The fire crackled steadily, its glow casting flickering shadows on the forest around them. Misery sat across from Eryon, the silence between them stretching thin. Lyra slept nearby, her breathing steady, wrapped tightly in her cloak. Misery’s silver eyes reflected the flames as she finally spoke, her voice breaking the stillness.
“Do you ever think about the past?” she asked softly, her tone almost hesitant.
Eryon didn’t respond immediately. He stared into the fire, his amber eyes dark and unreadable. “All the time,” he said at last, his voice low. “But it feels like it happened to someone else. Like it wasn’t really us.”
Misery frowned, her hands curling into fists. “It was us, Eryon. We were happy once. Weren’t we?”
Eryon let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Happy? Maybe. But look where it got us. You’re here now, after sixteen years, but we’ve both lost so much. I don’t even know who we are anymore.”
His words hung heavy in the air, but Misery refused to look away. “I know I’ve changed,” she admitted. “But you’ve changed too, Eryon. We’re still us, just… different.”
Eryon finally looked at her, his gaze softening just slightly. “You think we can just pick up the pieces? That we can go back to what we were?”
Misery hesitated, her heart aching at the question. “Not back,” she said slowly. “But maybe forward. Maybe there’s something left for us to build.”
Eryon’s expression was unreadable, his amber eyes flickering with emotions he didn’t voice. “I don’t know,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe. But none of that matters if we don’t find her. Our child comes first.”
Misery nodded, though the lump in her throat made it hard to speak. “She’s all that matters,” she agreed. “But I won’t stop hoping, Eryon. Not for her, and not for us.”
The fire crackled louder as the night deepened, and the two fell silent. Across the fire, Lyra stirred, watching them quietly from beneath her hood. Their words carried hope, pain, and the possibility of healing, but they also carried the weight of sixteen years apart.
As the flames burned lower, Eryon shifted his posture, his voice softer now. “I spent so many years mourning you, Misery,” he said. “And now you’re here, and it’s… it’s more than I ever let myself imagine.”
Misery’s lips parted to respond, but she stopped herself, unsure of what to say. Instead, she leaned back against the log behind her, her gaze fixed on the fire.
Whatever the future held, they would face it together—for their daughter, and maybe, just maybe, for themselves.