"Ow, Jayce!"

"Shit. Sorry."

"Can you watch it?!"

"No, I can't watch it, Lyra, it's pitch black in here!"

"Well, make an effort not to tap dance all over my toes anyway!"

"Sssh, quiet, both of you!"

"He started it!"

"I said I was sorry!"

Viktor shut his eyes, exasperated at the whisper-shouting duo following him down the dark Academy hallway.

In the past hour, they had successfully managed to sneak into the gargantuan building, and had quietly woven their way through the labyrinthine hallways from the bottom floor up.

Conveniently, Jayce had found a small flashlight in his pocket at some point during their walk over, but the trio had unanimously agreed to keep it off until they were at their destination, since they were scarcely stealthy as it was.

Despite not being able to see properly, they managed to make it inside the main section of the structure without any significant incidents. Excluding that one time the older student had accidentally tripped on the staircase and almost went tumbling down the marble. At which, Lyra had spent a good following ten minutes silently hyperventilating, struggling to keep her laughter silent.

So, yeah, 'stealth' truly wasn't their forte.

Eventually, after a hushed discussion with Viktor, an indignant Jayce resorted to dragging his heavy-breathing friend forward by the sleeves of her jacket. As that was the only way they could get her to budge in the state of utmost hilarity she was in without having her pass out.

They made their way onwards, through the endless myriad of pitch-black halls without further issues, eventually, (with no small amount of inelegant tip-toeing) finding themselves at the door of the Dean's office.

Bundle of keys in hand, Viktor crouched down carefully before the several locks, while Jayce and Lyra leaned in closer, only faintly illuminated by the blueish gleam emanating from the pocket light in the older student's hand.

The first lock gave easily, the mechanism rolling open with a satisfying whir. And the three unlikely companions released a communal breath they had not realised they were holding, sharing an apprehensive, yet relieved glance.

"So far so good."

Viktor had spoken too soon.

A blinding glare washed over them so brusquely that the boys flinched, and Lyra behind them suppressed a surprised screech. That deer in the headlights was onto something, and honestly, Lyra couldn't blame it now — the light was so sudden and so bright that all they could really do was stand frozen and stiff, as the person behind the obstructive object seized them with a levelled look.

"Hm." Mel Medarda hummed thoughtfully, gliding her weight from one leg to another with graceful ease. "Willing to risk exile for your endeavour? That's quite the conviction."

"Councillor! Umm..."

"Wait a minute, this isn't my bedroom! How could I..."

"Oh, my silly somnambulism, I—!"

"What a surprise to see you—"

The way they scrambled at her words could only be described as pitiful.

And Mel, for her part, looked fittingly unimpressed. Though her attention remained primarily focused on the stumped Jayce, rather than on the fiddling-with-his-keys Viktor, and the pretending-to-sleep-walk Lyra.

Jayce noticed it, too, in the midst of all his uncomfortable blabbering.

His words paused, shoulders fell in resignation, before he sighed, and took a decisive step forward. "Please. We can prove that it works."

"You couldn't do so earlier today. How is tonight any different?"

"We figured out how to stabilise it."

Viktor stood up as he spoke. Just a little behind Jayce, leaning forward securely on his cane, with shoulders squared in a manner that seemed mildly defensive.

Strangely enough, the way he positioned himself, made it so that he was now located completely in front of Lyra.

And the younger student's eyes widened at the fact, in quiet surprise.

Of course, she had no way of knowing if Viktor had done it purposely, she honestly thought he did not. Regardless, she was now completely shielded from the prying eyes of the Councillor, fully obscured by the shadows of the unfurling darkness behind them.

She remained concealed even when Mel moved her torch in Viktor's direction, making him tense a tad further and cement himself concretely into his spot.

"You're the professor's assistant."

Lyra frowned before she could stop herself.

Assistant.

Sure, she'd called him that in the past.

But she was allowed to, she had been justified by their previous situation. One in which he had insulted her, profusely, and she'd only retaliated in kind.

This was different.

Why was this different?

And why, for the love of Janna, did she suddenly care?

"No." Jayce cut neatly through her train of thought, moving minimally closer to Viktor. "He's my new partner."

Lyra blinked.

Then immediately had it half in mind to slap herself. Because she found that her lips had suddenly, against her better wishes, melted into a barely-there smile.

No.

She did not care.

She was not about to start caring.

Not about Viktor, definitely not about what anyone said of him, no damn way.

