The ticking of the clock was loud enough to make me want to tear it off the wall. I'd been pacing for so long my legs ached, but sitting still wasn't an option. Three days without a word. Three days not knowing if my idiot twin was lying in an alley somewhere or… worse.
I was halfway through another anxious lap when the front door creaked open.
I froze.
Zane stepped inside, shutting the door with the kind of calm that didn't belong to someone who'd been missing. His shoulder-length black hair was messy and tangled, like he'd been through a storm and never bothered to fix it. Dust clung to the edge of his clothes, and a faint cut ran across his cheekbone, another on his lip.
But it wasn't just the wounds. Something was… off. His posture was straighter, his movements sharper. And his violet eyes seemed colder, edged with something I couldn't name. They were filled with a level a maturity that shouldn't belong in a 16-year-old boy. (Check paragraph comment.)
For a heartbeat, I didn't recognize him.
"Zane…?" My voice cracked in the middle.
He glanced at me, and that tiny, crooked grin he always used when trying to diffuse trouble tugged at his mouth. But it didn't reach his eyes.
Zane Blessborne
There she was, my twin sister, Lyra Blessborne. The kind of beauty that made you forget the room around her even existed. Long, black hair fell down her back like a silk curtain, catching the faint light from the window. Her violet eyes, the same shade as mine, were wide, shimmering with something between relief and fury. (Check paragraph comment.)
She didn't give me time to say a word.
One second she was standing there, the next she'd closed the distance and thrown her arms around me, squeezing like she was trying to make sure I was solid, real, and not some cruel hallucination. Her grip was so tight it was almost painful, but I didn't complain.
For three days, I'd been surrounded by blood, stone, and the stench of those mad cultists. For three days, I'd been thinking about getting back here. And now… I was home.
She didn't let go right away.
Five whole minutes passed, five minutes of her breathing unevenly against my shoulder, of my shirt growing damp where her face was buried. When she finally stepped back, her eyes were red, but she didn't bother wiping them.
I forced a smile, trying to keep my tone light.
"So… where's Anakin?"
Her gaze flickered away for just a second before locking back onto mine. "Sleeping. He stayed up late the night before his birthday and then even later waiting for you to show up."
Right. His birthday.
Fourteen years old… and I'd missed it. Not because I forgot. Not because I was busy. Because I was tied to an altar in some dark, damp hellhole while lunatics debated which imaginary god would appreciate my blood more.
A sharp twist of guilt dug into my gut, deeper than any knife wound.
But before I could even think of what to say, my stomach betrayed me with a loud, echoing growl. The sound practically bounced off the walls.
Lyra blinked, then let out a short, almost relieved laugh. "Still alive enough to be starving, huh?"
I shrugged. "Guess near-death experiences work up an appetite."
She shook her head but turned toward the kitchen. "Come on. We'll make something. You can help, don't think you're getting off kitchen duty just because you've been… wherever you've been."
A few minutes later, we were standing side by side at the counter. She chopped vegetables with the speed and precision of someone who'd been cooking cheap meals for years, while I handled the meat. The sizzling pan filled the air with the smell of garlic and spices, wrapping the kitchen in something warm and familiar.
For a while, there was no cult, no missed birthdays, no lingering questions, just the rhythm of the knife hitting the cutting board and the occasional sarcastic comment from me about her "overly dramatic seasoning style."
It was almost… normal.
---
We eventually migrated to the dining table, if you could call it that. The thing was barely big enough for three plates, a jug of water, and on Lyra's stubborn insistence, a centerpiece (currently a wilted potted plant that had seen better days).
I dropped into my usual seat, the chair creaking under me like it had a personal grudge. Lyra set my plate down with a little too much force, as if the food itself was going to answer for my three-day disappearance.
Still, the first bite shut me up. Warm, seasoned just right, comfort disguised as a simple meal.
"So…" Lyra prodded between bites, "are you going to tell me what happened, or am I just supposed to pretend you were at a three-day sleepover?"
I smirked around my fork. "Depends. You want the truth, or a version that doesn't make you lose sleep?"
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't push. Instead, she changed the subject. "Anakin's been asking about you nonstop. He's probably going to grill you harder than I am."
I swallowed, a faint pang of guilt twisting in my gut. "I'll make it up to him."
We fell into easy small talk after that, nothing heavy. Just complaints about the leaky faucet, the nosy neighbor, and how the mana train fare went up again. The normalcy was almost disorienting, like the last few days had been a bad dream I could just… eat my way out of.
But all good things must come to an end, and so did the small talk.
Lyra set her fork down, tapping the edge of her plate. "You realize we've only got six months left until Awakening Day, right?"
I leaned back in my chair, half-smirking. "Six months to magically become god-tier. No pressure."
She rolled her eyes. "And then two months after that… Ironwill's entrance exam."
"Right. The part where they decide whether we're prodigies or just average background extras," I said, twirling my fork like it was a blade. "You still planning to take it with me?"
"Of course," she said, her voice firm. "You think I'm letting you run off to the best academy in the world without me?"
A small grin tugged at my mouth. "Good. Someone's gotta keep me from getting expelled in the first month."
We sat there for a moment, the quiet hum of the mana-powered fridge in the background. For all the danger ahead, the thought of walking into Ironwill Academy's gates with her at my side made it feel… possible.
---
Lyra's gaze lingered on me as she pushed the last bite of food around her plate. "Zane… what's happening to you?"
I raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"You're… different." Her voice was quiet but steady. "The way you look at things, the way you talk… even the way you're sitting right now. It's like you're not the same person who left three days ago."
I exhaled slowly, setting my fork down. "That's because I'm not. Not exactly."
Her eyes narrowed. "Explain."
I leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Those cultists? They didn't just plan to kill me. They put me through something… something I can't explain without sounding insane. It was like every second was a fight to stay alive while going through an amount of pain that would make any normal person go insane. You survive that, you stop looking at the world the same way."
Lyra didn't interrupt, but her knuckles were white because of how hard she was gripping her fork.
"I had to fight. And I won," I said, my voice low. "But the price is… I don't think I can go back to the way I was before."
She studied me for a long moment, then looked away. "Just… don't forget who you are, Zane."
A faint smirk tugged at my lips. "Trust me. I couldn't even if I tried.
After that, we cleared the table in silence; the clinking of plates in the sink was the only sound between us. Lyra didn't nag me about leaving my cup half-full, and I didn't comment on how she stacked the dishes in a way that would make them all topple over later. Small mercies.
The living room was exactly as I remembered it, mismatched cushions, and a sofa that had seen better days three years ago. I dropped onto it, sinking into the familiar sag in the middle.
A moment later, I felt arms slide around me from behind, and a chin resting lightly on my shoulder.
"You're home and you're safe," she murmured, as if saying it out loud would make it more certain.
I didn't move. Didn't joke. I just let the quiet hang there, her warmth pressing into my back.
For the first time since I'd woken up in that nightmare, I let myself relax, not because the world was suddenly safe, but because for the moment, I didn't have to be the only blade between it and the people I cared about.