The Roots of Harmony ~ A Brozone Parents AU ~ Part 13
They walked far enough that the Troll Tree was only a shimmer in the distance. The air was cooler here, shadows stretched long, and the ground had that rough grit that Flint liked. Lyra had her hair tied back so it wouldn’t get caught in the low branches. She glanced at him over her shoulder, a little grin playing on her lips. “You said you’d show me what your music sounds like.”
Flint slowed his steps. “You sure? It’s not… gentle.”
That got him to smirk, that little half grin he only did when she surprised him. He sat down on a fallen tree, pulled the guitar around, and tuned a string by ear. The first few notes were low, heavy, like a growl in the wood. Lyra’s smile faded, but not from fear. Her eyes widened with curiosity.
Then Flint started playing for real. It was no melody she recognized, just rhythm, pulsing, rough, almost like a storm coming closer. The kind of sound that belonged to firelight and wild air. His hands moved like they’d done this forever, hair falling into his face as he leaned into the beat. And then, just when she thought she’d figured out the pattern, he sang. Not words, not really. Just a low, rough hum that turned into a growl, then lifted into something strange and powerful. Lyra felt it in her chest. It wasn’t Pop, it was something older, heavier.. different. When he finally stopped, the silence afterward felt full, like the air had to rest.
She took a step closer. “That’s what it sounds like? What Rock feels like?”
He shrugged. “That’s what it sounds like when you let the walls down.”
Lyra tilted her head. “You think Pop doesn’t have walls?”
He gave a soft laugh. “You’ve got glitter walls. Pretty ones. Mine are made of noise.”
She grinned. “Well then, maybe we should try breaking both.”
He met her eyes, something sparking there, not quite a challenge, not quite an invitation. “You really think you can keep up?”
Lyra stepped closer, her voice teasing but warm. “Try me.” She tapped her fingers against her thigh, trying to catch the beat he’d been playing before. It wasn’t easy, it didn’t loop like Pop music did, no repeating chorus, no, 1-2-3-4, she could count. It just moved. Wild. Free. Unpredictable. Flint raised an eyebrow when she started humming, soft, testing the rhythm. “That’s not how it goes.” he murmured.
“I know.” she said, grinning. “That’s why I’m making it work.”
He huffed, but that little glimmer of pride showed in his eyes. “All right, Pop girl. Let’s see what you’ve got.” He shifted his weight, plucked a heavier chord, the sound buzzing through the ground beneath them. Lyra took a breath, and instead of trying to copy it, she floated over it. Her voice went high and clear, weaving through his guitar line like sunlight finding its way between clouds. It was chaos at first, she was too bright, he was too dark, but then something clicked. The beat steadied. Her tone mellowed. His rhythm softened. It was like they were meeting in the middle. Flint’s foot started tapping, Lyra’s hair shimmered with every note. Then, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, she started to sing.
“I don’t know your fire,
but it feels like home.
I don’t speak your thunder,
but I hear it in my bones.”
Flint’s fingers froze for half a second. That hit. Then, without thinking, he answered in his low growl of a voice:
“You’re all bright colors,
I’m smoke and stone,
But when our echoes meet,
it feels like one tone.”
The last chord still hung in the air like smoke, fading slow. They were back-to-back now, the perfect mix of rough and soft, guitar strings and melody, thunder and sunlight.
Flint hit one last strum, a growl under his breath turning into a grin. “Now that’s a sound.” he said, voice still rough from singing.
Lyra laughed softly, spinning around to face him. “See? Told you Pop and Rock can….”
He froze. So did she. For a few heartbeats, Flint just stared. Her hair, her bright pastel hair, wasn’t just shimmering anymore. Strands of it were streaked with deep, glossy black, curling through the colors like ink in water. Flint blinked hard, stepping back like he didn’t trust what he was seeing. “Wait… what… what happened to your hair?”
Lyra looked down at a lock that fell across her shoulder, her jaw dropping just a little. “What do you mean…. oh!” She gasped, running her fingers through it, the black gleaming under the filtered sunlight.
Flint just stared, this wasn’t supposed to happen. He stepped closer, voice rough, almost defensive. “Lyra, this… this isn’t good. What does this even mean? What if your mom sees? What if anyone sees?”
She blinked, confused but calm. “Sees what? It’s just hair, Flint….”
He cut her off, shaking his head. “No. It’s my kind of hair. It’s rock. You’re not….” He stopped himself before the word supposed to could fall out. His voice softened, almost breaking around the edges. “You shouldn’t look like… me.”
As he said that, she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before, not fear for himself, but for her. He looked down at her, guilt twisting deep in his chest. “I shouldn’t’ve played that song with you. I didn’t think…”
Lyra tilted her head, trying to catch his gaze. “Flint, it’s fine. I feel fine.”