There were more important matters to focus on at the present anyway, and it really had nothing to do with how she could practically feel the heat radiating from his back.

Goddamit, what is wrong with you?!

Enough.

More important matters to focus on.

Like, for starters, the fact that Mel hadn't acknowledged her yet. Not looked at her once, not regarded her at all for that matter — zero — which was starting to make her think that maybe, if she was really lucky, she hadn't been spotted ye—

"Fancy seeing you here, Miss Velaryon."

The trio winced at Mel's words. And each of them had to visibly hold themselves from grumbling several indecorous curses.

A moment passed where nothing and no one dared move.

Until Lyra's head, tentatively, slid into view from in between the boys, slipping slowly from somewhere behind Viktor's shoulder and into the torch's colourless beam. The rest of her was still very much hidden, and she squinted, then smiled sheepishly at the sharp-eyed Councillor with the most innocent and apologetic expression she could muster.

Mel only raised an eyebrow in her direction, "Breaking and entering, Miss Velaryon? Did not quite peg you to be the type."

"It's one of my more niche hobbies, Councillor." Lyra mumbled quietly, before Jayce and Viktor shot her a pair of cutting, decidedly unamused glares, and she was forced to promptly retreat a tad further behind them. In a manner that only left her shyly watchful eyes and mess of hair still popping out from her current hiding-spot.  

Mel observed the wordless exchange with an unreadable expression.

"So I see." She ultimately announced, and Lyra decided that for once in her life, she'd actually be better off being properly silent and letting her two companions handle the rest of the conversation.

Just as well, really.

Because she suddenly realised she was annoyingly close to Viktor, and her brain decided that it would take a well-earned sabbatical.

For fucks sake, couldn't this man wear some over-obnoxiously smelling cologne, like the rest of them stuck-up Topsiders? Did he have to smell of parchment and coffee?

And fucking sweet milk, of course he still bloody drank that, as if she needed more of a stab in her already nerve-wracked guts. Clearly, the universe resolved that the ones she had already received throughout the entire day — no, scratch that, throughout the past several weeks — had not been enough.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

She didn't even like sweet milk!

She hated the concoction, she had throughout all their childhood!

And now she found herself desperate to make some as soon as her foot stepped past the threshold of her room, out of sheer, morbid curiosity.

Pathetic.

It was in the midst of her internal conundrum, that Lyra picked up the sound of faint, approaching whistling. A lighthearted, gentle tune, accompanied by heavy, dragging footsteps.

Mel glanced over her shoulder.

Jayce tensed.

And Viktor instinctively took a step back.

Lyra's heart was too busy signing off its last will and testament, finally deciding that whelp, that's enough stress now, I'm done, I quit, so long, farewell, good riddance. So she did not realise nor feel it, when Viktor's back found itself a breath away from her front.

Nor when his dangling hand bumped into her hanging fingers, unintentionally finding a way to neatly brush over every single one of them.

She did not falter, her brain too busy processing the erratic thumping in her ears to send her legs the command to move aside.

And she scarcely even heard Jayce's speech. Something about this technology being real, and how, no matter what happened there, it was going to change their world. Piltover, land of progress, equality, innovation, all well and swell on its own, if she wasn't about to have a damn heart-attack.

The only thing she could really do, was stare at Mel. Unblinking, completely motionless, looking over Viktor's shoulder with gaping eyes.

Breath held, jaw clenched, waiting for the frankly intimidating Councillor to exude a verdict on their fate, while her mind looped back to one, singular, prevailing thought.

This is definitely a good time to suggest arson.

Lucky for her and everyone present, things did not need to escalate into that particular direction.

"One night, gentlemen. Impress me. Or I suggest you pack your bags."

Then the lights were off, the darkness returned, and Lyra released such a heavy breath of relief that her legs nearly buckled under her.

The sound also effectively alerted Viktor of her more than ideal... proximity. The way her warm exhale resonated right by the shell of his ear, washed gently over the nape of his neck and sent a few shorter strands of his curled hairs blowing lightly sideways.

As the clinking of Mel's heels receded down the hallway, and her voice mingled with the unfamiliar presence, Viktor leapt forward and spun to look at her, with eyes blown two sizes wider.

Lyra's face could only be described as dazed.

