Private Bury Myself

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

​

// Dubrillion // TSE Space // Mid-Siege Late Siege
// Numb

​

---

---

​

The roar of the waters filled her ears, though Lyra had never stepped foot in the depths of the ocean until that very night-she really hadn't done a lot now that she was thinking..She had a vivid interpretation of being engulfed. The rush of the frigid waters sweeping over her, drowning her. Where were her men? She could hear the faint crackle of the comm links, head lolling over in the sand-bumping her helmet. Lyra raised her servo, the faint outline against the night sky behind it. The artillery lighting up the heavens, the burn of plasma on the air. She had been on fire, wading through the grit and gore but fear had come to steal it all away. Survival had become a loose concept, the euphoria of the hunt offering momentary bliss.

If only the shot had caught the eye of her screen and not the crest of the helmet. Then perhaps she wouldn’t have to face the consequences, she was too tired to face the weight of it. In the end everything could have been dragged away by the undertow. So too the pain that bloomed over her brow-replaced by the rushing sensation, it had almost been calming. Reassuring. It had been a long time. Through her flickering sight the shadow above her collapsed and then her own consciousness lapsed. Unknown to her Lucien Dooku 's own hand stealing away the worst of the blunt force trauma. If it wasn’t the war that would kill her, how long until old injuries whittled her body away?

“Ma’am-can you hear me?”

The woman could hear the soldier, but her lips wouldn’t move and her body-lead. Her chest raised, sucking in a deep breath. Prying open her eyes, a chill hanging over her. The echoes of battle surrounding her and she stared up at the stars. The world was swaying around her, stuffed on some stretcher. They were moving, a pale solar lantern blinding her. The soldiers armor creaking alongside the rhythmic footfall, the men set to a fast pace. Squinting her eyes, the loss of her helm stirring the unfortunate memories from Muunlinist. She couldn’t recognize where she was, surrounded by blast plate and the stench of salt strong in the air. Raising one cold hand, she felt her eyes burn brushing the servo across her face to sweep away the specks of sand there.

“Ma’am where are you injured?”

The blaster shot had missed its mark, the weight of the storming of the beach washing over her. She loathed it..stolen from the front a second time. Slowly relinquishing herself to her fate, carrying-she was..A shaky breath escaped her as she screwed her eyes back shut, unable to the murky night-pressing the palms of her hands into her eyes.

“I’m not,” she said, a defense building as she shirked back in the face of the voice-of concern. The were all strung out, tension rippling through the rank. Such came with any harried flight on the front. The woman knew it all too well, but her concerns were the cog and the machine; the fight. How far was the siege in or better yet could she slip back into blissful nothingness? Her lips screwing together, blindly propping the sore spot upon her brow. “Caught a bolt to the head..where is my helmet-where are soldiers going?”

Lyra didn’t realize what she had said.

“Slurred speech, make note of that-” the soldier, she presumed now the medic. A phantom paint washed over her-maker help her, she felt alone. There were a handful of them speaking over her, they were far to exposed-out here on the beach. A call for arms, she could barely follow the exchange before they were moving again. Maker help her..”We're transporting to the triage station ma’am, evac is fifteen minutes out.”

“No no-apply stimulate injection. Get me to forward command..we need to..organize” the woman gritted out, the stretcher jolting as they kept her moving. She was forced to raise her voice over the barrage of gunnery stations, trying to focus upon her breath.

“Ma’am you’ve been shot multiple times-” that grating voice spoke back up. Someone grasped her vambrace, tilting-twisting her arm; inspecting it. “You used both stimulate injections, I can not administer anymore in your condition.”

“And the armor,” Lyra snapped, though she felt the twinge of each faint burn down her body. Knowing it was a bold face lie, how much could they pump in to her before her heart just gave- “did it’s job. Fucking hell, I am not asking you soldier. I am ordering you-”

“Ma’am the Imperator himself ordered your evacuation.”

A sinking feeling ran down her shoulders to her gut, they shouldn’t be near each other-not here not on the battlefield and the woman opened her mouth but what could she truly say. It always came to this. The stretcher jostled and there was a mutter of an apology from one man but she couldn’t be bothered. Where was her rifle perhaps, a fury building and unbridled. Lyra peeled her hands back, forcing herself to brave the night. She shook of the rust, gathering herself and the scraps of her senses; a migraine beating at the base of her skull. As if they weren’t wading out of a trench and past mounting bodies of the troopers-of their brothers.

