Lira

Sleep had no weight and no ground. Asori floated in a vast sky, an ocean of stars that moved as if they were breathing. Suddenly, a colossal figure emerged among the constellations: tall, indistinct, a mere outline made of light.

It didn’t walk. It glided, as though the stars themselves parted to let it pass—a feminine shape steeped in raw, primordial power.

The voice came like the echo of a muffled thunder:

—We’ll meet soon… grow, and become stronger.

Asori tried to speak, but his throat wouldn’t answer—he couldn’t move or do anything at all.

—…Hunter… of… Gods, your fate and the Sc..r...t Princess's are one.

The echo cut through him like a cold knife. The figure raised a hand, the stars shattered into fragments, and Asori fell into a void like an abyss devouring him whole.

He jolted awake, gasping, his heart racing, shaken by how much more lucid this dream had felt than any he’d ever had.

Upon waking, the first thing he noticed was warmth. Then, the embrace of someone familiar—so warm, and somehow deep.

Blair was fast asleep, clinging to him like a stuffed toy she refused to let go. Her white hair spilled over the pillow; her calm breath touched Asori’s neck; and the Sweet Kiss thrummed like a lit hearth inside him as he tried to process the scene.

—Oh, no… —Asori whispered, unsure how to move without waking her and making it awkward, even as part of him felt happy to see her there, so delicate, so at peace. In his mind, it was strange to see Blair this calm.

The door creaked open. Mikrom walked in, arms crossed, one brow arched.

—Well, well… —he drawled—. I’m gone one night and my cousin’s already found a way to warm the bed with her little boyfriend.

Asori flushed to the tips of his ears.
—It’s not what it looks like!

—Of course not —Mikrom laughed, theatrical—. It only looks like you’ll die by my hand the moment Blair wakes and finds you using her as a pillow—or maybe you two did a little…

Asori opened his mouth to protest, but Blair stirred, murmuring in her sleep:
—Idiot… Asori…

Mikrom’s eyes sparkled with mischief, hearing his dear cousin say the name of the boy she was hugging so tightly.

—Confirmed. She’s dreaming about you already.

Asori buried his face in the pillow, wishing the earth would swallow him.

When Blair finally woke—confused and blushing—Mikrom didn’t waste the chance to fire off another joke. Blair shut him up with an elbow, but Asori still felt shame all the way to his eyelashes.

At breakfast, Mikrom laid out the plan.

—We split up today. Blair and I will dig up information about the tournament: how to get in, requirements, whatever traps Zeknier is setting. You, Asori, have a different task.

Asori raised a brow.
—Another suicide mission?

—Worse —Mikrom intoned with mock solemnity—. Bureaucracy.

Blair met Asori’s eyes.
—You need city ID. No one enters the tournament—not even as a spectator—without official registration. You’ve got nothing; you’re from the mountains.

Asori sighed.
—What if I say I’m an antisocial hermit with a phobia of paperwork?

—Then they arrest you and toss you in a cell —Mikrom said, drinking from his mug.

Blair set a hand on Asori’s shoulder, serious.
—It’s necessary, Asori. If you want to move here without drawing suspicion, your name needs to be in the records. Then you’re just another citizen.

He looked at her and, jokes aside, nodded.
—Fine. But if I drown in forms, I swear I’ll haunt you both.

Mikrom burst out laughing.
—If you survive the line, you’ll be more of a hero than any of us.

They left the inn. The Capital’s clamor swallowed them: vendors, guards, bards, children weaving through the crowd. Blair adjusted her hood; Mikrom grinned like a man ready to flirt with the first barmaid he saw; Asori braced himself for the mysterious world of the records office.

Before splitting up, Blair locked eyes with him.
—Don’t say anything weird. No jokes. Don’t try to impress anyone.

—You’re asking me to stop being me —he said, dry.

—Exactly —she answered, trying to give him a warm smile.

Mikrom clapped Asori on the back.
—Relax. If you don’t mess it up, they might even invite you to the opening ceremony.

—Fantastic —Asori muttered, heading for the records building, feeling like this mission might be worse than facing a Megalo.

As Asori disappeared into the tide of people, Blair and Mikrom turned the other way—toward taverns and alleys where information had a price.

The Capital’s air was charged, vibrant, as if every corner kept a secret and every shadow watched.

Still prickling from the strange dream, Asori couldn’t stop replaying the words whispered among the stars:

“Hunter of Gods…”

Fate was already calling him, though he didn’t yet understand.

The sun had climbed high enough to strike gold from the Capital’s rooftops. Streets boiled with sellers, criers, and children darting between stalls.

Asori, lost among lookalike signs and alleys, scratched his neck.
—Great. Mountains—easy. Rivers—easy. City… impossible.

—Mister Suspicious Hood! —a chirpy voice jolted him.

It was Lira, the girl with messy pigtails. She had a chunk of bread under her arm and flour smudges on her face.

—You again, kid? —Asori said, surprised.

—Not “again”—“always”! —she shot back—. You look lost. How weird. Mister Suspicious Hood can’t find his way?

Asori smiled.
—And you? A kid who shows up everywhere just to bug strangers who are already lost?

—I’m the best guide in the Capital —she declared, puffing up—. My rates are steep, but for you… —she stuck out her tongue— just one apple.

—Deal. —Asori stuck out his hand as if sealing a contract.

And so their day together began.

Lira led him through the streets like a whirlwind. Asori could barely keep up, but her energy was contagious.

—Look, that stall sells the best tarts, though I don’t have coins right now—but one day I’ll grow up and have my own shop and conquer the world with my tarts —Lira said while Asori just watched her.