She had not exactly realised what had transpired, so in all of her unaware bliss, she stood looking perfectly content, with not a single thought dancing behind those brown eyes. As far as she was concerned, the annoyingly bright light from the Councillor's torch was no longer burning through her retinas, Mel was gone, and they still had a chance at completing their endeavour. All was grand and brilliant in 'Lyra world'; this dreadful day was turning out alright after all.

For once, she felt less stressed; her thoughts practically singing kumbaya in her cranium.

So when her lidded, hazily contented eyes met Viktor's stare, she did not register his startled bafflement, nor the way his Adam's apple bobbed, heavily, once.

She simply cracked the widest of grins.

"'This isn't my bedroom'?"

Viktor blinked, confused and still very much fixed in his spot. Until her words registered properly in his mind, and he rose a slow, uncertain brow. "'My silly somnambulism'?"

At his words, Lyra's smile stretched impossibly wider, shining with genuine amusement as she released what almost sounded like a quiet, gleeful giggle.

"Touché, Professor."

Viktor gulped.

Stood still for a very long moment.

Then he cleared his throat, absently nodded her way, and hurriedly shuffled to resume his kneeling position in front of the Dean's door. Busying himself with the bundle of keys still sticking out the lowest keyhole, he kept his eyes low and out of sight.

Meanwhile, Lyra's gaze slipped lazily towards Jayce.

Only to find him staring longingly at the corner Mel had disappeared behind.

Smirking, she whispered, "Hey, lover boy!"

Jayce almost jumped out of his skin. He whirled to face her, a little too quickly to look innocent, and she struggled not to laugh at how bashful and utterly embarrassed he appeared even in that thick darkness.

"Illuminate our path and all that, would you?"

He nodded hastily, before all but teleporting diligently to Viktor's side, struggling to wrestle the miniature torch out of his pocket, nearly dropping it as he went.

The sight was hilarious. And the fact that he didn't retaliate at her statement, only confirmed her suspicion further:

Somebody's gotten himself a crush.

Lyra shook her head in dismay at her mountain of a friend and moved to join him, with an extra bounce in her step. She never realised how happily and sincerely she was grinning the whole time.

After a few moments, and a faint, triumphant, "Aha!" from Viktor, the door finally slipped open.

The boys snuck inside with Viktor in the lead, moving as fast as they could.

They only paused when they realised, with noticeable confusion, that the clickety-clacking sound of Lyra's boots hadn't trailed in their steps. Viktor turned, his puzzled expression alerting the ungracefully creeping Jayce that something was amiss and prompting him to look back as well.

"Ly?" Jayce hushed urgently at the young woman stopped steadfastly in the doorway, her sharpened eyes focused somewhere down the hall. "Come on!"

She stayed put for a moment.

Until her head snapped towards them, painted with a sudden resolution.

"You two, inside."

Jayce and Viktor shared a fleeting, confused look, but only the former surged his palm forth to block her from shutting the door, "What? What about you?"

"I'm keeping watch."

"And if they see you?"

"They won't! Anything happens, I'll let you know. There's some ventilation shafts running below the office, so worst case scenario, we use those to make a run for it. Don't ask me how I know, Heimerdinger let it slip once."

Jayce looked conflicted. And it was such a scrunched-up expression that Lyra couldn't help but smile at it with honest fondness.

"Steroids, I'll be fine! Not my first day on this rodeo, and I can run very fast if given a reason to. Now go, do your magic, we don't have much time."

It took him a second.

Mostly because he was stuck at a moral impasse — on one hand, he wasn't exactly thrilled at leaving his friend stranded alone in a dark building. On the other, he knew that having someone keep watch while they were absorbed in work was not such a bad idea.

Eventually, he sighed in resignation, and nodded, which made Lyra's smile smear with unruly determination.

She went to close the door as Jayce retreated— "Oh! I almost forgot!"

Jayce looked at her soft features expectantly, patiently awaiting her words.

Suddenly, that jolly grin trickled off her face. Her brows rammed downwards, lips twisted at the corners, as she deigned both him and Viktor with a look so stoney that the two men struggled not to automatically cower in bewildered fear. Their fight-or-flight mechanism immediately urging them to launch into evasive action.

"If either of you blows up another building, I will kill you both."

Lyra let her words sink in for a moment, before a smile surged back to her face.

She beamed brightly at the pair, eyes sparkling delightedly in the darkness, "And have fun!"

Then she hauled the door shut, leaving the boys inside uneasy and several shades paler.

||

When she'd opted to do the right, selfless thing, Lyra had forgotten to account for one detail — keeping watch fucking sucked.