It drove a knife through her anger, reminding her and she slouched back. Her head lolling to the side, past the brush of armor-across the dark sand she could see prone bodies and roving vehicle. If it had been the sun high overhead, not the faintest sliver of the moon, you could see the real evisceration. One day she would have to learn to stop punishing herself like this, but it just another searching brand; failure. Lyra could not forget herself. The woman had to trust them all to do their job, but it felt like she was slowly being back in to a corner. From the Orderlies to the Sergeants, they could keep it together but not him-no she trusted Irveric Tavlar the least to act with rationality. As if she wasn’t peering over the ledge, only coping with it but still begging for the barrel-force help her.

“And where is he?” she dared ask, shifting against the stretcher. Catching the visor of the Medic, her servo hissing as she raised it to shield herself from the light of the lantern.

"The Imperator has returned the field-"

"Good," Lyra said, reaching out a gauntlet to seize the arm of the soldier at her right. "Stop!"

Much to the chagrin of the medic, the woman hauled herself off the stretcher-steadying herself with one hand planted on his pauldron. The blood roared in her ears so similar to the ocean's churning and Lyra bore the pain behind shut eyes as she found her feet. The head rush was the worst and she was frozen like a statuette until she seized a deep breath. Slapping the man's shoulder, Lyra took a few unsteady steps before turning to the squad of troopers.

"We will move faster by foot-I can walk. Get me to the forward command post, medic. That is an order," she grounded out. The echoes of battle growing farther away, flames eating up the horizon as the regiment assaulted the second leg of the installation. Inhaling deeply, she was riding the waves of confusion and the sharp pain prickling along her skull and she plucked at it like a harp. Drawing it around her and Lyra leveled the soldiers with one scathing look, she could feel their stares but the armed escort stepped to. Reaching back out, Lyra did not hesitate fall in behind the nearest gunner. She was with out the second set of eyes, the benefits of the armor so she trusted the man infront of her to guide her. They needed to keep moving, and Lyra kept her head down as the changed course. Racing all but back toward the frontline.

She still chided herself silently as her boots hit the and, she shouldn't but Lyra was tired of excuses. Even if at some point, she could say she had done her duty and any more was unnecessary but that wouldn't hold down the defense, wouldn't stop reinforcements. Sometimes you had to bite the bullet. L yra wouldn't dare bring to light her thoughts on those orders, on him-not infront of the common soldier but she wasn't going anywhere. One life or not-what he didn't know at least and maybe it was just to spite him just the same..It was disgusting.

Wading back in to their trenches, the woman steadily grew numb to the hail of noise and chaos-the constant creak of armor and blaster fire a reassurance to the woman. They retreated to the post carved out closest to their artillery and Lyra planted herself before the expansive holo map, finally letting herself sink in to the chair. Letting the medic access her as she took in live report, the bare bones of the command functioning over field tables. The crackle of communications traded as she waited out the battle; waited for the call to arms.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

I R V E R I C _ T A V L A R
T H E _ H O L L O W

Peace at long last. When the guise of the stormtrooper, his helmet enveloped his gaze once more he could finally drown out that periless confusion and blot the tears out in favor of the struggle. The war. There was nothing to focus on any more but assuring he and his troopers survived the fire. The storm, the pain. Not long after, commands continued to bark out from the muffled distortion of his helmet comms and he marched back into the fray with a sense of wayward belonging. If destiny drew any fate for him at all, it was to be here. In the rage of battle. He'd spent most of his life in this, the rest he willed out of his own doing. For better or for far worse. Luckily for him, none of that mattered now.

A few more minutes...hours in the fray. However long it took before he was cycled to the back lines of the front. Waylon had finessed some sort of reason to pull him back. They'd met somewhere along the front at point during the charge up Beach Head Hoth. The Concordian could tell even behind the helmet he was weary, worried, ill at ease over Lyra. Just as he did at Harnaidan, Treicolt seemed to tag in and coordinate the rest of the day's offensive. He'd be damned without him or at the very least feel more like a husk than he already was from the weight of obligation.

