Diamondの小説

LYRA’S POVThe Rift slept lightly. Every shadow seemed to breathe, waiting for something to happen, something I couldn’t name yet. The air smelled of iron and frost, and beneath it all, I could still taste the smoke from the last fire Kael built. He said the light kept the whispers away, but I wasn’t sure which whispers he meant — the ones that crawled from the deadlands, or the ones that came from inside my own skull.Sleep didn’t come easy anymore. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Eira — my sister — standing at the edge of Silverborne’s walls, her face pale and her hands red. I used to promise her we’d run away together, that I’d protect her from everyone who ever sneered at us. Now, she probably thought I was dead. Maybe part of me was.I clenched my fists, staring at the firelight licking across the stones. “If you could see me now, Eira,” I whispered, “you’d laugh. I can’t even scrub a floor without awakening a cursed king.”“You talk to yourself when you think I’m not listenin

Lyra’s povThe air in The Rifts smelled like iron and dying stars. Every breath burned and the ground shimmered with lightless cracks, veins of silver ash pulsing beneath my feet like a heartbeat buried in stone. The place hummed with a voice that wasn’t quite a sound but the language of things that remembered death.Kael walked ahead, silent and sharp as shadow. His presence cut through the ruin like a blade, the chains of our bond tugging at my ribs with every step he took. I hated how my body knew where he was, even when my eyes couldn’t find him.When he stopped, the pull snapped hard enough to steal my breath.“You should not have followed,” he said without looking back. His tone was calm, but there was a storm beneath it — a violence too controlled to be human.“I didn’t,” I said. “You dragged me.”His head turned just enough for me to see the faint curve of his mouth — not a smile, but the memory of one. “Then perhaps your blood wants me more than your will does.”My hands cur

Lyra’s POVAt first, I thought I was dreaming. But dreams don’t bleed, and they don’t whisper your name from the shadows.The cell was colder than death. Stone walls pressed close on all sides, wet with dripping condensation. My breath came in shivers, the kind that rattled through bone. The mark on my palm pulsed faintly in the dark as silver veins threaded beneath my skin like a heartbeat that wasn’t mine.Then I heard it again.“Lyra.”Not a whisper. A command. The air trembled with it.I pressed my hand to the mark, but the pulse only grew stronger, louder, until pain seared through me like molten glass. I gasped and stumbled to my knees. The mark flared, flooding the cell with pale light. Chains groaned, stone cracked, and from the corner of my vision, a shape took form.Kael.No longer the vision from the crypt, but real—terribly, vividly real. His hair was white fire, his eyes molten silver edged with black flame. Power rolled off him in waves that made the air hum. He looked a

lyra’s povWhen I woke, the world was broken. The ceiling above me had collapsed, and moonlight bled through the cracks like liquid silver. Dust filled my lungs as I struggled to breathe. The air was thick with smoke, and the sharp scent of blood stung my nose.The crypt was in ruins. The altar lay in pieces beside me, split clean through as if struck by lightning. The lantern had gone out, but faint trails of light danced across the shattered stones. Kael was gone. No footprints, no trace of him, not even warmth in the air.For a moment, I thought I had imagined him — the burning eyes, the mark, the storm of light. But when I looked down, my palm told the truth. The crescent mark still glowed there, faint but alive, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.I pressed my hand to my chest, trembling. “What did I do?”The ground trembled beneath me before I could think of an answer. A distant howl tore through the night, long, raw, and wrong. Then came another, and another, until the air out

(Lyra’s POV)The first thing I learned about being soulless was that silence cuts deeper than cruelty.Every Blood Moon Festival, the Silverborne wolves filled the skies with howls, their voices rising in wild devotion to the Moon. The sound rolled over the mountains like thunder, sharp, alive and sacred. All except mine, I was forbidden to join them because a hollow girl like me had no right to echo the Moon’s song.So while the others feasted and danced beneath the crimson glow, I scrubbed blood from the temple steps, kneeling in freezing water that numbed my hands and turned my skin raw. My reflection stared back from the crimson puddle—pale hair plastered to my face, bruised knuckles, and those strange silver eyes that never changed with the moon.The pack called me Hollow Pup, some days they forgot my name altogether.Laughter poured from the Great Hall, spilling warmth and music through the open windows. The scent of roasted venison and spiced silver wine drifted through the co