At first, she took it very seriously.

She rooted herself firmly into place in front of the door, patrolling the perimeter with an undivided, watchfully narrowed gaze. All the adrenaline from earlier kept her going, fuelling her with the need to stay put, to stay vigilant to the extreme.

But ten minutes rolled by.

Then another twenty.

Then an hour and a few thirty more.

By that point she was honestly ready to start a commotion and attract some attention purposely, because this fucking sucked. She was bored out of her damn mind.

She tried to occupy her time with something, in the only manner possible without anything to do.

She'd counted how many steps there were from the door to the opposite wall (ten), she re-laced her boots about seven times in seven different ways, she even tallied all the darker specks in one of the blocks of stone built into the wall (four hundred and fifty-two).

Silliness also didn't work. Marble wasn't exactly soft, so when she attempted to stealthily somersault down the pavement, she nearly dislocated a shoulder blade.

The five minutes spent after that had her laying on the ground, clutching at it while childishly gritting, "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," into the thick nothingness surrounding her.

Finally, Lyra simply resorted to sitting. Her back was pressed against the door, her jacket was bundled up in her lap. She watched unenthusiastically as her feet swung lazily from left to right, mimicking a Newton's cradle.

Left to right.

Side to side.

The back of her head thumped once against the mahogany behind her — twice, then thrice.

She shut her eyes and blew out a quiet, heavy breath.

Bit on her lip.

Chewed a filmy bit of skin off the bottom one.

Looked to the right.

Then to the left.

Where of course, nothing but darkness really greeted her, because everything was pitch bloody black, and she was pretty sure it was three in the morning, when every sane person was long asleep.

For fucks sake.

This was torture.

She had been left alone with her thoughts, in complete darkness.

Anyone who even remotely knew her could fathom that this was the worst possible case-scenario.

But, lo and behold, in a surprising and extremely frustrating turn of events, even her brain was completely quiet for a change. Didn't supply her with any mathematical problems to solve, any anecdotes to ponder over, didn't even send her dwelling on her generally pitiful excuse of a life. Nothing!

Just pure, silent, nothing.

This was torture.

Her personal Purgatory.

There was a kind of irony in that, in a way. Here she was, exasperated out of her mind at being alone, when everything she'd done in life was to actively and adamantly ensure precisely that.

Twists of fate.

Luckily, philosophy had never been her strongest suit.

At that point Lyra looked down at her hands, watching mindlessly as her thumb rubbed long, delving strokes into the back.

She was glad she'd talked to Jayce.

The prospect of loosing him so suddenly and so concretely had never really crossed her mind. And the immobilising fear that had washed over her when she'd found the letter and put two and two together... well, it scared her.

Incredibly so.

Lyra loved to be alone.

She loved that she could rely on herself at all times, because herself was all she had and all she ever would have, until the very end of time.

Yeah, thanks for that, Dad, top-notch parenting skills right there.

But then there was Jayce.

And Jayce was kind. He was annoying, and he was loud, and his teeth clattered when he chewed in a way that pissed her off.

But he was kind.

So damn kind, all the time.

He took care of her without truly meaning to. He took care of Caitlyn, of Ximena all his life, hell, he'd even started taking care of Viktor during their brief acquaintance! The way he'd given him his cane, made sure to subtly slow his usually mile-long steps as they walked, how he'd shifted closer when Mel had even marginally given Viktor less credit than he was owed.

Jayce was kind.

He was loud, and he was funny, and he was kind.

He was her friend.

And the fact that if she hadn't sent Viktor ahead when she'd gone looking for the stupid lamp, they would've been too late...?

As if he hadn't beamed at her with all his teeth on display when he'd shown her the crystal collection at his house, that one Solstice dinner a few years ago.

Like he hadn't laughed hysterically, to the point where he felt nauseous for an hour after, when she and Caitlyn ended up falling into a fountain, a few years back at one of those lousy galas.

Or hadn't come looking for her when things ended with Nerissa, and found her soaking drunk, laying in her own vomit, sobbing in an alleyway behind a pub?

He'd sat with her for hours then...

The fact that all that, all that kindness enclosed into one human being, could've just been gone, and the world would have just kept turning?

That was fucking terrifying.

It fucking terrified her.

She could have been there for him. They could've talked, she could've done something to alleviate his worries, she should have been there for him. Instead, she'd spent four hours cooped up in her room acting like a self-serving, self-pitying moron.