Whatever poor excuse it was to pull him from the fray he sent a subordinate from Enigma to see to it. He almost didn't even want to speak to her. He'd almost preferred just to mull over the self inflicted doubt and pain in his deeper thoughts as he rode down the high of battle. The wear was evident in his armor. The dark greyish blue striping and tan camouflaged coloring chipped and scorched black where the washing stain of sand didn't flow up his armored greaves.

His silouhette appeared in the entrance of her tent, the sound of him throwing open the flap in the wake of the rain storm flowing over them managed to announce his presence before the calm patter of rain followed the silent tempest which carved Irveric's path. Slowly pulling the helmet from his head that familiar gaze looked to her again. For better or worse. The first words out of his mouth he wished would be 'what are you still doing here?' but he could've already drawn the bitter response from her himself.

"How are you feeling?" Was all he could muster in finality to her.

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

// Dubrillion // TSE Space // Mid-Siege Late Siege
// Soldier On

​

---

---

The scream of tie-fighters passed somewhere overhead, the noise lost to the torrent of rain. With her servo tucked under her chin, Lyra had watched the cerulean lines flicker across the map as the hours stretched out. The time wearing down upon her nerves, until all she had was her thoughts. The heaviest of the fighting had since drifted away from the hovel they had established there in the trenches. Echoes of blaster fire had faded and the artillery had gone silent finally. She had turned her eyes toward the horizon with the shift, though the refineries would be considered hard won-Lyra knew that they had a planet to occupy in the wake of the siege.

She had to ensure she remained one step ahead, it was the childish fear of failure that drove her. Lyra still lived with the short-comings of Muunlinist, it was a vicious cycle of self doubt that drove her, that kept her boots planted here in the fray. None of it, none of the things she had done could be for naught.

It was almost overwhelming as a series of inquiries fell to her and she stared at the aide, a curt nod offered as she mulled over the work-over the fight they still faced. A quiet exchange passed over the comm’s with the air regiments as her orders relayed across the lines, calling for the mobilization of the reserves on the beach head. A focused effort on retrieval as the casualties continued to mount. Death seemed to be the only thought at the forefront of her mind now, the faint inkling of guilt mounting.

The tropical storm steadily grew and flooded around the ankles of the command staff, each step slippery as the beach swelled. There was never an ideal condition for war, but leaving the wounded to the elements was unacceptable. Those who could be salvaged would be recycled back to the front-the grinder. Theses were the orders she had once questioned in the field, when her bars hadn't been stacked. A bitter scoff escaping her, it would iron out the frayed edges of their army. With a measured reluctance, it was simply the truth of it-what the Order needed in the face of Bastion. There would be no rest this night or those to come. They had expected the hard fight, but now of course the weather would turn against them too. One of the generators stalled as the temperatures began to drop, the radios interrupted by static briefly. That was the only sign she needed, and Lyra gave the signal for break down.

The communications officer delivered scant updates as the station was deconstructed. It wouldn’t be long before the post saw the influx of rotating forces from the front and they needed to move to higher ground. The woman pressed her servo gingerly against her forehead and the lights strung along the poles flickered. Eyes screwed shut, helmet discarded in the sand beside the crate that hosted the holo map of the theater. It was easy to lose herself to the post, the concerns of now far outweighed her mania. Lyra was tired, the fatigue..the uncountable shaking that followed from a stim abuse creeping up upon her. There was no bruise upon her brow but the ache came like the ebb and flow of the tide.

Lyra still skimmed her fingers along the unseen edge of the Force, she had lost count how many times she had checked. To test if she had committed folly, the suffocation of death could not hide the life that flickered. Lyra wasn’t sure how she would manage this, she..couldn’t begin to imagine a future beyond the killing and violence. She pinched her brow between two fingers as her eyes burned, to smother the tears of far to fresh wounds. The irony, she had failed her mother and she sat here amidst a war field-failing this child. Lyra swore silently, knowing all too well she needed help.

She knew no one she could breath a word of this to.

The rare lull that seldom existed in the field came as troopers ducked in and out of the headquarters. There was no reassurance with a soldier’s brand of quiet, and she felt alone. Lyra had accepted the diagnosis from the Medic quietly originally. A concussion-but not quite and thirteen blaster shots decorating the tenebrae, whiplash would have described the pain in her neck. Worldly pain, meaningless, just as the burns that manifested under the overlapping scorch marks. Theses were the least of her concerns and she rolled her shoulder, blazing eyes opening as the snap of the soaked canvas-her head swiveled to regard the figure.