—That dog hates me but follows me because he likes me—and sometimes I share my bread —she pointed at a small dog trotting by.

—That guard pretends to be on watch, but really he sleeps standing up.

Asori laughed out loud at Lira’s innocent commentary, forgetting for moments that he was a bearer, that there was a tournament, that Zeknier existed—and above all, that they were in the middle of a war.

—You know —Lira said, suddenly serious—. You’re weird. Grown-ups here always look sad. But you… you look sad, yet when you smile, it’s real. And when you’re with that pretty white-haired girl, you look happy.

Asori fell silent. From such a small mouth, the words hurt and healed at once.

—Maybe it’s because I was missing a luxury guide who doesn’t know how to stop talking —he said, ruffling her hair.

She laughed and shoved him.
—Dummy!

They reached the registry building, a gray block stuffed with endless lines. The air smelled of sweat, ink, and rotting patience.

—Good luck, Mister Suspicious Hood —Lira teased, perching on the fountain out front as she finished her bread.

Asori sighed and went in. The line was eternal. Absurd questions, papers he couldn’t parse, signatures he didn’t know how to invent. When they asked his place of origin, he answered with dry wit:

—Mountain. Address: mountain. Occupation: surviving.

The scribe glared but processed it anyway, thanks to a forged seal Mikrom had arranged so Asori could get his papers.

When he came out, Lira was waiting, playing with the fountain’s water.

—Survive it? —she asked, a smile brightening the square.

—Barely —he said—. I almost died of boredom, and my luxury guide wasn’t there to get on my nerves.

They laughed so hard that passersby stared.

The sun began to sink. Lira stood.

—I have to go—Grandpa’s waiting. I don’t have my parents; they left me in a box outside the tavern, or that’s what Grandpa says. He took care of me, fed me with delicious food, sometimes bought me sweets. Lately not so many because he says the taxes don’t leave us much money. But we’re happy. We have each other.

—You live only with your grandpa? —Asori asked, slowly trying to grasp how she spoke of it so calmly.

—Yes, and I couldn’t be more grateful or happy. He’s the most amazing man in the world—funny, always working, always teaching me new things. He’s even teaching me to read.

In that moment Asori saw himself in her—this little one who, despite being abandoned, could still smile.

He walked her back to the vegetable stall. A thin old man with work-roughened hands and tired eyes was arranging tomatoes and radishes in wooden crates.

—So this is your grandpa —Asori said, bowing his head with respect.

The old man looked at him in surprise.

—Thank you for watching over my granddaughter. She has a bad habit of talking too much.

—Not true, Grandpa! —Lira protested, crossing her arms.

Asori laughed.

—She talks a lot, but she’s the best guide in the city. She’s a good kid.

The grandfather managed a faint smile.

—She’s my pride and my greatest treasure.

The words echoed in Asori’s chest. He had lost that pride, that voice saying “my son,” a long time ago.

He said goodbye, patting Lira’s head lightly.

—Thanks, luxury guide. I owe you that apple.

—Don’t forget! —she called, laughing.

The grandfather asked Lira to go inside and set the table for dinner. She scampered in, beaming—her favorite part of the day, sharing a meal with her beloved grandpa.

—See you later, Mister Suspicious Hood.

Lira waved with a huge smile while Asori watched with quiet gratitude. That little girl had reminded him that, no matter what, we can still smile and enjoy.

He walked away with a warmth he hadn’t felt since meeting Blair, sensing in his heart that he’d made a new friend—someone with whom he could forget everything and smile honestly.

As he walked, harsh voices tore the air. He stopped—sound was coming from where he’d left Lira.

A squad of Zeknier’s soldiers were beating Lira’s grandfather. The vegetable stall lay wrecked, fruit rolling across the ground.

—The tax is due today! —a soldier barked, shoving the old man into the mud.

Asori’s fists clenched. The wind at his ear begged him to act. He could. One step and he’d be there.

But his mind threw the brakes:

This isn’t my war. Not my problem. It won’t escalate. Blair told me not to intervene. Nothing bad will happen if I don’t, right? It’s just Capital life… right?

He turned away. He walked, teeth grinding, hands shaking.

He went several streets. Then stopped dead.

—The apple… —he whispered.

He pulled one from his bag.

—I forgot to give it to her. I might not see her tomorrow.

He smiled, sheepish. “What an idiot,” he thought. He turned and ran back toward the fountain where he’d left Lira.

—Hey, luxury guide! Your tip! —he called, scanning the crowd.

Then Asori saw.

Her grandfather lay unconscious on the ground. In front of him… Lira, her clothes soaked in blood. She’d tried to protect him. Her small figure looked swallowed by a world whose violence spared not even children.

The soldiers had already gone. For the Capital, it was routine, a daily spectacle. For Asori, it was a wound that would never close.

The apple slipped from his hand and rolled over the stones, coming to rest beside Lira’s body.

He knelt, throat dry. There were no tears at first, only emptiness—an open crack in his chest.

—No… —he breathed, voice broken—. Not again…

He gathered the little body into his arms. Minutes before she had smiled at him in gratitude; now that smile had been stolen. The light that had offered him warmth and hope was gone, leaving only the unbearable weight of guilt. None of it felt real. It shouldn’t be happening. And yet, it was. That child didn’t deserve this end.

The wind blew, cruel, carrying away the laughter that had brightened his day.

The Capital kept living—music, hawkers, distant laughter. But on that street, the world had stopped.

A boy, a forgotten apple, and the lifeless body of the only friend he’d found in this city that had just given him a brutal truth: they were at war.

That day, Asori understood that refusing to act is also a choice.