But his thoughts were spinning too fast. What if she isn’t? What if I did something to her? What if she gets in trouble? Last time, when she’d dulled, when her glow had faded, he’d brought it back with a song. So maybe if he would do that again, just a spark, maybe a kiss. Maybe… maybe he could undo this too. Before Lyra could say anything else, Flint moved, sudden, decisive, closing the space between them. One hand found her cheek, the other at her back, and he kissed her. Deep, warm maybe even a little desperate. The forest fell quiet around them. Lyra froze for half a breath, then melted into it, her hands curling into the front of his jacket. When he finally pulled back, his breath hitched. He searched her face, her hair, like he was waiting for something miraculous to happen. And it kind of did. The black faded out, just enough so her natural colors hid the shining of it. “Good.” he whispered under his breath, voice shaking. “See? Fixed.”
Lyra blinked up at him, still breathless. “Flint…” she started, but he just gave a small, crooked smile trying and failing to play it cool. “Guess rock’s got its side effects.” he muttered, brushing his thumb along her cheek, pretending it didn’t just scare him half to death.
But she saw right through it. Because his eyes, normally bright with fire, were flickering, uneasy, almost haunted. And as she reached up to touch his chest, that last bit of black shimmered again under the sunlight still faintly there, like a secret that refused to disappear completely. Lyra could still feel his heartbeat through her fingers, quick and uneven beneath the calm he was trying so hard to wear. He was looking anywhere but at her hair. Anywhere but at what he couldn’t control.
Her voice came softly, the edges trembling but kind. “Flint… you don’t have to fix me.”
That made him flinch, barely, but she saw it. He blinked at her, confusion flashing in his eyes. “I…yeah, I do. You shouldn’t…”
“Shouldn’t what?” she asked quietly. “Look like I was standing next to you?”
He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. She reached up, touching one of the dark strands streaking through her own hair. The faint shimmer still lingered there. “It’s not wrong, Flint.” she whispered. “It’s just… new. Different. It’s still me.”
He ran a hand over his face, exhaling hard. “You don’t get it, Lyra. My whole tribe, we… trolls look at us and see noise, rough edges, too much of everything. You’ve got sunlight in your skin. They’ll see this and think I took it from you.”
Her expression softened, all warmth and ache. “Then they’ll be wrong.”
He looked at her again and for a second, the worry faltered. She stepped closer, gently guiding his hand until it rested over her chest, where her heart thrummed steady and bright. “Feel that?” she said. “You didn’t take anything. You added to it.”
The silence stretched then he finally exhaled, shoulders dropping a little. “You… you really believe that?”
Lyra nodded. “Maybe the world’s just not ready for the both of us yet.” She smiled then, small and teasing but sure. “But we don’t have to wait for it to catch up.”
Flint’s gaze softened, the tension around his mouth eased. He didn’t smile, but his thumb brushed her hand, almost tender. “Guess not.” he murmured. “But we should get you back before someone does see that hair and freaks out.”
Lyra laughed quietly, the sound light against the worry still hanging in his chest. “Fine.” she said. “But you’re walking me back and no more sneaking off, deal?”
As they walked, the streaks of black in her hair caught the sunlight again, faintly shimmering, blending, not gone at all but not dark either. He noticed but didn’t say a word.
They were almost at the edge of the village now, the sunlight filtering through the branches above them. The pods hung like soft lanterns in the distance, the faint hum of morning voices beginning to stir. And that’s when Flint saw it again. The black streaks in her hair caught the light, not fading, not blending, shining. He stopped walking. “Lyra.” His voice was quiet but heavy. “It didn’t go away.”
She turned, her hair rippling over her shoulder, that shimmer of midnight threaded through her usual brightness. “I know.” she said softly.
He shook his head. “You don’t… you can’t walk in there like that. They’ll think…”
“What? That I played music with a rock troll?” she asked. Her tone wasn’t sharp, just honest. “That I let a little bit of your world touch mine?”
Flint clenched his jaw and looked away. “You don’t get it. They’ll look at me and see something wrong. They might think I did something…. Bad to you”
She stepped closer. “Then let them. I don’t care what they think, Flint.”
He looked up, startled by how firm her voice was. Lyra’s hands were trembling slightly, she wasn’t fearless, not really. But her eyes were steady. “You showed me something I didn’t even know was missing. That there’s more to music, to life, than I thought.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she took another step closer. “I don’t know how this happened.” she said, her voice quiet now, breath catching, “But you’re part of me now. You make me feel… real. Like the songs I sing mean something. Like… I mean something.” Her eyes were starting to glisten, but she smiled anyway. “So if this is what happens when I’m with you, if my hair goes dark and wild and ‘wrong’, I’ll take it.”
