CHAPTER 317: CHAPTER 317: CLOSER THAN FEAR ALLOWS

When Lugh and Sela finally arrived at the guest lounge, they were caught off guard.

Aside from Lyra herself, the strange lady—whose name she still hadn’t managed to catch—and the elf of the Cross family, Zhou, as their grandmother had called her, were all present.

Well, at least Sela was surprised. Lugh wasn’t. He had expected it. Somehow.

Upon their arrival, Lyra’s voice rang out like a whip.

"Lugh, you idiot!"

"...Okay, what?"

He said, blinking slowly, expression unreadable.

Everyone in the room turned sharply. Their gazes locked onto Lyra—sharp, piercing, questioning.

But she didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed solely on Lugh, boring into him with the intensity of a blade drawn halfway from its sheath.

"What did I do?"

He asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Well, you—"

She started, but then stopped herself. Her gaze shifted quickly to Xhi, who was already shaking her head slowly, eyes half-lidded with subtle disapproval.

Lyra’s mouth drew into a tight line. After a moment, she turned away and faced the room instead—more specifically, she faced Selaphiel, the elf.

That’s right. She couldn’t trust the presence of that strange woman. The moment she got wind of their visit, she had rushed over. No hesitation.

Lyra stepped forward, composed herself, and spoke, crisp and direct.

"I need to have a word with Lugh. Privately. Will you allow that?"

Lugh blinked. Wait. What?

Since when did people have to ask Selaphiel for permission to talk to him? Was the elf his manager now? His handler?

He voiced the thought bluntly.

"Why do you need to ask for permission? I’m right here."

But his words seemed to vanish into the air.

They passed over harmlessly acknowledged by none, heard by no one.

Selaphiel responded in a calm, carefully measured voice.

"Of course."

Then her tone dipped into something colder, something firmer, as she raised a hand and pointed toward Xhi.

"But she has to stay right here. I don’t want a repeat of what happened last time."

Xhi smiled, slow and steady, then addressed the elf without breaking eye contact.

"Didn’t your mother teach you that it’s rude to point?"

Sela’s voice cut in immediately, harsh and sharp like tempered steel.

"Who exactly do you think you’re talking to?"

Xhi tilted her head, considering it—not flippantly, but seriously, as though the question required genuine contemplation. Her reply came with unnerving steadiness.

"Being an elf doesn’t make you a god. You know that, right?"

The room cooled. Both Selaphiel and Zhou frowned deeply, the air thickening between them.

But before Selaphiel could respond, Xhi added softly—almost as an afterthought, yet every syllable struck with eerie clarity:

"And being a god doesn’t mean you can’t be slain."

Lugh froze.

What exactly does she mean by that?

He couldn’t explain why, but the words crawled under his skin. There was something about the tone that made him feel as though something had just been said that he wasn’t yet ready to understand.

He was about to speak, to ask, when Lyra grabbed his wrist and pulled him away.

Whatever conflict was about to erupt inside that room... was no longer their concern.

At least, not right now.

Once outside, Lyra released her grip, exhaling sharply. Though she tried to appear composed, her clenched jaw and simmering eyes betrayed her. She was angry. That much was clear.

And that, Lugh noted silently, was a rare occurrence.

In the seven plus months since they had come to know each other, he hadn’t really seen her like this. Not truly angry. Not like now.

Now that they were alone, he finally took in what she was wearing—a solemn, modest gown, woven in white threading with minimal frills.

Simple lines wit minimal frills. Nothing loud or attention-seeking. It was quiet and reserved. Ceremonial, even.

He blinked.

"You look nice."

She blinked back, slightly caught off guard.

"Oh really?"

Then she looked down at her gown, brushing the fabric with one hand.

"These kinds of outfits aren’t really practical for battle, but that doesn’t mean I don’t lik—"

"Hey, you’re changing the subject."

Lugh’s voice was level.

She narrowed her eyes slightly, but he just shrugged.

"What subject? You haven’t told me anything. All you’ve done is yell ’idiot’ and drag me out here... into a very compromising position, I might add. One that will no doubt spawn ceaseless rumours."

She ignored the remark. Her voice dropped low.

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

She didn’t hesitate.

"Devil Sea. The ’Island’ contract. Why?"

