10. Open Sky
Chapter ten
Open Sky
Ash and Oberon trade places every other day.
I have grown used to their presence. The isolation has its own quiet torture, but it isn’t the kind of prison I knew before. It is just . . . different. Like existing without truly living, the days blend into a haze of magic practice and half-remembered conversations.
When Oberon arrives, the air seems to grow colder.
His presence carries a quiet intensity that presses against the walls of the cabin, making the space feel smaller, more confined.
His stillness is deliberate, weighted, and it speaks far more than his carefully chosen words ever could.
Conversations with Oberon always feel like walking along the edge of a blade, dangerous and thrilling in equal measure.
Oberon has noticed my hunger for stories and knowledge.
So, he brings me books. Not grand tomes of power or history but fairy tales.
Simple stories meant for simpler souls. Yet I grow fond of them.
Perhaps it is the escape they offer or the quiet kindness hidden in the gesture.
They feel like a promise. A promise that there is more beyond these walls. More for me.
Behind that cold exterior, I can feel something more.
The way his gaze lingers on me longer than necessary when he thinks I won’t notice.
The rare moments when his hand brushes mine as he passes a book over, his fingers cold but lingering a heartbeat too long.
There is a pull between us, tangled in the unspoken.
It makes my heart race, and that frightens me.
The longing I feel for Oberon isn’t just dangerous—it is terrifying.
I don’t understand it, don’t want to understand it.
Yet it is there, undeniable and ever-present.
Though he keeps his distance.
“Careful,” he says once, glancing around the cabin with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“If you keep pacing like that, you might just tear the walls down.” His words strike deeper than they should.
Not because they sting but because of the glimmer of the challenge behind them, as though he wants me to break free.
As though he believes I can. The power within me stirs at that thought, rising with each step I take.
Threatening. I’m not supposed to leave. We both know that.
But I can feel my strength growing, like a crack forming in glass, one sharp blow away from shattering everything.
And I want to break free.
My time with Ash, well . . . Ash is different.
It isn’t the kind of company I want, but it is a type of company that feels oddly comforting in its own way. Ash stays longer. Where Oberon is all sharp edges and unreadable stillness, Ash is warmth and chaos. He fills the room with his presence: loud, vibrant, impossible to ignore.
He talks endlessly, weaving stories of the war, the world beyond the cabin’s walls, and the people he has met along the way.
His stories are entertaining, sometimes even comforting, but frustratingly incomplete.
He is careful with his words, as if he is trying to protect me from something, though I’m not sure what.
Sometimes, he leaves a topic hanging in the air, leaving me with more questions.
But I’ve come to realize I need that.
Ash isn’t here to burden me with truths I’m not ready to hear.
He isn’t here to challenge me with unspoken feelings or complicated glances.
His teasing, his laughter, and his stories fill the quiet without demanding anything from me.
He pushes my boundaries with playful banter, tests my patience with his endless chatter, and makes me laugh when I don’t think I remember how.
He reminds me of what it feels like to breathe.
I need Ash’s friendship, his presence that asks nothing of me, his stories that make the world outside feel closer. But I want Oberon. The male who keeps his distance but whose shadows linger even after he leaves. The one whose stillness speaks louder than Ash’s endless words.
I have grown fond of both of them, the ease of friendship and the ache of something far more complicated. The idea of any kind of contentment here terrifies me more than the walls of this cabin ever can.
Every morning, Oberon shows up like clockwork, just as Ash does, but today feels different.
I haven’t had a visitor all day. The hours pass, and the evening is growing closer.
The stillness in the air makes me uneasy.
I sit by the window, a book clutched in my hands, when I see the shadows beginning to stretch along the cabin’s walls.
Oberon steps from them, his silhouette almost blending with the dimming light. I put the book down, turning to face him. “It’s a little late for a lesson.” My voice is steady, though I can’t hide the suspicion tightening in my chest.
“No lesson tonight,” Oberon says, his voice low, brushing against the air between us.
My heart stutters.
He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a small wooden box, elegant, intricate carvings adorn its surface, reminiscent of the tattoos I have seen on his skin. A silver latch gleams at the front. He extends it toward me.
