Lira's PoV:
I woke to the sound of laughter, light and carefree, seeping through the thin walls of Maeve's home. It took me a moment to remember where I was—to ground myself in this strange, quiet town nestled in the valley.
The voices belonged to the two children Maeve had taken in: Kira and Lily.
Kira, the elder brother, was maybe twelve, his face marred by a burn stretching from his temple to his cheek. Maeve told me the story last night: how a fire had nearly consumed the house one stormy evening. Kira had thrown himself over Lily, shielding her from the flames.
The scars on his face weren't the only ones he carried—there were more, hidden beneath his clothes. But Lily didn't seem to care. To her, Kira was the most beautiful brother anyone could have, and she made sure everyone knew it.
I wondered how Kira felt, knowing Lily didn't see his scars but his heart instead. She'd realized he was beautiful in a way that most people couldn't fathom.
Through the window, I watched them for a moment, a pang of something unfamiliar twisting in my chest. Kira was chasing Lily around the small garden, his laughter rough but genuine. Lily giggled as she darted behind a tree, her hair catching the sunlight like spun gold.
It was a scene I didn't want to interrupt.
After what Maeve said last night, I'd decided to find work. Staying in this town meant surviving its rhythms, and surviving here meant earning my keep.
Maeve had hinted at a few places that might need an extra pair of hands, but I decided to start with the inn.
The building was easy to spot—mainly because the sign above the door was nearly falling off, the words "Reader's Inn" barely legible under years of faded paint.
I pushed the door open, surprised by the hum of voices inside. The place was packed. People clustered around tables, sharing drinks and stories, their chatter filling the air.
For a small town, it was surprisingly lively.
The innkeeper caught my eye immediately. A woman in her late thirties, maybe older, with dark hair pulled into a loose bun and a figure that could only be described as "commanding." She was bustling between tables, her movements brisk but efficient.
"Looking for a room?" she asked without slowing down, her voice cutting through the noise.
"No," I said. "I'm looking for work."
She stopped then, turning to give me a once-over. Her eyes lingered on the sword at my side and the dirt smudged on my clothes. "What can you do?"
"Anything," I replied.
Her lips quirked into a half-smile. "Anything, huh?" She disappeared into the back for a moment, returning with an axe.
"Prove it," she said, thrusting the axe into my hands. "Chop wood out back. We've got a shipment coming in, and I don't have time to deal with it myself."
I stared at the axe for a moment, its weight familiar in my hands.
"Fine," I said, heading toward the door she pointed to.
Outside, a pile of thick logs waited for me, the wood rough and uneven. I set to work, the axe cutting through the air with a satisfying thunk.
With every swing, I thought back to the labyrinth—the endless training, the relentless challenges. My muscles moved with practiced ease, and the weight of the axe felt almost comforting.
By the time the pile was reduced to neatly split firewood, sweat clung to my skin, but I wasn't tired. If anything, I felt… grounded.
The innkeeper appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed as she surveyed my work.
"Not bad," she said. "Name's Maren, by the way. You keep this up, and I might just keep you around."
I nodded, brushing stray hair out of my face. "Lira," I said simply.
"Welcome to the Reader's Inn, Lira," Maren said, a sly grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You'll find this place has a way of keeping things interesting."
Something about her tone made me pause, but I didn't ask. For now, it was enough to have a purpose—even if that purpose was chopping wood.
As I walked back toward Maeve's house, the sound of Kira and Lily's laughter still echoed in my ears.
For a moment, I let myself believe I could belong.
***
Kailus's PoV:
As I observed Lira's quaint little life unfold—her tentative steps into the rhythms of that fabricated town—I felt a ripple. A notification of sorts. A whisper from the void.
Someone had survived the beast.
Ah, now this was unexpected. My attention shifted, the scene of Lira splitting wood dissolving like smoke as I focused on the anomaly.
A soul. Fractured. Trembling. Barely clinging to the remnants of its identity.
It stood at the threshold of the void, shivering under the weight of memories too jagged and heavy for its fragile form.
This one was not like Lira. Where her essence burned with defiance, this soul was drowning in a murky sea of uncertainty.
"I don't know why I fight," it whispered, its voice fragile and hollow, like a dying breeze struggling to carry a sound. "I don't want to die... but I don't know what to live for, either."
I laughed. Low and soft at first, the amusement blooming in my chest until it echoed through the vast nothingness.
"Oh, how pitifully entertaining," I mused, leaning back into the intangible throne I had fashioned for myself. The void itself seemed to hum in response to my mirth. "A survivor with no will to live and no will to die. A contradiction so poignant it's almost poetic."
I studied the soul for a moment longer, tracing its jagged edges, the cracks where its fragmented memories bled through. Unlike Lira, who clawed her way through my labyrinth with sheer determination, this one had stumbled, tripped, and crawled its way to the end.
And yet, it survived.
How deliciously perplexing.
"Well, I can't let this go to waste," I murmured, a grin curling at the edges of my mouth. With a flick of my hand, I sent a ripple of intent through the fabric of existence, a thread weaving itself into the tapestry of my design.
The soul quivered, its uncertain path now redirected toward the world I had crafted for my star. I could already see the chaos brewing. Lira's blazing resolve meeting this shivering contradiction. The threads of destiny tangling in delightful, unpredictable ways.
"Let's see what my little star makes of this," I said, reclining once more, my gaze fixed on the unfolding drama.
The void settled around me, but my grin remained. Lira's days of peace were numbered.
After all, perfection is dreadfully dull without a little calamity.