The chipped ceramic of the teacup warmed Lyric’s palms, but did little for the chill burrowing into her bones. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing through the shuttered window. Valor hadn’t walked in months. Not since the wasting sickness took his strength, his precision—everything. She watched the garden, overgrown now, where he’d once drilled for hours, a whirlwind of steel and focused rage.
“They started tearing down Old Man Tiber’s shop today.”
Lyric didn’t look at Vale. He stood by the hearth, polishing the grip of *Dawnbreaker*, Valor’s sword. The metal gleamed, but his touch seemed… tentative. Not the fierce reverence she remembered.
“Progress,” Lyric murmured, a bitter taste coating her tongue.
“It’s more than that. They’re offering pittances for land. Forcing people out.” Vale ran a thumb across the steel, a nervous habit. “Old Man Tiber refused. They…persuaded him.”
Lyric finally met Vale’s gaze. He’d always been a mirror of Valor—lean muscle, dark eyes that assessed everything, a jaw set against the world. Now, a tremor ran through his hands, and those eyes held something unfamiliar. Worry. *Fear*.
“The Council wants to ‘revitalize’ the district. New markets. Guild halls.” Lyric set the cup down. The clink felt impossibly loud. “They call it progress. I call it theft.”
Vale shifted, the leather of his jerkin creaking. “They’re saying Valor’s absence…weakens our position. That a new champion is needed. Someone…more amenable.”
A muscle ticked in Lyric’s cheek. “Amenable.” She tasted the word. A carefully coded demand.
“They’ve been offering contracts. Favors. To those willing to… cooperate.” He paused, avoiding her eyes again. “Master Elmsworth spoke to me. Said I have the potential to fill Valor’s shoes. If I…understood the need for a unified vision.”
“Unified?” Lyric rose, her chair scraping against the stone floor. “Or silenced?”
Vale flinched. He gripped *Dawnbreaker* so hard, his knuckles turned white.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Lyric kept her voice level. A skill honed over decades.
“Like I’m betraying him.”
“Are you?”
He finally locked eyes with her. A flash of defiance, quickly extinguished.
“I’m trying to understand.”
“Understanding won’t rebuild Old Man Tiber’s shop.”
He closed his eyes. “I know.” A long silence stretched between them. The scent of woodsmoke and dust filled the room. “I visited him. After…they took him.”
Lyric’s breath hitched. “And?”
Vale’s shoulders slumped. “He’s broken. Said he’d rather see the district burn than yield to their demands.”
Lyric’s hand instinctively went to the scar above her brow—a memento from a battle fought years ago. A battle she’d thought was over. “The rot runs deep.”
“I could…negotiate. Try to get them to reconsider.” Vale’s voice was hesitant.
“Negotiate with shadows?” Lyric scoffed. “They don’t want reason, Vale. They want control.”
He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair. “What do we do?”
Lyric watched him. He wasn’t Valor. He lacked the ruthless edge, the unwavering certainty. He possessed something else. A vulnerability she hadn’t noticed before. A tenderness. Something that made her ache.
“We remember what Valor fought for.” Lyric said, her voice softer now. “And we finish the battle.”
He glanced back at her, a flicker of hope in his eyes. But it was overshadowed by something else. A questioning look.
“Even if it breaks us?”
Lyric’s gaze drifted to the garden, to the overgrown paths and the crumbling stone walls. The fate of the district hung in the balance. And in the shadows, she sensed another battle brewing. One that wouldn’t be fought with swords. But with something far more dangerous. Trust. And perhaps, something even more unexpected. A shared burden. A fragile connection forged in the ruins of a fallen hero.
