Henry stood frozen in the hallway, Lyra's mocking laughter echoing in his ears long after she was gone. Her words weren't just an insult; they were a verdict, reinforcing the cold, hard truth he'd just learned about himself. He was an empty shell, a paradox, a mistake.
"Don't listen to her," a voice said from his side. Henry turned to see Kaelen, who had approached quietly, his usual cheerfulness replaced by a look of concern. He glanced nervously at Helia but aimed his words at Henry. "She's like that with everyone she thinks might be a threat," Kaelen continued. "She sees power as a zero-sum game. If someone else gets attention, it's attention stolen from her. It has nothing to do with you, really."
"But she's right," Henry said, his voice flat. "I am weak. I have no control. I don't even use mana. I'm a… a freak of nature."
"Then be a freak of nature!" Kaelen retorted, his passion flaring. "Who cares how it works, as long as it *works*? What you did in Master Kael's class, that burst of light? Nobody's ever seen anything like that. That's not weakness, Henry. That's… something new."
Kaelen's words were well-meaning, a life raft of kindness in an ocean of despair. But Henry was drowning too deep to grab it. Kindness couldn't fix the war inside him.
"I appreciate it, Kaelen," Henry said, and he really meant it. "But… I have to go." He didn't wait for a reply. He turned and began the silent walk back to the Solstice Tower, his guardian of light one step behind. Kaelen was left behind, a potential friend abandoned in the wake of his complex misery.
The air in the Solstice Tower was warm and sterile, as always. The second the door to their quarters closed, sealing them off from the rest of the academy, Henry's stoic facade crumbled. He threw his bag into a corner and sank onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.
The sun outside was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple—the colors of twilight. The colors of his impending transition.
"What am I supposed to do?" he asked the silent room, his voice choked with frustration. "How am I supposed to find 'balance' when one part of me is a monster and the other is… nothing? A scared little flash?"
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," a melodic, teasing voice answered. Tsukuyomi materialized, lounging gracefully on Henry's bed as if she owned it. She propped her chin on her hand, an amused smirk on her lips. "Did the little sparkler hurt your feelings? Poor boy. And she even called you handsome. What a tragedy."
"She said I was weak," Henry shot back.
"And she's not wrong, is she?" Tsukuyomi said, sitting up. "Your problem isn't your nature, darling. It's your refusal to *use* it. That other you, the fun one? He doesn't care what some blonde girl thinks of him. He would take her strength and make her choke on it. Force is the only answer people like her understand."
"That is not the answer," Helia's calm voice cut through the air. She had been watching silently from across the room, a statue of golden judgment. "Power used out of anger or pride is just a glorified tantrum. True strength, Henry, doesn't come from proving something to people like Lyra. It comes from not needing to."
She stepped forward, placing herself between Henry and the teasing moon goddess. "She called you weak to provoke you, to throw you off balance. And you let her. You let her opinion become your reality."
"Your talk of 'balance' and 'inner peace' isn't going to help him win a fight," Tsukuyomi said with a dismissive wave of her hand.
"This isn't about winning fights," Helia countered, her golden eyes flashing with intensity. "It's about winning the war. And the war, Henry, is against the idea that you have to pick a side. Her opinion is irrelevant. *Her* opinion," she gestured to Tsukuyomi, "is poison. The only opinion that matters is the one you forge in the silence between your two halves."
Henry looked from one to the other. The moon goddess, the embodiment of unchecked power, offering him dominance through force. The sun goddess, the embodiment of control, offering him peace through self-discipline. Both promised a solution, but both demanded he become something he wasn't.
"So I'm weak if I don't use the power, and I'm weak if I let words provoke me," Henry said, a bitter, humorless laugh escaping him. "There's no way to win, is there?"
He felt the first chill of the change, the cold seeping up his spine. The darkness was coming.
"There is always a way to win, my dear," Tsukuyomi whispered, her smile widening.
"The question is," Helia concluded, her voice solemn, "what kind of victory you are willing to achieve."
As the last ray of sun vanished from the sky, leaving Henry trapped between the two rival goddesses and their impossible philosophies, the night took him. And the war raged on.