A problem kept returning no matter how many times Cel tried to solve it.
Lyra’s birthday approached. And he had no gift. Worse - he had no way to give her one that wouldn’t immediately expose his deception.
The identity he’d given her was fake. The so called Heir to the Moon from a village in Storm Clan territory.
That identity couldn’t possibly know when she had been born. Couldn’t know her well enough to warrant celebration. Any attempt to acknowledge her birthday would raise questions he couldn’t answer without unraveling everything.
But ignoring it felt wrong. Worse than wrong. She was his sister. His actual sister. The only family member who’d ever shown him genuine affection. And she had no idea who he really was. Thought him dead, mourned him while he walked past her weekly in a face she couldn’t recognize.
He could leave the present anonymously. Slip it into the church somehow, unsigned and unexplained. But that felt cowardly. Distant. Like treating her birthday as an obligation to check off rather than something that mattered.
“So what do you think?”
Lior’s voice penetrated his thoughts. Cel’s gaze snapped up, finding sky-blue eyes watching him with expectation.
“About what?”
Lior’s expression shifted. Not quite suspicion, but close. “About what kind of present would be fitting for my parents.” He paused, head tilting slightly. “Were you listening?”
Heat crept up Cel’s neck. He’d been completely absent. Not heard a single word Lior had said for however long they’d been sitting here.
“I was listening,” he said.
The lie landed with all the grace of a stone thrown at a wall - flat and obvious.
Lior’s eyes narrowed fractionally.
Cel pivoted, giving the suspicion nowhere to land. “We should go to the market together.” The suggestion came quick, practical. “Look for something. I need to find something too.”
The suspicion in Lior’s expression dissolved immediately, replaced by brightness that transformed his entire face. “Really? You’d come with me?”
“Of course.”
“That would be...” Lior’s hands moved restlessly, trying to organize enthusiasm that clearly didn’t want organizing. “That would be perfect. I have no idea what to get them. My mother likes - well, she likes a lot of things, but I don’t know what would be special enough, and my father is...” He trailed off, then started again. “I don’t think he would care actually."
Cel nodded once. The market trip served multiple purposes then. Help Lior choose gifts. And finding something for Lyra.
Movement in his peripheral vision.
Both of them went still.
Kyros Solgrand walked past their table, fire-red hair catching morning light from the high windows. His posture carried the same absolute confidence it always had - chin raised slightly, shoulders back, moving through the dining hall like he owned every stone in the floor. Two followers trailed behind him, nobles whose names Cel had never bothered learning.
Their eyes swept across them. Not quite looking at them directly. More like a gaze passed over their table the way it might pass over furniture - acknowledged as existing but unworthy of real attention.
They kept walking. Didn’t stop. Didn’t speak. Just continued toward their usual seats.
Cel’s jaw unclenched slowly.
Beside him, Lior released a breath he’d apparently been holding.
“He hasn’t bothered us since...” Lior’s voice dropped low. “Since what happened.”
“No,” Cel agreed quietly. “He hasn’t.”
But his behavior hadn’t changed. The arrogance remained intact. The casual contempt for anyone he deemed beneath his station. The certainty that birth and blessing made him inherently superior to commoners who shared his breathing space.
Had he learned anything? Or just decided that targeting them specifically carried more risk than entertainment value?
Impossible to know. And ultimately irrelevant. As long as he maintained distance, Cel could tolerate his attitude.
They finished breakfast in relative quiet. The dining hall gradually emptied as students filtered out toward their next obligations. Eventually Cel and Lior rose too, departing to the lecture hall.
The off-day arrived quickly.
Cel changed into his commoner clothes - simple shirt and trousers that had become comfortable through constant use.
Lior met him at the Academy gates wearing similar clothing. His outfit looked slightly worn around the edges, patches visible on one knee where fabric had torn and been mended. Not poor exactly. Just used. Practical.
They walked through Stella’s streets without speaking much at first. The capital spread around them in its usual organized chaos - market stalls appearing wherever space permitted, vendors calling out their wares in voices that competed for attention, people moving in streams that somehow avoided collision despite everyone appearing to occupy the same narrow pathways.
Cel found he didn’t mind it. The crowds provided anonymity. No one looked at them twice. Just two young men in common clothes moving through the market like hundreds of others.
“I was thinking maybe a shawl for my mother,” Lior said eventually. His gaze tracked across the stalls they passed, taking in displayed goods with careful assessment. “She’s always cold in the mornings. Complains about it every day even though she pretends she doesn’t.”
“That sounds practical.”
“But is practical special enough?” Lior’s worry returned, creasing his forehead. “I want to give her something that shows...” He gestured vaguely, trying to articulate feeling into words. “Something that shows I was thinking about her. Not just buying whatever seemed useful.”
