Between Storms

Calm won’t last.

Night breathed quiet for the first time in days.

I slipped past the palace guards, exhaling as silver leaves brushed my shoulders.

The garden was lit by firefly lamps and the soft pulse of the Crystal Heart above.

I found the old training tree.

The swings still creaked in the breeze.
My fingers traced the carved initials — H / K / L.

Three letters glued to a childhood that felt too far away.
I watched with a gentle smile.

Back then, the palace garden was our entire world.

I ran too fast, tripped over my own feet —
face-planting into flowers.

Kael laughed first — then shoved me onto the swing.

Kael: “Don’t cry. Fight. Or swings will bully you forever.”

I sniffed.

Lyra rolled her eyes and bandaged my knee —
and Kael’s hand too, for no reason.

Lyra: “Boys are dumb.”

Kael nodded proudly.

Kael: “Yeah. But we protect each other anyway.”

We raced across the garden screaming like idiots, convinced we were invincible.

For a moment — we were.

Kael once tried to climb the Divine Tree’s lowest branch.
Failed. Three times.

I laughed until I choked.
Then I tried.
Failed too.

We carved our initials into the tree — smiling through bruised knees and stubborn pride.

We sat on the ground, defeated children, covered in grass and hope.

Kael: “One day, we’ll reach the top.”
Lyra: “One day, you two will break your necks.”

We swore on those swings we’d reach the sky together —
that nothing could separate us.

Funny how promises don’t ask permission before breaking.

(Flashback fades)

Act II — Starlight & Secrets

Lyra: “Running again?”

Her voice melted the silence.

She stood there, arms folded —
green hair catching starlight like a lantern in the dark.

Me: “Not running. Strategically avoiding responsibility.”

She sat beside me.
No judgment.
No fear.

Lyra: “You can pretend to be fine with everyone else… but not with me.”

I tried a joke.
It caught in my throat.

Her hand reached mine —
soft warmth over trembling lightning.

Immediately — a spark flickered violet-gold beneath her touch.

She gasped lightly — surprise, not fear.

Lyra: “Your heartbeat…”
(Her palm pressed my chest)
“…it’s fighting something.”

My heart panicked — not from fear.
Because Lyra was close.
Too close.
Too kind.

Me (inside): Please stay. Please don’t see what I really am.

Me (inner): Please... don’t fall. Don’t let me fail someone again.

She didn’t pull away.

Lyra: “Whatever you’re carrying… don’t carry it alone.”

I swallowed the fire behind my ribs.

Me: “If I let go… the storm might break the sky.”
Lyra: “Then I’ll hold the sky with you.”

Breathing didn’t hurt so much.

She watched the stars, then glanced sideways.

Lyra: “When we were little… you always looked up like the sky owed you answers.”

Me: “Still waiting on those.”

Lyra: “The answers aren’t up there, Haise. They’re here.”
(Her fingers tapped my chest)
“Where it hurts.”

I tried to laugh — it cracked.

Me: “If I tell people who I am… they’ll fear me.”

Lyra: “Then let them. Fear doesn’t choose who you are. You do.”

I stared at her.
She made impossible things feel easy.

My pulse stuttered again.

Me: “Do you wanna see the sky?”
Lyra: “How?”
Me: “Come on!”

I scooped her gently—

° Astral Elevate °
The stars bent downward — like the sky reached to lift us.

Gravity paused — recognizing its author.

Lyra clutched me, breath catching.

Lyra: “How can you fly without your wing? And without advancement?”
Me: “Please don’t tell anyone!”

She giggled softly.

Lyra: “You’re still terrible at hiding how you feel.”
Me: “Trust me, I’ve gotten very good at hiding things.”
Lyra: “Not from me.”

Galaxies drifted beneath our feet.

For a moment — I forgot the Tree.
The trial.
The Spark.

Everything —
except her hand holding mine.

We returned to the garden quietly.

Act III — Present Tension

The leaves rustled.

Kael leaned in the shadows — watching.

His fist tightened around his blade hilt —
lightning sparking silently across knuckles.

He stepped forward…
then stopped.

His heel hovered —
like part of him still wanted to sit with us
like he used to.

Lightning flickered — not rage.

A memory.
A swing.
Laughter he could still hear.

Kael (inner): “Just once… I want us back on that swing.”

Hurt.

The lightning in his hand died…
but the storm in his eyes didn’t.

He didn’t move closer.
Didn’t breathe louder.

Jealousy burned hot —
like a fuse waiting for a flame.

Kael (quiet, bitter): “He doesn’t need you to protect him anymore, Lyra.”

The wind swallowed his words.

Act IV — Silent Phantom Shadow

High above — atop a crystalline arch —
a masked silhouette crouched.

Moonlight traced a faint glimmer:

• A chain-mark over his heart
• The Eleventh Crown Oath

The Commander of the Silent Phantoms.

He studied us like pages…
and he already knew the ending.

His fingers twitched once —
as if resisting the urge to reach toward the boy below.

Not an assassin’s motion.
Something older.
Familiar.

Commander (whispering amusement):

“Ah… so the prince bleeds.”

His grin widened beneath the mask.
Then — gone.

Not a sound.
Not a trace.
Just a shiver running down Heaven’s spine.

Act V — Decision Before the Storm

Lyra rested her head lightly against my shoulder.

No prophecy.
No judgment.
No throne.

Just… a moment.

Me: “They want me to join the Academy.”
Lyra: “Do you want to?”

I stared at the city —
lights blinking like nervous stars.

Me:

“If Heaven wants to cage me…
I’ll learn the shape of the bars.”

Her fingers squeezed mine —
not holding me back,
holding me steady.

Kael turned away — storm in his eyes.

And from rooftops —
another storm watched in silence.

The palace corridors slept beneath pale moonlight.

I drifted through a balcony window, landing barefoot in the quiet of my room —
Astral Elevate fading with a soft ripple of stars.

I thought I was alone.

Then—

“Haise…”

Mother stood by the window’s edge —
silver hair brushing the light, eyes shining like starlit water.

She wasn’t angry.
She was scared.

Yumi stepped closer, fingers trembling before she caught them still.

Yumi (gentle, fragile):
“Every time you vanish into the night… I lose a heartbeat.”

I tried to laugh it off.
“Just a tiny flight. Practicing—”

Her arms wrapped around me — suddenly, fiercely.

Like she feared letting go would mean losing me.

Yumi:

“No matter how high you fly… promise me the stars won’t take you away.”
“The sky is wide… but a mother’s reach is wider.”

Her voice cracked soft as falling feathers.
The ache behind my ribs answered.

I held her back — afraid the hug would break her…
or me.

Because only she knew how hard I was trying not to disappear.

Fade to black — serenity trembling under the storm coming.

Calm won’t last.
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