ACOTAR one shots, imagines and short stories

Echoes of a War-Torn Heart (Cassian x OC) - Part 2

Word count: 2757

Characters: Cassian and Lyra (OC)

Warning: Angst and hints of PTSD 

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The days stretched on in a seemingly endless parade of monotony for Lyra. The space in their home that had once been filled with laughter and warmth now felt hollow and cold. The bed where they had shared countless nights was now too large, too empty. She spent hours on the balcony they had once cherished, staring out at the city lights with a heavy heart. The view that had once brought her comfort now only served as a stark reminder of the emptiness beside her, the space where Cassian should have been. The weight of his absence, and the danger he faced, was an ever-present shadow that loomed over her days.

Letters from Cassian had been her lifeline in those early days of separation. His words, filled with love and reassurances, were the only thing that made the distance bearable.

Each letter from Cassian was a balm to Lyra's soul, filled with reassurances and glimpses into his life on the frontlines. He spoke of strategy meetings, the camaraderie among his soldiers, and his dreams of returning home to her. His letters carried the scent of the battlefield, but also the warmth of his love, and Lyra cherished each one as if it were a treasure. She clung to every word, rereading his letters until she had memorised them, the ink beginning to fade from her constant handling. 

In her replies, she poured her love into every word, reminding him of their shared memories and the life they would continue to build once the war was over. She told him about her days in Velaris, the patients she tended to, and how the city longed for his return. . She urged him to stay focused on the war, to not let thoughts of her distract him, even as she ached for more frequent words from him.

But then, suddenly, the letters stopped coming. 

The silence was unbearable. Lyra reassured herself that Cassian was simply busy, too engrossed in the demands of battle to write. She tried to believe that he was safe, that he was just doing his duty, and that he would write to her when he could. But as weeks turned into months with no word, the fear she had been holding at bay began to seep in, gnawing at her resolve.

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Determined not to sit idly by while others contributed to the war efforts, Lyra threw herself into her work as a healer. The small clinic she had established in Velaris became a haven for the wounded soldiers who managed to make it back from the front. Every day, she confronted the brutal realities of war through the injuries she treated. 

The clinic filled with the moans of the injured and the stench of blood and antiseptic. Soldiers arrived on stretchers, their bodies broken and battered—some missing limbs, others bearing deep gashes that exposed bone and muscle, their bodies maimed beyond recognition. The sight of burnt flesh, charred from explosions and fire, was a horror she had never grown used to.

Some had their wings severed, the once majestic appendages now lying in tatters beside them, a symbol of their broken spirits. The sight of those mangled wings never failed to bring a lump to Lyra's throat; the Illyrian warriors prided themselves on their wings, and to lose them was to lose a piece of their very identity.

The screams of those in agony echoed in her mind long after she left their sides, haunting her in the stillness of the night.

Lyra's hands moved with practiced precision as she stitched wounds, set broken bones, and applied salves to burns that had charred flesh beyond recognition. She worked tirelessly, often going without sleep, her own body pushed to its limits. But the routine of tending to patients, of offering care and comfort, was a small reprieve from her relentless worry for Cassian.