What kind of a shit friend was she, that her best friend was suffering, and she wasn't even there to help?

Lyra hadn't realised that her eyes had started gathering tears.

Not until one slipped, and fell directly onto her thumb.

She stared at it, as it slid languidly down her skin. Then, reached a calloused finger to smear it deeper into her flesh. There, where maybe it could merge with the dark, damson-coloured blood coursing through her veins.

With little emotion, Lyra watched as her fingers flexed, then fell away limply at once. Where they lay motionless against her lap, pressed into the brown, denim wrinkles of her jacket.

'You always worry so much, Nari.'

It was the first time she smiled when his voice echoed in her mind. And was surprised when she didn't find it in herself to stifle the silent, melancholic laugh that rippled through her lips.

'Shut up, Vitya, I'm not worrying.'

'Do not lie, lastochka. Your thoughts are being loud again.'

My thoughts are always loud, Lyra mused feebly to herself, unsurprised at how her heart squeezed painfully at the reminder of his old nickname for her.

She allowed her hands to drop to her sides then, her head to fall back, and eyes to roll fully shut.

Fuck, Vitya..., Lyra thought as she sat alone, on the cold pavement of the dark hallway.

What have I become?

What happened next was not exactly sudden. And not exactly fast. Nevertheless, the events were hard to process regardless, due to how unfathomably unrealistic they truly had been.

Lyra perked up when she heard the whirring. It echoed somewhere behind her, past the door that separated her from the lab. She'd thought she would've heard the boys' voices earlier, but had clearly underestimated the thickness of the construction, and since resolved to enduring her time in complete silence.

But she heard it now.

That sound.

Just continuous, gradually increasing whirring.

When it didn't stop, her instincts kicked in, and she scampered to her feet, pouncing a few steps back for good measure. Her jacket was gripped into her tightly shut fist, her brows were furrowed, and her undivided attention was fixed unyieldingly forward.

She could hear her own breathing clearly.

A tad too clearly for it to be normal, she began to register.

With it, she still heard that sound. That strange buzzing, something like sizzling static, but not really.

And she startled at the sudden realisation that it no longer came from behind the door.

It felt like it was next to her.

No, scratch that, not next to her — inside her.

As if someone had snatched a bundle of pins and started gently picking at the spongy surface of her brain. The pressure intensified with every poke, not unpleasant, but intrusive, deliberately prodding every crevice, leaving not a single inch untouched. Until it felt as though the pins had been abandoned altogether, and whoever had started the job had resorted to pinching her brain with long, crooked, sharp fingernails.

And it didn't sound like whirring anymore.

It sounded like a jumble of whispering sibilants.

Lyra blinked, confused.

She swallowed the lump uncomfortably constricting her throat.

Slowly, hesitantly, she took a step forward.

She listening in fascination as the voices — because they sounded exactly like voices now — increased in volume ever so slightly.

Her hand reached mindlessly for the door.

And then a bang echoed within the lab and she was shoved backwards violently.

There was nothing that had thrown her back.

Nothing had moved her.

It was as if a wave of gelid water had collided solidly against her after she'd spent hours soaking in the sun.

Lyra fell to the floor, breath knocked out of her, brain struggling to instruct her lungs to resume their rhythm. Her heart pulsed in her ears and she scurried to shove herself backwards, feet kicking urgently against the pavement, to get her away — get away, get away now— until the back of her head bashed into the opposite wall with bruising force.

She barely felt the pain that surged her scalp; actually, if anything, it was pleasant.

All the while, she was unable to tear her gaze from that damn closed door.

Her breathing resumed, but it was short and irregular, coming out in erratic gasps and gulps. Her mouth was way too moist, and she swallowed one time, two times, and another four times after that, but she was suddenly acutely aware of how rough the surface of her tongue felt, and of where each single tooth protruded out of her gums.

The whirring had subsided.

But the throbbing in her head was still there. That little feeling you get after someone tweaked your skin, that acute awareness of a specific spot on your flesh. Only her whole brain felt it, and she found herself desiring nothing more than to tear her skull open and scratch the itch away until it just finally stopped.

Lyra did not know how long she stayed frozen, splayed on the pavement. Grasping at the wall behind her with steadily twitching fingers, ready to leap and break into a run if need be, but also unable to actually move.

She was paralysed.

She was confused.

Of course she was scared, but she was also simply confused.

