A Rift Between Siblings
Lyra paced the training grounds, the whispers of the artifact buzzing relentlessly in her mind, a ceaseless tide that eroded her thoughts. Across the field, Eryon sparred with Eira, his movements sharp and precise as he struck at the shadow constructs she summoned. He moved with an ease that Lyra couldn’t help but envy, wielding the artifact’s power as though it were an extension of himself, not the invasive presence she felt it to be.
Eira’s voice rang out, cold and commanding, cutting through the hum in Lyra’s mind. “Faster, Eryon. Stronger. You’ve barely scratched the surface of what you can do.”
Eryon growled in response, his wolf form flickering briefly as he surged forward. With a powerful swipe, he delivered a devastating blow to the final construct, shattering it into a cloud of smoke that dissipated into the night air. He stood tall, his amber eyes blazing with pride as he turned to Eira, seeking her approval.
“Excellent,” Eira said, her lips curving into a rare smile that held more satisfaction than warmth. “You’re ready for more.”
Lyra watched the scene unfold, her chest tightening with unease. She approached cautiously, the weight of her concern pressing down on her as she crossed the field. “Eryon, can we talk?” she asked, her voice hesitant but firm enough to carry across the space.
Eryon turned to her, his expression hardening, the glow of the artifact casting sharp shadows across his face. “What is it?” he asked, his tone clipped and impatient.
She gestured toward the artifact in his hands, its faint but steady glow radiating an unnatural calm that only deepened her anxiety. “This… it’s changing you,” she said quietly, her silver eyes searching his. “Don’t you feel it? It’s like it’s taking over.”
Eryon scoffed, brushing past her to retrieve his belongings without sparing her a glance. “It’s not taking over,” he said sharply. “It’s making me stronger. You should try embracing it instead of fearing it.”
Lyra’s chest tightened further, the divide between them feeling insurmountable. She followed him, her steps quick and her voice urgent. “This isn’t who you are,” she insisted, desperation creeping into her tone. “Eryon, we’ve always faced things together. Why are you shutting me out now?”
Eryon stopped abruptly, his posture stiff as he turned to face her. His glare was sharp enough to cut, and his words, when they came, were sharper still. “Because you’re holding me back,” he snapped. “You’re so afraid of what this power means that you can’t see the truth. This is who I’m meant to be, Lyra.”
His words struck her like a physical blow, stealing the air from her lungs. She stepped back, her silver eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You’re wrong,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
For a moment, a fleeting moment, Eryon’s gaze softened. But it passed as quickly as it came, replaced by a hardened resolve that chilled her to the bone. “No, Lyra,” he said, his voice low but firm. “I’m finally right.”
He turned and walked away, his steps purposeful, leaving Lyra rooted to the spot, her heart heavy with the weight of his words. She watched him go, the distance between them growing not just in steps but in something far deeper.
From the shadows, Eira observed the exchange, her satisfaction evident in the smug curve of her lips. “He’s ready,” she murmured to herself, her silver eyes glinting with triumph. The artifact’s whispers seemed to echo her sentiment, their cadence synchronizing with the dark promises of her ambitions.
