
Not knocking. Not waiting.
Just walking in.
Caveen's fists clenched.
His breathing hitched.
Something primal coiled in his chest like a tightening chain.
He took a step forward—but stopped.
He wasn't sure if he had the right.
Why is he there?
Why is he allowed in?
Why is Lysandra smiling when she sees him?
The image of her soft laughter earlier, the way she used to glow at Kylan's jokes, flashed like lightning behind his eyes.
Caveen backed into the shadows of a wall column, leaning against it silently, eyes locked on the closed door just meters away.
His heart was pounding.
His jaw tightened.
He could hear Kylan's voice inside.
Low. Familiar. Gentle.
He couldn't make out the words.
And somehow, that made it worse.
---
Caveen's Inner Monologue
> What am I doing?
His thoughts snarled like wild dogs inside his skull.
> Why does it feel like someone is twisting a dagger into my ribs?
She's not mine.
She never was.
I'm here because of the child.
Only the child.
But even as he repeated it in his head, it sounded hollow.
He hated this.
This waiting. This watching.
He'd faced death in battle, stood in front of blood-drunk vampires, survived the Council's curses—
But this?
This unfamiliar ache in his chest?
This jealous rage churning beneath his skin?
It was unbearable.
> She chose me.
Not him.
So why did Kylan still walk into her room like he belonged?
---
Then came the traitorous whisper in his mind. The one he tried so hard to ignore.
> You're falling for her.
No. No, that's not it.
He shook his head.
> You're just… protecting what's yours.
Your child. That's it.
But his heart disagreed.
Ever since she whispered his name through tears.
Ever since she leaned on him while ill like he was home—
He hadn't been the same.
---
The chamber door clicked open.
Kylan stepped out, face unreadable, sleeves rolled up, silver mage tattoo glowing faintly on his arm.
He paused when he saw Caveen standing in the hallway shadows.
Their eyes met.
Silence thickened.
Kylan gave a small, knowing smile.
"She's resting now," he said casually. "I was only helping stabilize her aura. You missed the morning session."
Caveen's jaw flexed. "I don't need to answer to you."
Kylan tilted his head. "Of course not."
And yet, that smile—infuriatingly calm—held challenge beneath the courtesy.
As Kylan walked away down the hall, Caveen remained frozen.
His heart beat with fury.
And with something worse.
Fear.
Not of Kylan.
But of what he might already be too late to protect.
And not just the child.