Chapter 131 When Love is Not Enough

Chapter 131 When Love is Not Enough
Lysander stood at the threshold of the ancient city ruins, his breath coming in gasps after racing through dark, mist-filled corridors. Before him, the stone altar loomed, illuminated by a flickering, unstable pale blue light—a light he knew well, the light that had long been the source of strength and peace in his life.
Lyla.
She sat on the edge of the altar, her back slightly hunched, her long hair cascading down to veil part of her face. Mordred was not there. There were no shadows. Just Lyla, alone in a dense, heavy silence.
"Lyla..." Lysander called out, his voice raspy.
She lifted her head. Her eyes—once a vibrant blue full of life—now looked weary and hollow, like a lake that had lost its spring.
"You came," she whispered. It wasn't a question. It wasn't relief. It was a flat statement.
Lysander stepped closer. His hand reached out, wanting to touch her cheek, wanting to make sure she was real, that she was still there. But halfway, his hand stopped. Something in Lyla’s eyes halted him. It wasn't anger. It wasn't hatred. It was a kind of... resignation. As if she already knew everything he was going to say before the words even left his mouth.
"You have to come home," Lysander said, and Lyla felt her heart being sliced slowly. "The clan needs you. Those baby dragons... they need your warmth. They need a healer. Without you, they are vulnerable. We are all vulnerable."
Lyla looked down. Her lips trembled, but she did not cry. Not in front of Lysander.
"So you came here to remind me of my duty?" she whispered.
Lysander frowned, confused by her tone. "I came because I was worried. Because—"
"Because of what, Lysander? Because I am a useful queen? Because I can heal? Because I can give birth to new hope for your clan?"
"I don't—"
"You don't say it, but that is what you think." Lyla stood up, her back still toward him. Her hands gripped the hem of her cloak, the only way to stop herself from screaming. "You came here, through all the danger, through the mist and darkness... and the first word you speak is about the clan, about the baby dragons, about my duty."
She turned around. Her eyes met his directly, and in them, there was none of the warmth that used to make Lysander feel at home.
"You didn't say you missed me. You didn't say you were afraid of losing me. You didn't say that you love me."
Lysander went silent. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Because he knew Lyla was right.
"I have always had to be the strong one, Lyla. I never—"
"Me too, Lysander. I have always been the strong one too." Lyla’s voice broke, but she held it together. "I am the one who heals. I am the one who smiles when I'm exhausted. I am the one who carries those baby dragons even when my hands are shaking. I am the one who stands by you every day, every night, without ever complaining. But did you ever ask, Lysander? Did you ever ask, 'Lyla, what do you need? Lyla, what makes you happy? Lyla, are you okay?'"
Lysander took a step forward. "Lyla—"
"Don't." She raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't come closer. Because if you do, I will melt. And I don't want to melt. I want you to understand."
She took a deep breath, calming herself. Around them, the mist began to thicken, as if the ruins themselves wanted to be silent witnesses to the quarrel of two souls who were once inseparable.
"I love you, Lysander. I love you more than anything. But love alone is not enough if I am only seen as a function. As a queen. As a healer. As a tool to sustain the clan."
"I never thought of you as a tool—"
"You aren't even aware of it, Lysander. That’s what hurts." Lyla wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. "You don't realize that every time you speak of duty, of responsibility, of the clan... you forget me. You forget that behind the queen, there is Lyla. A normal human who also needs to be heard. Who also needs to be loved unconditionally. Not for what she can give, but for who she is."
Lysander stood frozen. In his golden eyes, for the first time, Lyla saw doubt. Not doubt in her, but doubt in himself.
"I... I didn't know..."
"You didn't know because you never tried to find out." Lyla smiled—a bitter smile that broke Lysander’s heart. "I didn't leave because I don't love you. I left because I needed to know if you loved me enough to come for me—not out of duty, but because you missed me. Because you were afraid to lose me. Because you can't live without me."
She walked past him, toward the exit of the ruins. Her steps were slow but steady. On her shoulders, there was no longer the weight of a queen to carry. Only a tired woman.
"Lyla..." Lysander called out, his voice almost pleading.
Lyla stopped. She didn't turn back.
"Go home, Lysander. The clan needs its king. Those baby dragons need protection. But I..." she paused, swallowing hard, "...I need time. Time to remember who I am outside of all those titles and duties."
"How long?" Lysander whispered, his frame going rigid.
"I don't know. Maybe a little while. Maybe a long time. Maybe..." Lyla didn't finish her sentence. Because she didn't know the answer either.
She stepped out, leaving Lysander standing alone at the silent stone altar. The mist began to envelop her figure, slowly erasing her from his sight. And Lysander could only stand there, watching the back of his queen as she drifted away, with his hand reached out but not daring to grasp.
Because he realized. Too late, but he realized.
Love is not enough if it is not spoken. Presence is not enough if it is not felt. And he had for too long assumed Lyla was a pillar that would never crumble, forgetting that even pillars can crack.
Outside the ruins, Lyla climbed the cliffs toward the peak of an old castle looming over the ancient city. The night wind whipped against her face—cold, but not as cold as her heart when she left Lysander behind.
She stood at the cliff's edge, looking toward Atheria faintly visible in the distance—the place where the eggs hatched, where baby dragons were learning to fly, where Elara and Kronos and the others awaited her return.
But she couldn't go back yet.
Not because she didn't care. But because she needed to feel that she was loved not for what she did, but for who she was. And as long as Lysander still saw her as a queen before a wife, she would feel like a stranger in her own home.
Lyla sat at the edge, clutching the locket Lysander had given her—the only thing she took when she left. Inside, two intertwined dragons were engraved, a symbol of a bond that once felt so strong, but now felt like a shackle.
"I still love you," she whispered to the night wind. "But I’m tired, Lysander. I’m so tired."
She lay down, staring at the stars appearing one by one. In the distance, Atheria flickered with city lights that never went out. But she would not return tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe never.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, falling onto the dry earth. And in her heart, one question spun without an answer: is a love that is only remembered when needed, truly worthy of the name?
Back in the ruins, Lysander still stood in the same spot. His reaching hand slowly lowered, grasping nothing but empty air.
"I love you, Lyla," he whispered, too late. "I have always loved you. I just... didn't know how to say it."
But the night wind carried no message. And Lyla was too far away to hear.