Her mouth went dry and she couldn’t meet the man’s eyes.

“Commander present-” an officer spoke up, though the teams tearing apart of the flooded station pressed on with their tasks, pushing the equipment out.. Lyra rose to her feet as the officer snapped into attention, mirroring their actions. It was an action deeply ingrained in to her muscles. One she did need to question as she raised her hand to her brow, saluting Irveric Tavlar he looked far worse for wear.

His question had not registered in her mind, and the Commander blinked before snapping out of attention; breaking the spell. It was almost to personal to ask so publicly, they had grown lax..Lyra hated to admit, in their encounters. Whispers would always exist, but she would never wish for it to come to light-their tryst as she had reduced it too-was something she did not want revealed before her Command, not the Legion.

If only she could run as far the eye could see.

“Fine, Imperator. Armor spared me any real damage, medic has declared me fit,” Lyra reported, staring at him from across the map table-her eyes distant. She stooped low to gather the charred helmet after a beat of silence, the team acting with a renewed vigor in the presence of him. She circled around the crate as the troopers cleared away the mobile command. Her jaw was set tightly, schooling herself and each cloudy breath. It was far easier to ignore the issue at hand, Lyra did not want to confront this. She had lost herself to petty rage, had been fell by one well placed bolt. It only served her right, and such was a her wake up call. It would not serve to throw it back in his face-with a new clarity, Lyra sobered with a wilting posture.

She had never held onto such a horrible truth and it burned in the back of her throat, not the drastic mistake of Avernus compared to such. It sat on the tip of her tongue and she swallowed it, for all her anger-the lies that had proliferated..Her brows pinched as she about lost herself to her musing. Could they of been happy she wondered?

“We’re cleaning things up here, I have turned the 404th’s attention to establishing control of the local airspace, reinforcements are moving in. We’re expecting further enemy resistance on the approach toward the capitol. Triage is ready for the rotation from the front as well, Sir,” Lyra cleared her throat, speaking up as the thought haunted her-words spoken with an air of detachment.

It was far easier to get shot out then dealing with this and a clamminess broke out across her skin. They were a far cry from the days passed. When they had been on campaign, smothered by Empire’s grasp-blinded by it. A dark thought passing through her mind and Lyra tensed. Expecting a new fall out and she was torn between the fight and dissent; waiting for his retaliation. He had his wrath, she knew it all too well-a weapon seldom wielded but she would not cause a scene here. She was scared if he did. Their tether was strained and what ever fondness-if such was the driving force-had brought him here. What ever it was, she only hoped it would pass as quickly. Lyra reached out with a single digit, brushing the map as it sprung back to life to distract herself, the digital landscape mirroring her words.

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

He'd saluted those present down from attention though in all truth, decorum be damned, he'd certainly preferred the rest of those present within the command tent had disappeared or packed up and moved shop elsewhere. He could see that cold guise of hers showing through anything else in their presence, even besting anger in her eyes as she espoused that 'as good soldiers do' attitude to him again. Maybe it was just that he wasn't donning the same visage that it bothered him now. All the same, he couldn't bare it.

"Just...have the orders you've placed carried as is then. I wish to speak with you in private...the rest of you as you were..." Irveric stated outright with fleeting patience. Anything to escape this. The greater details and monotony of anything she said passing through one ear and out the other as the distant pounding of artillery and rattling of blaster fire emerged from the periphery of his senses. He turned on his heel to leave, all but expecting her to follow in tow. The first few miles of beach head leading up to the refinery had been long cleared by the battle, leaving for a growing venue to draw troopers back from the fray and cycle in fresh meat for the grinder.

Direction of the footfalls aside, it was easy to tell who was next into the fray and who was fresh from the front. As the men muddied and chipped in the blue and red of the 501st and 307th respectively marched back in climate adjusted shore trooper armor, the fresh auric stormtrooper duraplast shone through the night in dampened tan coloring as fresh troopers marched up the line. Another home away from home, a condition he'd always been too used to. Tents and temporary quarters were dug in all along the backline as the New Imperials could at least take respite in uncontested ground, even if it was the wet sands of Dubrillion. The fighting was out of sight and out of mind, for now at least.

