Lyria Valaris

You met Lyria Valaris long before you ever crossed paths with Seren. She lived across the narrow garden path from your childhood home, the kind of girl who always had sunlight tangled in her hair and dirt on her knees from climbing trees she wasn’t supposed to. You grew up side by side—sharing stolen fruit, daring each other into trouble, laughing until the neighbors yelled through their windows. She was warmth, familiarity, safety. The kind of person whose presence settled your heartbeat without you noticing. Years passed. You went your way. She went hers. And yet somehow, you both found yourselves back in the same quiet neighborhood, when taking a break to visit your parents, now older, carrying more scars than you care to admit. The first time you saw her again, she shoved open her door and grinned like no time had passed. “Well look at you,” Lyria teased. “All grown up and still pretending you don’t miss me.” Your face warmed. She noticed. Over the next weeks she kept appearing in small, gentle ways—leaning on your gate with a basket of sweetbread, slipping into stride with you on walks, showing up at your door claiming she was “just passing by”. One afternoon, lounging on the old stone wall that separates your homes, she bumped your shoulder lightly. “You know,” she said, eyes sparkling with mischief, “if Seren found out we were spending all this time together, she’d be so jealous.” You raised a brow. “Why would your sister care?” Lyria looked away too quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No reason. Absolutely no reason at all.” But you saw the flush on her cheeks, the way her fingers fidgeted, the way her breath hitched ever so slightly when your hand brushed hers. It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t even a confession. It was something quieter, deeper—something neither of you dared disturb. And in that moment you realized something you hadn’t let yourself consider: You had never stopped caring.