Morning

  Isaac woke up slowly and turned his head.

  Yae was still there.

  Hair messy. Hat nowhere in sight. One sleeve slipped down her shoulder like she’d thrown it on and forgot it existed.

  For a second, he just stared—quietly happy in a way he didn’t want to admit out loud.

  He sat up and rubbed his face, palm sliding down to his jaw like he was checking if last night was real.

  Yae shifted behind him, a soft breath against his back.

  Then her arms wrapped around him from behind, warm and clingy, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  “Good morning,” she whispered, voice unusually gentle.

  He leaned slightly into it before he could stop himself.

  “Morning,” he answered, just as warm.

  Yae tightened her hold like she liked that he didn’t push her away.

  He glanced at her in the corner of his eye.

  “You… fell asleep here,” he said. “Don’t you have your own room?”

  Yae laughed quietly, almost embarrassed—but she didn’t let go.

  “I do.”

  Another kiss—short, playful—closer to his jaw this time.

  “But I sleep well anywhere when you’re with me.”

  Isaac let out a small breath through his nose, half a laugh.

  “You say things like that too easily.”

  Yae’s smile grew.

  “Do I?” she asked, pretending innocence.

  He turned his head a little more, enough to meet her eyes. She looked… different in the morning. Less queen. More woman who didn’t know what to do with liking someone.

  Yae hesitated, like she was choosing words.

  “Isaac… I want to ask you something.”

  He stayed still. Careful.

  “What?” he asked, watching her face.

  Yae’s fingers traced lightly over his shoulder, almost absent-minded.

  “I know things are… fast,” she admitted, and that alone sounded strange coming from her. “But… would you have dinner with me tonight?”

  Isaac blinked once.

  “In my room,” she added quickly, as if the detail mattered. “There’s a view. It’s quiet. And I… want to talk to you about a few things.”

  That last part was softer. Honest.

  Isaac held her gaze.

  His mind flicked to Amanda. Play along. Get close. Find the amulet.

  But then Yae’s thumb brushed his cheek like she was waiting to be rejected.

  He smiled—small, real.

  “Sure.”

  Yae froze.

  “Seriously?” she asked, and the happiness hit her face so fast it almost looked childish.

  He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll have dinner with you.”

  Yae exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours.

  “Okay,” she said, smiling too much now. “It’s a deal.”

  Then she pulled back and sat up straighter, the queen returning in pieces—posture first, then the calm expression, then the control.

  “I have things to do,” she said, but her voice stayed warm. “People to pretend I care about.”

  Isaac smirked.

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  She stood and started gathering her things. The hat was last—always last—like it was part of her armor.

  She put it on, then glanced at him again.

  “Tonight,” she said, as if she needed to hear it one more time.

  “Tonight,” Isaac confirmed.

  Yae stepped closer and kissed him again—quick, light, but confident—then backed away.

  “See you later… dear,” she said, and the word sounded dangerous coming from her.

  Then she vanished in a clean electric flash.

  The air returned to normal like nothing had happened.

  Isaac stared at the empty space for a second.

  His eyes narrowed slightly.

  “…Could I do that?” he muttered, more to himself than anything.

  He exhaled.

  “Tch. Focus.”

  Tonight… her room.

  The amulet.

  He got up, already rehearsing how to act like this was just a dinner.

  Amanda reached the edge of the Gray Forest wearing Safira’s face, moving quiet enough that even the dry leaves didn’t dare talk back. The air tasted wrong here—old metal, wet stone, and something faintly burned.

  She slowed when she saw it.

  A long scrape carved through the dirt.

  Something heavy had been dragged.

  Amanda crouched, touched the groove with two fingers, then followed it like it was a sentence someone didn’t finish writing.

  Something went down.

  A darker patch of ground gave way beneath her boot.

  “—!”

  She dropped, twisting midair, and hit the slope hard—rolled, shoulder-first—then slid the rest of the way into cold mud.

  Amanda exhaled once through clenched teeth.

  Silence.

  No wind. No insects. Just water dripping somewhere far ahead.

  She raised her palm. A small flame sparked to life, weak but steady, painting the tunnel walls in orange.

  “Okay…” she whispered. “So this is where you hid it.”

  She walked deeper.

  The tunnel opened into a cramped iron door half-buried in rock—rusted, but still sealed like someone cared.

  Amanda’s heart kicked.

  She pressed her ear to the metal.

  Nothing.

  Then she pushed.

  The hinge screamed like it hadn’t moved in centuries.

  Inside was… wrong.

  Not a cave anymore.

  A lab.