Lifting the entrance to his own tent propped up not minutes before he'd returned to the front they'd be welcomed in similarly drab and simple conditions but still, even the thinnest layer of isolate from anyone else was ideal.

"Lyra...I know." He said, his voice slipping past his emotional rigidity into nigh pleading as he shifted his gaze back to hers, that lone gaze far more gentle than it would be postured as usually in spite of his characteristic coldness. If he was right...he couldn't be so rigid, not with her, not now. He just needed to know for certain.

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt

 

[Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt]

// I spoke with the devil..

---

---

The command had returned to their work without need of order, the order and stillness shattered again as the officers operated with a certain vigor. Lyra knew why and glanced toward the retreating form of Irveric. Lyra had exhaled-retracting her hand and tucking her helmet firmly under her arm. Stepping out into the rain, she had to play the part in this show. The dutiful one, but irritation burned as he led her for the back.

He could pretend to care, and she felt the better part insulted. Lyra knew she wasn’t half the soldier Waylon was perhaps, but this wasn’t about that not truly. Once again..men were dying and they were here. She followed behind him, the storm soaking her hair and the heavy beads of raining dripping from her chain. A chill racing down her spine, the cold a distraction from the faint pain from the whiplash. The better part of the beach faded, her vision tunneling as she marched a step behind him. Vaguely aware, offering absent minded and curt nods to the worn units that hustled by. A curtsey in the wake of his stoicness.

She despised the moment he led her straight to his own tents; no other choice once more to follow him.

“You know-” Lyra breathed, a noise of disbelief escaping her. She hadn’t misheard him, and her step faltered behind him, of course-”you know what? How do you know that?”

It was desperate really, she demanded answers. She allowed herself to be known around him, compromised and she couldn’t produce a lie, the words stuck in her throat-perhaps she should have broken that habit. Another liability. Any further argument to brook died on her tongue, a crashing feeling washing over her psyche and something akin to a scoff sounded from her.

Here was the man that stood ready to kill, who had hinted toward a massacre and something as innocent as a life now rested between them. What a fucked up galaxy indeed and her servo creaked at her side, each digit slowly curling into a fist as she stood in the tent’s entrance. Lyra dared to take one more step inside. The flap sliding off her shoulder and cutting them off from the beach head, the war drifting to the back of her mind as she weighed her options. Thinking less like the woman she struggled with but the soldier

“Of course you know..” she whispered, her nose flaring as her ire slinked along the edges of the conversation. How..and her..There had only been one tell on the field. Where ever the trooper was now, they had abandoned their duty-was loyalty that difficult? Kascalion Giedfield rhetoric bred irony in her. Where had she gone wrong? ”Is this where you tell me to stop? When do the threats begin hm?”

Lyra licked her lips, tasting the salt on them. He had been..disgusted to look upon hours before and she had been drunk on the feeling. Her hand raised, wavering at her midsection before she sprawled her fingers out over the plate shielding her gut. There was a dark scorch mark that betrayed where she had been grazed. She had been reckless, she needed help no more than he did now. Lyra could feel the flicker of the force beneath her palm and she looked back at him.

The crinkle at the corner of his eye, she shook her head plainly; drops of water flying from her. To hold his gaze only served to chip away at her want of anger, she steeled herself if only to keep the fear at bay. Her eyes sought out anything-staring past him the knowing look, the truth. Irveric knew and she could not handle his softened expression.

“I don’t know..if I really can deal with this. Not this, not right now Irveric,” she uttered with finality, she could not produce anything more for him. Mistrust danced at the corner of her visage. Her lips curled and settled into a sneer she had to wipe away. So much was broken and hollowed out between them, sore-but it was this that would draw his attention, it would never be for her. Why would a child realistically change anything. She had sharpened every knife and used it on it and the wake of Muunlinist played like a broken holo reel in her mind. “I…”

Why did it feel like she was admonished, by him-by her own conscious. The chance of any sentiment from him now..did he know why she had pressed the charge just the same? It was wrong and Lyra took a hard look at the situation. Her eyes roved across the darken canvas, to seek out anything but her thoughts that tore into one another. Did any past hurt matter now, and was she supposed to offer him this?

