The Last Dragon’s Curse

CHAPTER 2

Lyra

Breakfast was quiet, but heavier than usual. Mom fussed over my plate, arranging eggs and toast with exaggerated care, while Dad sipped his tea, glancing at me like he was measuring something I couldn’t see.

“Lyra,” Mom said carefully, “you’ve been looking tired lately. Maybe more iron—iron-rich foods, supplements. Just to be safe.”

I blinked at her. “Iron? Mom, I’m fine. Really.” Was she saying this cause of my eyes?

Dad added, calm but tense, “We just want to make sure you stay healthy.”

I frowned.

Breakfast ended faster than usual.

Mom cleared the table with unnecessary speed while Dad checked his watch for the third time in under a minute. Their movements were efficient, controlled—but their faces were not. Something in the set of their expressions felt strained, like they were holding a breath they didn’t want to release.

“Remember,” Mom said, adjusting her coat, “iron-rich foods. We’ll pick up supplements later.”

Her tone was light, almost casual, but her eyes lingered on my face for a second too long.

“I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “Really.”

Dad nodded once. “Just… take care of yourself today.”

That was it. No long explanations. No reassurance. They were already halfway out the door.

The front door closed behind them with a quiet finality.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space they’d left behind. The house felt different without them—too quiet, too still. My reflection caught in the glass cabinet across the room, and my breath hitched.

Blue.

Still blue.

I rubbed my eyes hard, then looked again. Nothing changed.

“Okay,” I muttered. “This is officially not normal.” Looking at the cabinet I saw mom’s purse she might have forgotten it in a hurry

I grabbed my hoodie and slipped outside. The morning air was cool, crisp enough to bite at my skin. Mom and Dad were by the car, standing closer than usual, heads bent together. Their voices were low, urgent.

I spotted Mom’s purse sitting on the bench by the door.

“Mom!” I called, lifting it. “You forgot your purse.”

They both stiffened.

I walked toward them, my steps slowing as I got closer. Their conversation cut off instantly. Dad straightened, adjusting his jacket. Mom turned toward me, a smile already in place—but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Oh—thank you, baby,” she said, taking the purse a little too quickly.

They exchanged a glance. A loaded one.

Then Mom reached for my hands, squeezing them gently. “We love you, Lyra.”

Dad nodded. “More than anything.”

My chest tightened.

They were affectionate, yes—but this was different. Heavy. Final. Like they were bracing themselves for something.

“I love you too,” I said slowly.

Mom kissed my forehead, lingering longer than usual. Dad’s hand rested on my shoulder for a moment, firm, grounding. Then they stepped back, almost in unison.

“Have a good day,” Dad said.

And then they were gone.

I stood there long after the car disappeared down the road, my thoughts spiraling. They had always been confident. Steady. The kind of parents who knew what they were doing.

Today, they looked… afraid.

I went back inside, shutting the door quietly behind me.

Seren was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone. She looked up immediately.

“Okay,” she said. “Your parents are acting weird.”

I let out a shaky laugh. “You noticed too?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Lyra, they looked like they were about to flee the country.”

I crossed my arms, my gaze drifting back to the cabinet glass. My eyes caught the light again—bright, unmistakable blue.

Seren followed my stare.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Your eyes.”

I swallowed. “They were brown yesterday.”

She stepped closer, studying my face. “That’s… not iron deficiency.”

“Exactly.”

The thought I’d been avoiding crept in anyway. Sickness. Something serious. Something with doctors and hushed conversations and pitying looks. But even as fear wrapped around my chest, logic pushed back.

Cancer didn’t change your eye color.

Seren exhaled sharply. “Okay. New plan.”

I looked at her. “That never ends well.”

She grinned, but it softened quickly when she saw my face. “You need a distraction. Something normal. Something fun.”

I hesitated. The house still felt charged, like the air hadn’t settled after my parents left. But staying here—thinking, overthinking—felt worse.

“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” I said quietly. “I just wanted things to feel… normal.”

Seren’s expression gentled. “Then let’s make it normal. We go out tonight. Music. Lights. People. You don’t have to think.”

I nodded slowly. “I’ll call my mom.”

I stepped into the living room and dialed. She answered on the second ring, cheerful on the surface, careful underneath.

“Lyra, baby?”

“Can I go out tonight?” I asked. “With Seren.”

A pause.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. “Maybe another night.”

“Mom,” I said softly. “Please. Just tonight.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“…Alright,” she said at last. “But stay together. Call me if anything feels strange.”

“I will,” I promised.

When I hung up, Seren raised both hands in victory.

But even as I smiled, unease curled low in my stomach.

The house hummed faintly around us—so soft I might have imagined it. The light flickered once overhead. I stilled, listening.

Seren didn’t seem to notice.

But I did.

Something was shifting.

Not loud. Not violent.

Just enough to be felt