  Iron tables. Broken glass. Strange tools scattered across the floor like a fight happened and nobody cleaned up. Symbols scratched into the walls. Old blood stains that didn’t look old.

  Amanda stepped in slowly, flame held high.

  “…Lyra.”

  Her voice came out smaller than she wanted.

  She scanned the room—and stopped.

  A tall, crude device made of dark iron stood near the back. It looked like a doorway frame, except it had no door. Just a socket in the center.

  Amanda walked up to it and ran her fingers around the socket.

  Her stomach tightened.

  “It’s the amulet slot,” she muttered. “So this is the portal.”

  She leaned closer, eyes narrowing.

  There were tiny burn marks along the edges—like the last activation fought back.

  A pile of papers lay under the frame, half-soaked, stuck together with grime. Amanda gathered them carefully, flipping through fast.

  Sketches. Notes. Warnings. Words like anchor, gate, collapse.

  She stuffed everything into her bag.

  “Amanda, focus,” she told herself under her breath. “Grab what matters. Get out. Get back to Isaac.”

  A sound snapped through the dark.

  Not the drip of water.

  Something else.

  A soft tap… tap… tap, like metal touching stone.

  Amanda killed the flame instantly and vanished into invisibility.

  Her breathing went shallow.

  She followed the noise with careful steps, feeling the air change—cooler, wetter—until the tunnel widened again.

  A waterfall.

  A thin curtain of water spilling into a pool so black it looked like it swallowed light.

  And then she saw them.

  Bodies.

  Dozens.

  Stacked wrong. Twisted. Old armor, torn cloth, skin gray. Every face ruined in the same way—eyes burned out, sockets blackened like someone cooked them from the inside.

  Amanda’s stomach turned.

  The smell hit her a second later.

  Rot and wet iron.

  She covered her nose, swallowed hard, and forced herself not to gag.

  What did this? The Night Creature? Or something else?

  The tapping sound came again.

  Closer.

  Amanda froze.

  Her eyes flicked to the shallow water near the rocks, where something shiny moved with the current.

  A small metal key.

  It clinked lightly as it bumped a stone.

  Amanda stayed invisible, stepped in, and grabbed it fast. Cold, heavy, real.

  She lifted it into the air, turning it in the dim light from outside.

  Then she noticed a door.

  Not iron like the first one.

  This one was clean. Dark. Almost new—like it didn’t belong in the same ruin.

  A thick padlock sat on it.

  Amanda stared at the key, then the lock.

  Her throat tightened.

  If Lyra locked something up… it’s either salvation or death.

  She forced a slow breath.

  “Only one way,” she murmured.

  The key slid in perfectly.

  Click.

  The lock opened like it had been waiting for her.

  Amanda pushed the door.

  A small room breathed cold air into her face.

  In the center sat a metal table, and on top of it: a capsule—sealed, reinforced, marked with warning symbols in Lyra’s handwriting.

  Inside the capsule, suspended in a clear core, was a sphere.

  It wasn’t bright.

  It was… alive.

  A weak light pulsing like a tired heartbeat.

  Amanda stepped closer, eyes wide.

  “No way…”

  She looked down at the notes beside it—cleaner than the others, kept away from water. Lyra had protected these.

  Amanda skimmed fast, lips moving as she read.

  Fragments. Paradise. A failed replication. A “sun” that came out wrong—orange, weak, starving.

  Her fingers trembled as she turned one page.

  FRAGMENT OF PARADISE’S SUN — KEEP SEALED — AIR EXPOSURE: UNSTABLE

  Amanda swallowed.

  “A fragment of Paradise’s sun…” she whispered. “You tried to bring the real light here.”

  She stared at the capsule, then at her own hand.

  Isaac’s power comes from Paradise’s sun… not this world’s.

  Her mind snapped to him—stuck, grounded, trying to spark lightning and getting nothing but pain.

  Amanda made a decision.

  She opened the capsule.

  Heat kissed her face instantly—soft at first, then sharper.

  The sphere didn’t burn her skin, but she could feel it wanting to.

  Like it was hungry for air.

  Amanda didn’t hesitate.

  She lifted it carefully and slid it into a sealed container from the capsule—something meant to keep it stable.

  The light inside throbbed once.

  Stronger.

  Amanda’s eyes narrowed.

  She sealed it tight, shoved it deep into her bag, and backed away from the table.

  Then she looked at the portal frame’s direction, jaw set.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “We have a gate. We have fuel. We just need Isaac.”

  A wet sound came from the pool behind her.

  Amanda went still.

  Invisible again.

  And without looking back, she walked out of the locked room—slow, quiet, and ready to run the second something breathed wrong.