That hit him harder than he wanted it to. He blinked as he looked at her, the soft edges of her color and the chaos in his chest, and he couldn’t find words. He could barely find air.
Lyra’s voice broke the silence, soft and shaking: “I love you, Flint.” It wasn’t a whisper. It wasn’t loud either, but it was just the truth, right there. And he stood there, motionless, his throat tightening, heart hammering so fast he thought it might actually give him away. He wanted to say it back. The words were there, right behind his teeth. But saying them meant believing he deserved to. So instead, he stepped forward and did what he could. He reached out, fingers brushing gently through the streaks in her hair, those defiant, beautiful black strands, and whispered, almost to himself “…You shouldn’t have to risk all this for me.”
Lyra smiled faintly, tears at the corners of her eyes. “Too late.”
For a heartbeat, they just stood there. The village ahead of them, the forest behind. A line between two worlds that, somehow, they had crossed. And then, Flint exhaled, like the smallest surrender and reached for her hand. “Let’s get you home.”
The morning hum of the village had grown brighter, pods swinging gently in the breeze. Lyra and Flint stopped just outside hers, the light golden against the pink shell of her home. For a moment, everything felt still. Her hand was still in his. He hadn’t let go, not until now. He cleared his throat softly, trying to keep his tone casual, but the low rasp gave him away. “Go inside.” he said. “Before anyone sees.”
Lyra smiled, that small, sunlit smile that always undid him. “You’re here with me. It’s fine.”
He shook his head. “Lyra, I….”
And then the pod door opened. “Lyra, sweetpea! You’re up early, I….” Rosiepuff’s words trailed off as soon as she saw them, her daughter standing there, looking like the sunrise had kissed her cheekbones, and the streaks of black weaving through her bright purple hair. “Oh, dear heavens.” Rosiepuff breathed, stepping closer. “Lyra, your hair….”
Lyra blinked, startled. “What? Oh…. right.” She reached up, trying to tuck a black strand behind her ear, but it only made it more noticeable. “It’s, um… new?”
Rosiepuff gave a polite, uncertain laugh, the kind you give when you’re trying not to panic. “New? Darling, it looks like soot!” Then her gaze shifted… to Flint. To his stone-gray skin, his dark clothes, his quiet posture. And her smile faltered, just a fraction.
Flint straightened up, instinctively defensive, though his tone stayed respectful.
“Ma’am.”
Rosiepuff blinked, looked between the two of them, and her motherly instincts, kind but protective, began to hum. “So… Lyra, who’s your friend again?”
“Flint.” Lyra said quickly. “He’s… he’s been helping me with, uh… music things!”
Flint’s expression didn’t move, but his pulse did.
Rosiepuff folded her hands, smiling tightly. “Music. How lovely.” Her gaze flicked to his guitar strap over his shoulder, worn, scratched, carved with runes that definitely weren’t Pop-style.
Lyra felt the tension crackle and stepped forward. “Mom, it’s fine. He’s good. You should hear him play!”
“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Rosiepuff said sweetly, though her eyes stayed on him. “Still, Lyra, this hair of yours… I’ve never seen color do that before.”
Flint winced inwardly. He’d been ready for this. Just not like this. “I should probably….” he began, stepping back. But Lyra caught his wrist.
Rosiepuff’s expression softened, just a touch, she noticed the way her daughter looked at him. Lyra’s hand was still holding onto Flint’s wrist when Rosiepuff tilted her head, her voice smooth as honey. “Well, if you’re going to stand there looking like you’ve been caught sneaking sweets before breakfast.” she said, “You might as well come inside, hmm?”
Flint froze, Lyra perked up. “Wait, really?”
Rosiepuff smiled too sweetly. “Of course, dear. What kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer your… friend… a cup of glowberry tea?”
Flint opened his mouth to politely refuse, but nothing came out. So, he did the only thing he could do, he followed them in.
The inside of the pod was very Pop. Every surface shimmered faintly. Pastel decorations hung from the ceiling, small crystal jars glowed in the corners. The whole place smelled like sugar and wildflowers. Flint looked wildly out of place, tall, grayish-blue, wearing a dark jacket and gloves, like a storm cloud in a candy shop.
Rosiepuff gestured to a chair that looked like it was woven out of cotton candy. “Sit, dear.”
He did, very carefully, as though it might collapse under his weight. Lyra was trying not to grin. She perched on the arm of another chair, eyes dancing with quiet amusement as her mom poured tea into glittering cups. “So.” Rosiepuff began lightly, stirring her cup with a spoon that chimed. “Flint, was it? Such a strong name.”