What the hell was happening? What was going on?

Her mind was playing tricks on her, though, it had to be.

Because for a moment, as her torso twisted on itself, her quivering digits reaching to grasp at the jacket that had slipped and slid sideways with her fall, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the marble floor.

And she could have sworn that there, where she was supposed to see nothing at all, her eyes had flickered with a pale, blue light.

Everything seemed blurred in that moment. The sound and the space around her, seemed to vignette: it did not help that spending so much time in complete darkness began to distort her notion of reality, time and pitch black surroundings bleeding steadily into one another.

When she blinked, and forced her gaze to that spot on the floor once more, nothing but emptiness greeted her.

So Lyra fell back and simply sat, motionless and bewildered, obsessively scanning and searching the door.

Minutes passed, she was certain of that: it must have been minutes, it could not have been hours, even though it felt like so.

As she listened, and focused — tried to focus — on her inhales, attempting to make sense of what had just transpired, of why her head still ached and skin still bristled with goosebumps... the voices came.

Was it those whispers again?

Were they back?

And did that mean, that maybe— Lyra's head whipped sideways.

Her vision strained.

And suddenly she was scrambling up — one foot slipping, her hand catching her against the floor and pushing her upwards — where she all but bolted ahead.

Footsteps.

The voices were followed by footsteps.

The enforcers had found them.

In the span of a second, Lyra was tearing Heimerdinger's doorknob open, darting inside, and ramming into the door with her own back to slam it shut.

"Fellas?" She strained, strewn inelegantly against the entrance, "We've got company!"

Jayce and Viktor had both flinched at the sound of Lyra's less than inconspicuous appearance, instinctively spinning towards the noise with mildly horrified expressions. They momentarily relaxed when they spotted Lyra — just Lyra, not a hoard of enforcers or any specific members of the Council. Before her words registered in their minds and their eyes swelled with haste and honest panic.

Jayce hissed a rather explicit curse, and hunched over his work once more, hands shooting to work faster on his construction, unable to quite resist giving into adrenaline-induced trembling.

Meanwhile, attempting to push through her raging thoughts, Lyra shoved off the door and pivoted in her spot. She eyed the hinges, the golden handles, and quickly decided that what the lock wouldn't necessarily hold by itself upon the arrival of their unwanted guests, a sturdy object sure could.

A stray pipe, perhaps? That ought to work fine and delay them, if only for a bit.

As she was whirling on herself, her eyes began their search, scanning the floorboards and shelves for something of that nature, while she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, "Okay, okay, okay, I need a— oh."

Lyra blinked at the item being held towards her.

Frowning minimally, she glanced at the person handing it to her, very transparent in her uncertainty. "You um— you sure?"

Viktor nodded, expression resolute, softly judding his chin into the direction of the door as he further extended his cane into her direction. "Use it."

"Right."

They exchanged a brief look, but Lyra looked away before hers could linger, making certain that their hands did not graze as she took it. After which, they parted ways, turning away and moving to resume their posts.

His cane sat in her palms and it was heavy, an unfamiliar and novel weight. She remembered his old cane, though you could have scarcely called it that. Wooden and crooked, definitely not doing any favours to his spine. Its helve used to hurt his palm, any type of walking coming at the price of leaving the heel of it constantly bruised and inflamed.

It was a shitty cane, but one she'd held too many times to count.

This one was new.

Smooth, and sturdy, and impeccably straight.

A wholly different cane, that surpassed the old one by miles.

Things were so different now.

Lyra found herself too weak to resist the urge: she peeked over her shoulder, at his retreating form.

Viktor limped back to Jayce's side, struggling without his support, but clearly making sure to conceal the matter. He was more than skillful in this specific regard, years of experience having taught him exactly how to weave the illusion of being fine.

But Lyra knew him. She could spy the uncomfortable tension in his shoulders, the way his vertebral column twisted and contorted with every dragging step he took, crinkling his vest at the sides.

And suddenly it felt like it was their first ever meeting, when he'd carefully and clumsily attempted to traverse the slippery rocks spanning the canal in the cave. When, despite not trusting him, and being entirely unimpressed by this addition to her life, she'd almost leapt and sprung up to help.

She nearly did it now, too.

Until the memory of her father's face flared before her, so vivid it almost made her nauseous. That look he'd given her out of the corner of his eye, which rooted her to her spot back then, and forced her to obey — do not be rude.

