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June 12, 2026 at 1:10 AM
gazeatnight.bsky.social
Found a Lyracred drabble I wrote years ago, probably during my 1st Stormblood run (?) I don't even giving it a title lmao here we go #lyracore #lyracred #nightwrites
The air still carried the echo of something impossible. Not sound, not quite silence either. Just… absence. The place where the Warriors of Darkness had stood felt like a breath held too long and never released. Thancred barely noticed. He had expected relief. Reunion. Something bright, loud, unmistakable. Instead, it arrived quietly. A familiar presence at the edge of his awareness, like a shadow he had once learned by heart. Lyra. He didn’t turn immediately. Alphinaud was speaking, words tumbling with relief and urgency. Y’shtola’s gaze lingered, sharp as ever. Krile hovered close, watchful. They closed aro.und him like a circle reforged. And yet— There. Not stepping forward. Not reaching for him. Waiting. Thancred’s smile came easily, a habit worn smooth over years. He answered questions, deflected concern, offered just enough truth to steady them. But his attention frayed, thread by thread, pulled toward the one person who said nothing. When he finally looked— She hadn’t changed. And she had. Lyra stood as she always did: poised, steady, the quiet center of any storm. But something beneath that stillness had shifted, like a blade tempered too many times in fire. Her eyes met his. And gods. He knew. Not what. Not yet. But something had been taken from her, carved out clean and deep. The kind of loss that didn’t scream. The kind that settled in the bones. She didn’t move toward him. Didn’t break. Didn’t smile. For a heartbeat too long, neither did he. It was absurd, really. They had crossed battlefields together, bled side by side, shared things neither of them had ever named aloud. Once, in the quiet between wars, they had found each other in a way that blurred every line they pretended still mattered. And still— Now? Now they stood like strangers who remembered too much. Thancred stepped forward first. Not far. Just enough. “Lyra.” Her name felt different in his mouth. Softer. Careful. She inclined her head, just slightly. Too formal. Too measured. “Thancred.” It struck him harder than any blow. No teasing lilt. No wry edge. Just… distance. Something tightened in his chest. “You’re well,” she added, after a pause that said she wasn’t sure if she should say anything at all. “Well enough,” he replied. A ghost of something flickered across her expression. Relief, perhaps. Or something more complicated, quickly buried. They fell quiet again. Around them, the others spoke, the world continued, but the space between them was its own battlefield—littered with unsaid things, half-remembered touches, the weight of separate griefs neither dared name. Thancred studied her in the stolen seconds. The way her shoulders held just a fraction too tight. The way her hands remained still at her sides, as if she didn’t trust them not to reach. Guilt. He recognized it instantly. And that frightened him more than anything.
April 12, 2026 at 12:10 PM