Lugh’s expression stilled. His face blanked, as though a shadow had passed over him. His shoulders slackened slightly. His eyes dimmed.

Silence stretched long between them.

Eventually, he let out a breath.

"So Xhi told you about it, huh?"

"That’s not the only thing she told me."

He sighed again—deeper this time, as if something within him sagged further.

"Why, Lugh?"

She asked again, gentler now.

"I did what I had to do. Would you rather have spent the rest of your life there?"

"That’s not what I’m asking."

He frowned. Subtly, but it was there—the faintest crease in his forehead. A sign of confusion, or maybe hesitation.

It was rare to catch a genuine expression on Lugh’s face—one not consciously constructed.

When she spoke again, her voice cracked just a little.

"Why... why didn’t you tell me? All this time, and I never even—"

He stepped forward, voice calm but firm.

"Hey, Lyra. Stop."

He looked her in the eye.

"I made this choice of my own will. You have no reason to act like this—it’s a mockery of my efforts."

She looked up at him, momentarily stunned by the weight of his words.

But the disbelief quickly gave way to anger.

"Lugh, you’re just a kid!"

"Not anymore."

His response was quiet, but final. The coolness in his voice clashed with her rising heat.

She deflated, slowly. Her hands moved to rest on his shoulders. Her voice softened.

"So... what do we do after this?"

He tilted his head.

"I’m sorry—we?"

"Yes. We. You’re not doing this alone anymore."

He seemed visibly uncomfortable at that.

"Look, Lyra—"

"I’m not compromising on this."

She cut him off flatly.

He exhaled through his nose, collected his thoughts, and replied.

"First step is passing the Selection."

"The Selection?"

She echoed.

"Why?"

"I need—we need—access to every record on the Devil Sea. The Jade Tower’s archives are the fastest route."

"Are you even sure they’ll let you get close to those records?"

"They will. Eventually. It might take years of service. Maybe even decades. Things would go smoother if I can increase my status. That’s why I’m going to become patriarch of the family—no matter what it takes."

She raised a brow.

"Even if it means marrying Selaphiel?"

Lugh winced. When he answered, his voice had lost much of its earlier resolve.

"I’ll try to find a way around it. And if that doesn’t work... then—"

He clenched his fists. The hesitation lingered.

Lyra exhaled slowly, her breath fogging slightly in the air.

"No need to trouble yourself with that right now. You’ll cross that bridge when you get to it. It’s a shame I couldn’t become the head of the Cross family."

Lugh tilted his head.

"Can’t you just challenge him to another duel?"

"Not for another five years. It’s obvious who’ll win. My father will probably marry me off before then..."

Lugh’s voice was low.

"Your ancestor—Zhou—still owes me a favour. I could..."

"No."

The answer came quickly. Almost too quickly.

"Why not?"

"I want you to use that favour for something else."

"...Okay? And that is?"

"The adoption of Xhi as a daughter of the Cross family."

If Lugh had been drinking, he would’ve spat it out on the spot.

"What? Why?!"

"The priestess terrifies me."

He stared, genuinely puzzled by the answer.

"Isn’t that more of a reason to want her far away from you?"

"Quite the contrary,"

Lyra said coolly.

"It’s better to keep her close. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night knowing she was wandering the world doing whatever she pleases.

From what I can infer from your situation... from what happened in Drakensmar... it wouldn’t be anything good."

That last statement caught his attention. The way she’d phrased it.

He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"You just said from what you can infer in my situation, and from what happened in Drakensmar. How do those two things even connect?"

Lyra turned her head slightly, scanning the empty hall.

Though they were supposed to be alone—and their conversation private—they both knew better.

This was a manor belonging to masters of sound magic.

Who knew how many ears were listening?

It was why their words had been careful. Deliberately vague and veiled.

But even with all the secrecy in the world, what she said next would definitely draw attention.

After a long pause, she finally spoke.

"Lugh. You’re apparently very strong."

He nodded uncomfortably, unsure where this was going.

Then she asked, without any shift in tone:

"Are you strong enough to sink an entire city?"

He froze.

The silence stretched, dragging longer than it should have.

Eventually, he answered.

"No. Not at all."

"Exactly."

Lugh’s eyes narrowed. His—