So, despite desperately wanting nothing more than to defy that ghost of her past, Lyra found herself helpless yet again.

She looked ahead and hurried onwards, where she slipped his cane between the handles and jammed them closed, giving the door a tug for good measure.

The footsteps were growing louder.

So was her pulsating heartbeat in her ears.

"Alright, that should buy us seven minutes. Maybe six. Most likely three."

"It will be enough." Viktor assured her, leaning on the desk in the spot next to Jayce.

As Lyra moved to join them, she caught sight of something in her peripheral vision: and she frowned at it, lips turning downward with her scowl. "I said, no blowing up the building."

There was a momentary pause from the boys.

"It was... just the window..." one of them muttered a tad guiltily somewhere behind her — though she was unsure who exactly it had been, too busy glaring at the shattered glass strewn across the floor.

"Fine, next time I'll specify all the items I don't want you blowing up. Shall I make you both a spreadsheet?!"

"Just come help, will you?!"

That voice had definitely been Jayce's.

And Lyra sighed, then grumbled an incomprehensible jumble of noises under her nose, and ultimately trod her way to the pair in their huddle at the desk.

(She did tend to get overly cranky in tense situations like these.)

"Any progress?" Lyra asked no one in particular, steps halting somewhere behind Jayce, who was currently hogging the desk quite entirely.

The older student seemed as if he meant to reply: his mouth fell open, with the clear intent to generate words. But in all of his unblinking concentration, he seemed to forget his endeavour — so his lips twitched, repositioned, expanded, before they fell into a thin line, not giving any notion of intending to open again.

Lyra's face scrunched up, unimpressed. She u-turned her questioning expression to Viktor on her right.

He gave her a nod, "Yes."

"Hm.", Lyra looked away.

Her fingers were clenching and unclenching rhythmically by her sides, her teeth kept sinking into her cheek and gnawing at the flesh: the footsteps were growing louder by the second — along with it, her blazing anxiety.

Lyra shifted her weight from one side to the other, muscles wound tight with anxiety and the effort to ignore the persistent itch that kept prickling within her skull. She rose on her toes to peek over Jayce's shoulder.

She hadn't need to do that.

The broad-shouldered boy leaned lower and sideways, exposing his work to her in its entirety.

And suddenly Lyra froze.

Her heels reeled into the ground like iron to a magnet, with such force her teeth clunked solidly against one another.

Her eyes blew wide.

Her throat seized up, and she swallowed, but couldn't force down the knurl of bile that brimmed in her oesophagus.

"Is that..." Lyra stammered. She became unexpectedly aware that her muscles had seized up, and she was now physically unable to move.

In addition, she was completely incapable of blinking.

Her lids wouldn't budge, wouldn't even flutter — they stayed motionless and stiff, glued to the fold of skin under her brows.

But her pupils were blown agape, two streaks of a blue light reflecting clearly amidst the dark of her irises — the hue that oozed and emanated from the centrepiece of Jayce's mechanism.

"...Is that the crystal?" Lyra whispered breathlessly, unsure if she'd actually spoken the words aloud.

The crystal...

Her voice felt too distant.

The crystal...

Everything felt muffled.

Scratch the deer in headlights, she suddenly felt like that one doomed moth seeing a flame — or like a cobra, enchanted by the tantalising, bewitching melody of a flute.

The crystal...

She realised then, in her stupefied perplexity, that she hadn't seen a gemstone before.

She'd studied the sketches in Jayce's journal, sure — she'd read all about them in his notes.

Small, glowing orbs, rune matrix components that combine elemental and spirit magic, and empower the spells of the arcane.

Lyra was very familiar with the theoretical side of things.

But to see one in person... how had she not once recognised that she had never seen one?

There was that brace on Jayce's forearm, he never took it off: the tight leather wrap that sported cracked chips of dully-coloured glass in the middle.

She'd spotted it several times — it was hard not to, considering it never left his person, even at the worst of times.

Lyra knew the story behind it, Jayce had explained it a long time ago.

Yet, she'd never really focused on it.

Never truly asked anything about it, never really felt curious, never even observed it from a distance, nothing.

It was as if her eyes always found a way to slide off it one way or another, stirring away at just the right moment, whenever she'd do so much as try and concentrate on it.

That glowing orb, though...

Lyra saw it.

And a silent voice rushed and flowed through her, something akin to a whispering observation, or maybe a command, delivered from the most profound depths of her subconscious — it told her, soft and gentle, lulling and kind, that she was, under any circumstances,

not

to look

away.