Lyra reasoned she should be out there now on the line, not here..Lyra did not want to be here at this moment and her eyes fluttered shut and then came her hands. Frustration rearing its ugly head and noise tore from her throat. Turning her body away from him, within the short span of minutes she had unraveled at the corners because of the truth. Her grit worn gauntlets pressed into the sockets to hide herself; to compose herself. The pressure changed nothing, a moment of ignorance could not change his presence.

“I..this doesn’t..Fuck, how can we even have this conversation?” she finally snapped, hands falling as she looked him in square in the eye. The golden hue alight with fury but her eyes were sheen with tears. Her jaw quivered as she jabbed one thin digit at him, the servo hissing as she stepped forward. “I dream every night you raising your blaster to fucking kill me. Avernus did this..did this to you and I-but none of it was built on thin air. I..do not think for a second I trust you. Fuck that, fuck this-you think I will let you make threats actually? Even if there wasn’t a child, you’d be hard pressed to win that fight I promise you. I’m not going to let you harm them either, or use them just because you can’t stand me..I’m going-I’m…damn you, damn you Irveric! I wanted to-I was hoping I would just...I just didn’t care if I died out there and I..So much is fucked now and don’t you dare come for me now, or act like this-if this child bares my disposition. If you think I will idly stand by, you’re a fool.”

She inhaled deeply, her final words dripped with venom the longer she had rambled on-so soon the tears began slipping down her face. A cough bubbling from her as soon her shoulders began to shake, the frustration made her thread her other hand in to her hair; pulling as she snorted. It was ugly thing, the snot and her eyes rimmed red as she cried..Lyra didn’t have the energy to draw the Force around herself to use it like a shield to bolster herself in the face of him. Her servo curled as she planted a weak fist against his chest plate, the small clank-nothing more. She was fatigued, she didn’t want to hurt him truly-

“I wanted to die out there..I’m not..fuck I can’t even..protect...I got her killed Irveric and I can do this and you just stand there. I fucked up Irveric and now this? Fuck,” she cursed with quavering words before the better part turned in to a garbled and watery mess. “I can’t do this, I can’t keep-I’m not supposed to be here-I can’t.”

Irveric Tavlar

 

[Irveric Tavlar]

С п о к о й н а я _ н о ч ь

He'd fully anticipated this. Again. This same barrage of guilt, of anger from her. They'd been through this several times before. Now...it was...it was all different. Where he might've lashed out in retaliation to her, he couldn't sustain the will to bear down on her in anger. Not now that the truth was brought out between them. With everything else considered, he fielded her anger riddled sentiment in accepting silence before eventually his gaze locked with hers, an eye weary and tired though the dimming presence of hopefulness seemed to uncharacteristic preside within it.

Wordlessly, once she finished with her rhetoric, he stepped toward her and pulled her into a tight embrace against him, his metallic hand stroking its fingers through her ebon locks as he screwed his eye shut into the closeness. There wasn't much if anything at all he could tell her to make right on any of it. It would all be solved by will alone, deliberation would do little for them. Airing it all out would only pry the schism further when they'd be better off with their sights set in the same direction than at each other. At least now, now just...just wasn't the time.

"I know...of all of it. I just-." His next words were seemingly still forming in his head, reluctant as he seemed to speak.

"We'll...we'll get our vengeance. We'll make it all right in the end, you know. For us." Irveric said, leaning back before he'd lay a hand over her abdomen covered by the duraplast chestplate.

"I know I've little...to keep your trust. But I need you to trust me now, in everything. Because I want whats best for you...for-..." Irveric once more seemed to interupt himself with silence.

"For our- our child. I can't live...I can't live like this, with you like this. With you in anger over me...I wanted to tell you before we finally made it planetside here...that I'm sorry. Kascalion, I'd nearly killed him on Borosk...he told me everything. And it's my fault you were ever anywhere close to that place, that place of darkness. I can't undo any of it...but I can promise you now, we will get our vengeance. We'll be the ones who prevail to the end. Do you understand?" Irveric asked, running his hand along her hair back to caress her unmarred cheek.

"Because...it's not just the two of us anymore." Tavlar admitted. As much as the Order offered him something greater to serve in sacrifice, so two did the life between them.

Lyra 'Sybila' Voikryt