Cel considered. “Practical things can be special if they solve a problem she actually has. Especially if you put thought into choosing the right one.”
Lior’s expression eased slightly. “You think so?”
“I do.”
They continued walking. Passed vendors selling vegetables and meat, others displaying tools and household goods, a section dedicated entirely to fabrics in colors that ranged from dull browns to vibrant blues. The market sprawled without clear organization, each vendor claiming whatever space they could secure.
Eventually they found themselves in a quieter section. Fewer people crowding the stalls here. The goods shifted from necessities to luxuries - jewelry, decorative items, things that served no practical purpose beyond looking pleasant.
A small shop caught Cel’s attention. Not a stall exactly. An actual structure, cramped and narrow, squeezed between two larger buildings. The front displayed necklaces hung on wooden stands, each one bearing a different symbol worked into the metal.
Lior noticed his pause. “What is it?”
“Maybe something here.”
They approached together. The necklaces varied in complexity - some simple designs, others elaborate enough that reading the symbol required close examination. The metal looked like silver or something similar, polished to a dull shine that caught light without reflecting it directly.
Cel’s gaze landed on one in particular.
A crescent moon. Small, elegant, the curve precise. Nothing excessive. But undoubtedly made with passion.
His hand reached out without conscious decision. Fingers brushed the metal. Cool against his skin. Smooth.
“That one?” Lior had moved beside him, following his attention.
“Maybe.”
The symbol felt right in a way he couldn’t articulate. The Moon Goddess had marked him. Had given him new life when his old one ended. Had provided Selina as guide. Giving Lyra something that represented that connection seemed…
Appropriate. Meaningful without being obvious.
Lior examined other necklaces on the display. “My parents would probably like something simple too.” His fingers traced across the symbol. “Maybe matching ones? So they both have the same thing?”
The shop owner emerged from the interior - an older woman with gray hair and shrewd eyes that assessed them immediately. “Looking for gifts?”
“Yes,” Lior said. “These crescent moon ones. How much?”
She named a price. Not excessive but not cheap either. Lior counted coins from his purse carefully, then selected two necklaces. Cel purchased one, the transaction simple and quick.
The woman wrapped each necklace in cloth, then handed them over. “May they bring joy to whoever receives them.”
They left the shop with their purchases secured in pockets. The market felt lighter somehow. Less oppressive. Mission accomplished, pressure relieved.
“Thank you for coming with me,” Lior said as they started back toward the Academy. “I would have spent all day deciding if you hadn’t been there.”
“It was no trouble.”
“Still. It was fun.” Lior smiled.
The walk back passed pleasantly. Conversation drifted between meaningless topics - observations about the city, speculation about the upcoming journey to Life Clan territory, small complaints about Academy training that held no real weight.
Then someone bumped into Cel.
A young boy, moving fast through the crowd, dark hair flying behind him as he darted between adults who barely registered the collision.
Cel turned to look after the retreating figure.
Something felt wrong.
His instincts screamed warnings he couldn’t name. Not danger exactly. Not threat. Just wrongness, immediate and sharp, crawling up his spine.
His hand moved to his pocket.
Empty.
The necklace. The coins. All of it gone.
Understanding crashed through in the space between heartbeats.
Cel’s head snapped around, tracking the child’s path through the crowd. They’d already put significant distance between them, weaving through bodies with practiced ease.
“Go ahead,” Cel said to Lior. The words came clipped, urgent. “I’ll catch up.”
“What? Why—”
But Cel was already moving.
His enhanced body cut through the crowd with speed that normal people couldn’t match. Not running exactly - that would draw too much attention, cause too many problems. But fast walking that covered ground in strides that shouldn’t have been possible.
The child glanced back. Saw him coming.
His eyes widened. Then he ran.
Actually ran, abandoning all pretense of casual movement. He shot between vendors, ducked under a table displaying fruit, vaulted over a low wall with agility that suggested long practice at exactly this kind of escape.
Cel followed. His body moved with the ease, each obstacle cleared without thought. A cart rolled into his path - he sidestepped without breaking stride. A vendor shouted something about watching where he was going - the words barely registered.
The chase led away from the main market, down narrower streets where fewer people traveled. The buildings pressed closer here, creating alleys and passages that twisted without clear direction.
The child took a sharp turn. Disappeared into an opening between structures that barely qualified as an alley - more like a gap that shouldn’t have existed, too small for normal passage.
Cel reached the entrance moments later.
The alley extended perhaps twenty steps, ending at a blank wall. No exit. No escape route.
And standing in the center of it, was someone Cel recognized immediately.
Theron.