Flint cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Tell me, Flint.” she said, her tone sweet but unmistakably probing, “Where exactly are you from?”
He hesitated. “North. Bit past the ridge.”
“Ah. Travelers, then?”
“Just me.”
Rosiepuff’s smile flickered for a second. “How brave. The woods aren’t exactly safe for a troll traveling alone, you know.”
“Depends who you ask.” he replied calmly while meeting her gaze. There was a long, delicate pause. Lyra sipped her tea, pretending not to notice the faint crackle of tension.
Then Rossiepuff clapped her hands once. “Well! If we’re going to be having guests, we should play something! Lyra, why don’t we show your friend how we do things around here?”
Flint blinked. “Play something?”
“Rummy!” she declared. “I never let anyone win. Not even my daughter.”
Lyra groaned. “Mom…”
“Oh hush, sugarplum. Cards build character.” Before he could protest, Rosiepuff had already whipped out a deck. Glittered, of course. They sat at the small table, the three of them, Flint looking like a soldier at a tea party, cards held stiffly in his gloved hands. Lyra kept biting her lip to keep from laughing.
“So tell me.” Rosiepuff said casually, fanning her cards. “What kind of music do you play, Flint?”
Flint hesitated. “...Loud.”
“Yeah.” He took a sip of tea, immediately regretted it (too sweet, his soul left his body), and set it down. “Sometimes soft. Mostly… real.”
That made Rosiepuff pause. For a split second, her expression softened, something curious glimmering in her eyes. “Real.” she repeated thoughtfully. “Well, that’s something not many trolls can say.” Then she promptly played a wild card and looked very pleased with herself.
Lyra beamed. “He means it, Mom. His songs, they sound like… like truth.”
Rosiepuff’s gaze flicked between them, her daughter glowing, this quiet stranger looking at her with something unspoken. She didn’t fully understand it, but she could see it. “Well.” she said finally, a knowing little smile forming, “I suppose everyone’s got their own sound, hmm?”
Flint’s lips twitched. “Guess so.”
He lost the game, badly. Rosiepuff winked at him. “Don’t worry, dear. No one ever wins the first time.”
Lyra was glowing again, her hair shimmering faintly with the black strains under the light. Flint, still recovering from both the tea and the interrogation, managed to grin.
And as he stood to leave, Rosiepuff added, almost gently, “You’re welcome back anytime, Flint. Just… maybe bring your music next time. I’d like to hear what kind of truth my daughter’s been listening to.”
Outside the pod, the air felt cooler, less sugar, more real. Flint inhaled deeply, like he’d been holding his breath for an hour. Lyra followed him out, trying so hard not to laugh that her cheeks puffed up. “You survived.”
“Barely.” He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe what had just happened. “Does she always… shine like that?”
“Mom? Yeah. That’s her thing. She glows brighter the more nervous you are.”
He groaned. “So she was practically a lantern in there.”
Lyra giggled, leaning close. “She actually likes you, you know.”
He looked at her, one brow raised. “You sure about that? ’Cause I’m pretty sure she was trying to read my soul.”
“That’s her way of liking someone.”
Flint sighed, long and slow. “I’m… not used to people like her.”
Lyra smiled softly. “You mean people who don’t bark at you or throw rocks?”
She reached out, gently straightening the edge of his jacket, a small, domestic gesture that almost undid him. “You handled it perfectly.” she said. “Even the tea.”
He made a face. “That wasn’t tea. That was liquid candy.”
They stood there a moment longer, close enough for her hair to brush his arm. The laughter faded into a quieter kind of warmth. Flint’s gaze drifted toward the glowing village paths, all that color, all that life. He could feel it pulsing around him, and part of him still didn’t know if he belonged in it.
Lyra noticed. “Hey.” she said softly, following his eyes. “You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
He exhaled, eyes lowering to meet hers. “Feels like that’s all I’ve been trying to do since I met you.”
She grinned, small and honest. “Then stop trying.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Easier said than done, sunshine.”
“Maybe.” she said, stepping a little closer, “But I think you’re doing just fine.”
For a second, he just looked at her. The way her eyes caught every bit of starlight, the faint trace of black still lingering in her hair, the kind of color that shouldn’t exist but somehow did. “Go inside.” he murmured. “Get some sleep.”
“You’ll come back tomorrow?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I think I will.”
She smiled, kissed his cheek, and turned toward her own pod. He waited until she was gone, until the door’s faint glow dimmed, before finally letting out the breath he’d been holding. Then, quietly to himself, he muttered, “Her mom plays for money. I’m doomed.”
