13. Inner Conflict #3
His hand remains beneath mine on the table, warm and solid, a steady anchor amid the storm he’s just revealed. The touch lingers longer than either of us intends, carrying more weight than simple comfort.
My pulse quickens. I force myself to break the silence, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why me?” The question slips from my lips before I can stop it. But there is no turning back now.
Oberon’s eyes lock onto mine, deep and searching.
His voice comes soft, almost reverent, as though the words carry more than truth.
They bear the burden of history. “Because you’re the last of them.
” The air seems to go still, my breath catching in my lungs.
“Thousands of Fae were imprisoned over the years, beaten, broken, stripped of their abilities. But you . . . ? Lyra, you survived.”
My eyes burn, tears threatening to spill down my face as his eyes narrow on me.
“You’re the one they couldn’t crush.” He pauses for a long moment, letting the realization set in.
“The rumors spread. The whispers of the one whose spirit couldn’t be shattered.
” His hand shifts, threading his fingers through mine.
The first of my tears frees itself, cooling my face as it rolls down my skin.
“The one who lived when every other soul fell. I knew then exactly how valuable you were.”
His breath hitches and mine stalls altogether.
“What I didn’t know was how much you would mean to me.”
The weight of his words settles over me, each syllable like a stone dropping into the depths of my chest, sending ripples through my heart. A lump forms in my throat. “If you knew,” my voice cracking despite myself, “if all of this is true . . . why didn’t you help them? Why didn’t you help me?”
His expression falters as if the rawness of the situation is almost too much to bear. “I—I tried in the beginning.” He manages between gritted teeth, each word weighed down by guilt. “Gods, I tried.” He runs a shaky hand through his hair.
“In the end, I had no choice. Rebel and die alone . . . or play the part of the monster he wanted me to be. I gained his trust while building an army in secret.”
His voice cracks, a jagged and broken sound, as if speaking the next part physically hurts.
“The mask I wear to survive, the person I have to be just to stand a chance at taking him down. I’ve lost part of myself to that person.
A burden I am forced to carry.” The vulnerability in his voice is impossible to ignore, and the regret seeps through his words like an open wound.
Every syllable bleeds out years of pain, of decisions made in desperation. His heart paid a price for each one.
Tears stream down my face openly now. I don't even try to hide them. Even still, I can't bring myself to trust him. I’m not sure if I’ll ever trust anyone again, but the same heaviness that clouds his expression tells me there is truth to what he is saying.
Oberon’s gaze flickers to the side, his eyes searching for something in the space between us, searching for the right words, hoping that they might suddenly appear.
His breath is shallow, a tension in the air that feels almost tangible, like the weight of everything unsaid is pressing down on us both.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he exhales deeply, his voice low but steady, carrying a heaviness that matches the look in his eyes. “Will you join me?”
Each word is deliberate, as though they are the most important he’s ever spoken. “Help me build the rebellion. Help me restore the world.”
There is something desperate in his plea that cracks through his usual stoicism, making me question whether it is fear, hope, or something else entirely.
His eyes never leave mine, waiting for my response, like I can shape the future and determine everything that comes next. A challenge, an invitation, and the gravity of the decision pressing down on me.
Our hands, still intimately intertwined, suddenly feel too much.
With a small, almost imperceptible jerk, I pull back, causing the distance between us to stretch wider than before.
My fingers tingle where his skin once lingered, but the confusion swirling in my chest is far stronger than anything I felt from that touch.
I swallow hard, carefully considering my next words as I take everything said into consideration.
The confusion and fear tangle inside me, making it hard enough to breathe, let alone think clearly.
“You told me once you didn’t want me to fight for you,” I whisper, my voice cracking on the last word as frustration bubbles up, sharper than I expected.
“And now what?” The words come sharper than I intend them to, “You’re asking me to fight for you? ”
His gaze shifts, darkening slightly, before he meets my eyes with an intensity that nearly makes me flinch. “No, I want you to fight for yourself. For your future.”
His face shifts, his expression locking back into the beautiful, unreadable mask he wears so easily. The one that makes it nearly impossible for me to see what lies beneath. It only makes the confusion in me grow, swelling until I feel I can’t contain it.
My breath comes a little quicker now, heart pounding, the intensity between us building with every passing second. His words swirl around me, and I can feel them pulling at my chest like a magnetic force.
How could I possibly make this kind of choice, with everything I have seen and everything I have lost?
"If I refuse?" I ask, the words barely escaping my throat. I’m not sure what I fear more, his answer or what happens if I don’t choose at all.
He exhales softly, the sound barely audible but somehow heavier than anything he’s said.
“If that’s your choice,” he begins, voice quiet yet wrapped in a finality that makes my skin prickle, “I’ll take you back to whatever is left of your land.
And leave you there.” His words carry a chill that settles between us.
I can’t move. I can’t think.
The tone of his voice dropped into something so final, so certain. There is no warmth left, no pretense, just the truth of what is at stake and the decision I have to make to join the rebellion and fight for a future or go home to whatever is left of it, a chance to find my people.
I can feel him staring, analyzing me, and for a moment, it feels like my very soul is exposed, making me slink further down in my chair.