The bridge stood above them, its ancient stones blackened by the night, slick with mist that coiled between the pillars like living breath. The river below ran, restless. It had been days since the spirit's warning, but neither Joren nor Lyria could further predict what to do next to stay out of danger due to the warnings.
Lyria stood with her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the water. "You heard it too," she murmured. "It wasn't just some trick of the wind."
Joren exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. He'd been telling himself otherwise—that the voice, the shifting mist, the sudden collapse of the chamber beneath the bridge—could be explained. But he couldn't lie to her. Not about this.
"It said the bridge was built on betrayal," he said. "And that it wouldn't bear the consequences of another."
Lyria turned to face him. Her eyes were dark pools, unreadable. "Then why are you still here?"
Joren hesitated. He should have left this alone. He should have walked away. And yet, he couldn't. Not when the mystery of the bridge was tangled with the mysteries of her. "Because I need to know the truth."
Lyria's jaw tightened. "And what if the truth isn't something we're meant to find? Joren, you could easily just turn right back and go live your normal life in Caldris just like you used to."
The wind shifted, carrying the distant whisper of the river's current against the stone. A sound almost like words. Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed. The night itself seemed to hold its breath.
Joren reached for her hand, his fingers grazing her wrist. "I won't stop searching," he said, voice low, determined. "Yes Lyria, I could easily go back to Caldris and forget all this ever happened but would you be at peace if I left and after everything we've discovered? No. But that doesn't mean I want to do it alone."
She swallowed hard. He could feel the tremor in her pulse beneath his touch. "Neither do I," she admitted.
And that was more terrifying than anything.
--
By day, they were strangers. Joren in Caldris, working at his forge, feigning normalcy under Thalric's watchful gaze. Lyria in Velmora, gathering herbs, feeling Eira's suspicion press against her back.
But by night, they stole moments that belonged only to them.
The riverbank became their refuge, hidden among the reeds and shadows. Here, Lyria let herself forget the warnings. Here, Joren let himself forget logic.
One night, as they stood in the shallows, the water lapping at their boots, Lyria shook her head. "We shouldn't keep doing this."
Joren smirked. "I thought we've been over this so many times, Lyria, what's really the problem?"
She shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. "I don't trust whatever we are about to do."
"And I don't trust leaving questions unanswered," he countered.
The tension between them was something neither of them had the words for.
Lyria clenched her fists, frustrated. "You're impossible."
"And you're still standing here."
Silence stretched between them. Joren wasn't sure who moved first, only that suddenly she was in his arms, and he was kissing her like they had all the time in the world.
The river whispered at their feet, and the stars flickered above, and for the first time in days, there was no fear. Only this.
--
Thalric wasn't blind.
He had known Joren too long to miss the shift—the distracted glances, the restless nights, the way his friend's hands hovered too long over unfinished work. He had hoped it was nothing. But hope had never served him well.
So, when he saw Joren slip away from the Caldrisian streets under cover of darkness, Thalric followed.
The path led to the river. The bridge. The divide.
And on the other side, waiting in the reeds, was a girl. A Velmoran girl.
Thalric sucked in a breath, staying hidden behind the trees. This was bad. Worse than bad. This was dangerous.
And yet, Joren was smiling in a way Thalric hadn't seen in years. Like he was free.
His stomach twisted.
Across the river, in Velmora, Eira was watching too.
She had seen the way Lyria's thoughts drifted, how her steps took her too close to the cursed bridge, how she returned late, her cheeks flushed, her silence thick with secrets.
She had seen it before. And it had never ended well.
The past was a wheel, ever-turning. And she feared Lyria had stepped into a story that had already been written. One that they would have to face the repercussions for. Of all places, why did they have to fall in love here. Tragic.
--
The night was colder than the last.
Joren stood at the river's edge, staring across at Lyria. She was barefoot, the hem of her dress darkened with water, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked like something half-formed, caught between dream and reality.
"We need to stop," he said.
Lyria lifted a brow. "Do you believe that?"
He didn't. He never had. He was just joking, after all isn't this how Lyria behaves every time they are about to do something forbidden?
But he saw the way Thalric watched him now. He heard the shift in the Caldrisian guards' patrols. And on her side, he knew Velmora was watching too.
"Lyria—"
She stepped forward, closing the space between them. "I'd rather be afraid with you than safe without you."
Joren let out a quiet, breathless laugh. "That's reckless."
Her fingers brushed his jaw. "So are you."
He leaned into her touch, his heart hammering. "This will end badly."
Lyria's eyes softened. "Maybe it won't end at all."
But it always felt like someone was watching there every move and this was riskier than climbing a tree on a rainy Monday.
A whisper drifted through the reeds, curling around their feet like mist. The river stirred, a ripple without wind.
Joren stiffened. "Did you hear that?"
Lyria turned, scanning the darkness. The shadows beneath the bridge seemed deeper than before. Moving, shifting, waiting.
The wind picked up, a sudden gust that sent ripples across the water, carrying something unseen but present.
The spirit had not forgotten them.
And neither had those who now knew their secret.
--
Across the river, a figure moved in the shadows.
The figure was unpredictable and was watching very intently, the question was, whowas it? Thalric or Eira?
Why did it have to come to this? When is the right time to be free? The past had come alive again.
And this time, it would not be ignored.