Confusion twists in my chest as I open the box.
Inside is a stunning necklace: a delicate silver chain with a pendant shaped like a swirling vortex, a stone at its center, dark, iridescent, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.
It is more stunning than anything I have ever owned, a cruel reminder of the luxuries I have lost.
“What is this?” I ask, suspicion sharpening my tone.
Oberon’s eyes meet mine, his face blank. “Would you join me for a walk?”
My mind races. My pulse thunders. A walk? Outside? The freedom I have craved for so long, but at what cost?
“So, I am a pet now?” I spit, bitterness curling in my chest. “Is this some magic-infused collar to keep me tethered?”
His eyes remain unflinching, but there is something in his stillness that makes my skin prickle. When he speaks, his tone is calm, almost casual.
“It’s a nice evening for a walk,” he says softly, his voice low, almost intimate, breaking the silence that hangs between us like a heavy fog.
His gaze lingers on me, assessing, waiting for my reaction.
He takes a step closer, his presence seems to fill the space, pressing against me like an unspoken promise. “But it’s your choice.”
His eyes flick to my lips, just for a heartbeat. My fingers tremble as they hover above the necklace. “I won’t force you, Lyra.” His voice is soft, offering no clues to what he is feeling. “If you prefer, I will leave,” he adds. His words send a shiver down my spine.
“But I promise it will be more interesting than this cabin.”
Torn. Utterly torn. The idea of stepping outside even for a moment is an allure I can’t shake: the wind, the grass, the open sky, even the thought makes my chest ache with longing. But the necklace? The collar? Is that how they break me?
Does it matter?
I fight with myself, torn between the burning desire to feel the world again and the disgust curling in my gut at the thought of putting it on.
I glance at him, frustration clawing at my throat, but I can’t ignore the pull of the world outside. With a heavy sigh, I reach for the necklace, my hands trembling.
“Fine,” I say finally, my voice low, barely a whisper.
I pick up the necklace, fumbling with the clasp, my hands shaking.
Oberon steps toward me, and my body stiffens at the proximity. I can smell him, cold air, cedarwood, and something else, something sharp.
“Here, let me help you,” he says, and his tone is almost . . . gentle.
“I don’t need your help,” I snap, the words strained, ragged with the weight of defeat. My fingers fumble with the clasp again, and before I can stop myself, the necklace is on.
I move toward the door, anger rising in my chest. Oberon stands by the entrance, his hand stretching out toward me, palm up, a smug grin playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Really?” I arch a brow, folding my arms.
He smirks, eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I didn’t realize the idea of touching me was so repulsive.” When he doesn’t get a reaction from me, his eyes darken before adding, “It’s the only way through the wards.”
My glare could set the whole door ablaze, but I snatch his hand anyway. His skin is rough, warm, and annoyingly reassuring.
“Admit it, you’ve been dying for an excuse to hold my hand,” he teases, stepping aside to let me pass.
“In your dreams,” I shoot back, but my heartbeat betrays me as I cross the threshold.
“Every. Single. Night.”
His tone is playful, but there is something else lurking underneath. The pleasure dancing in his eyes makes my toes curl.
The night air hits me like a wave, cool and biting.
A shiver runs up my spine, and I draw in my first real breath since being locked in this forsaken place.
The emotions hit me all at once: longing, anger, relief, too much to process.
I stare up at the sky, the faint shimmer of the moon barely visible through the setting sun.
I rip my hand away from him, and we stand in silence for a long moment. He watches me closely, allowing me the time to take everything in.
I have glimpsed the forest from the small window of the cabin, but this is different. Now, I stand outside, seeing it in full.
The cabin itself is small, rustic, and simple, nothing more than a place to live, to survive. A thin plume of smoke rises from the brick chimney, drifting into the evening air.
The grass beneath my feet looks soft, wild, and unmanicured. A small cobblestone path leads from the door to a dirt road winding into the forest. The clearing surrounding the cabin is small compared to the towering trees that loom around it.
The woods stretch out beyond, full and ancient, but I can’t see much else. I still have no idea where I am. It doesn’t look like the Dark Realm or my forgotten land.