I awoke slowly, my head resting on something soft—warm.
Lyra's lap.
We were inside a resting tent, the gentle glow of lanterns casting flickering shadows across the canvas walls. She sat with her back against the tent pole, still asleep, her arms loosely cradling me as if afraid to let go. Her face, even in exhaustion, radiated beauty… but something felt off.
Tears.
Thin, glistening trails stained her cheeks — she had cried in her sleep.
My chest tightened at the sight. I reached out, brushing away her tears with trembling fingers, careful not to wake her. She stirred faintly, but remained asleep, her body completely drained.
With slow movements, I rose and gently lifted her into my arms. She was light — far too light — and I laid her softly onto the nearby cot. She didn't even stir. Just how much had she given to save all of us?
Watching her sleep, I whispered with heartfelt gratitude, "Thank you… Lyra. Truly."
And then—