It should have scared her.

Or alarmed her, at the least.

It didn't.

If anything, her body felt tonnes lighter, as if intoxicated from a new sort of libation, one that was terribly and irrevocably addictive at first try.

And that itching from earlier, those long, crooked fingernails picking at her brain, almost felt pleasant now — even when the pressure intensified.

Lyra didn't realise her mouth had started moving.

It was as though a numbing balm had been spread over all her extremities and had taken hold immaculately well, to the point where she couldn't tell where her clothes began and her skin ended.

Her voice sounded like she wasn't speaking at all, but someone was speaking to her, and it was all happening underwater.

"It's..."

Bang, bang, bang!

"OPEN UP!"

Viktor flinched.

Jayce jumped, "Shit!"

Bang, bang, bang!

"Stop this lunacy at once!"

Heimerdinger.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

Several sets of boots were pounded at the door.

"They're almost through! No pressure!"

"That sounds like pressure!"

The boys were rushing.

The buzzing of the mechanism grew louder, the orb abandoned all notions of gravity and swept upwards, floating and twirling at the very centre of the machine.

"Shit, shit, shit." Jayce's head whipped side to side — he was looking for something. His hair had broken free from its usually neatly combed position, either due to his movements or because of the wind, which now streamed from the contraption, picking up papers, pens, books, anything as it went.

One of Jayce's hands still gripped the round switch in a steely hold, but his wide attention kept shifting. He was shouting something about his journal — where it was and some combination of runes he couldn't remember.

Viktor was scrambling, scrounging for it on the desk and floor, rifling through books and papers, hunting desperately and quickly through tools and boxes scattered before them.

Jayce was screaming.

With all his erratic movements, he accidentally slammed his shoulder into Lyra's, ramming into it with significant force.

It barely moved her at all.

In fact, she didn't even feel it.

In their hurried struggling — with the deafening humming of the machine, the angry voices and banging of the guards, and their own adrenaline pulsating and raging in their ears — the pair had grown completely oblivious to everything around them that wasn't their work.

Specifically, they had wholly forgotten about Lyra.

Amidst flying tomes and objects that whirlpooled and swung around the office, the young student stood very still.

She hadn't blinked once.

Hadn't seemed to even breathe.

She just stood, rooted to her spot; her eyes blown wide, clearly not present at all.

Her attention, however, was unmoving.

And it was fixed, cemented, on that one, glowing blue orb.

The whirring was there again.

The voices were susurrating once more.

Brewing and rustling at the back of her mind.

Beckoning.

Coaxing.

Whispering in low tones, to let them in.

They called to her.

Sung to her.

Begged for her.

And all at once, she chose to listen to them.

"Ly? Ly, pass me the—what the hell are you doing?!"

Lyra had surged forward, body acting of its own volition to carry her forward. She shoved past Jayce, pushing him aside and sending him several steps back.

He bellowed something. Hysterical, confused and furious.

But Lyra had already gripped the switch, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

All at once, the noises fell away.

The grinding of the mechanism, the voices of the guards, the banging on the door — it all faded, melted and blurred.

Until all that surrounded her was pure, unadulterated static.

She found it between the sizzling of the silence.

It was not a voice.

Not in any capacity a human could conceive.

It was like a thread made out of threads, that spoke words that were not words.

It swarmed.

Buzzed.

Swivelled.

But Lyra understood what it meant, with instant and total clarity.

𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾, 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓻𝓮?

Lyra's brain scattered with millions of different thoughts, panicked answers rushing in one go.

What do I most desire?

Help us.

Please, work.

We need you to work.

But that wasn't the right answer.

And, on some level, she knew it ignored her.

That voice that was not a voice, paused.

Lyra was unsure how someone could feel their soul be so nude in front of something immaterial. But it felt exactly like that, and she sensed that her very existence was being skimmed over like a book.

From her earliest, faintest memories, to her deepest anxieties, most ardent wishes and shameful cravings.

It scanned them all, analysed her wholly.

Until, at last, it softly hummed in what she could only describe as distorted, arcane delight.

𝓖𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭.

Suddenly, her hand twisted left, right and centre on its own accord.

And a beam of light shot up, then plummeted into the ground.

||

Translations for the Chapter:

- Lastochka = the swallow bird.

And that's all I have to say, my peeps. ;)