Smoke still lingered in Lyra’s lungs, even days after the return from the sea. Not the acrid stench of battle, but the cloying, electric residue of ancient magic,it was a scent that clung to her hair and skin no matter how many times she bathed. It had followed them back to the Accord like a shadow that didn’t know when to leave.The Council chambers were quieter than usual.There were no arguments amongst the council members.No raised voices. Just the unease that hung between the leaders like an unspoken pact. Kaelen stood behind her, arms folded, gaze fixed on the massive stained-glass window at the back of the hall. It depicted the first moonrise after the Great rising—a historical myth more symbolic than true. And yet, something about it felt... prophetic now.“They’re afraid,” Lyra said softly.“They should be,” Kaelen replied, his voice low. “The second Gate was sealed. But sealing it wasn’t the same as destroying it. They know that.”Lyra turned toward the Council, where Eld
It wasn’t the smooth silver mirror described in stories, nor the playful tides painted on childhood murals. It was vast and hungry, its waves were blackened by storm-winds and haunted with the breath of ghosts. They reached the coastline in three days, riding under the banner of the Accord, but even that sacred emblem did little to calm the villagers that greeted them.“Stay off the eastern shoals,” a toothless old woman warned as they secured the boats. “That sea remembers the old ones. It remembers who bled into it.”Kaelen thanked her politely and moved on.Lyra paused longer, staring into the foam-crusted surf. The wind tangled her cloak, sent her hair whipping around her shoulders like strands of moonlight caught in a gale. Behind her, Iris stood quietly, her gaze locked not on the horizon, but on the seabirds flying inland as if they were fleeing something they couldn't name.“Is this where the second seal is?” Lyra asked the girl softly.Iris didn’t look at her. “It’s undernea
The Gate was sealed. The Sovereign was gone.But Lyra couldn’t sleep.She sat by the dying embers of the Accord’s victory fires, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The scent of ash and blood still clung to the air. Even with the sky quiet and the land no longer weeping shadow, something inside her refused to settle.Not fear. Not even sorrow.Restlessness.Kaelen had fallen asleep not far from her, curled around the small Seer child, whose name they still didn’t know. The girl had wandered into the Gate’s chaos barefoot, fearless and then simply stayed, curling beside Kaelen after the battle as though she’d belonged there all along.Lyra watched them now, trying to understand what the child was. Who she was.Because the girl didn’t speak. She only watched. With eyes too ancient for her face.And now, even the stars felt like they watched through her.A soft voice stirred the air.“You should rest, too.”Lyra turned.Elder Ysara stood at the edge of the firelight, her shad
The moment the Gate fully opened, the world bled.Reality twisted. The valley howled. Darkness didn’t pour from the tear—it poured into it, like a mouth inhaling, ready to consume. Lyra stood at the center of a vortex of wind, magic, and bone, her silver-flamed hands stretched wide, anchoring the protective stakes the Vowbound had carved into the ground.“Hold the circle!” she shouted over the chaos.Veera’s voice came from somewhere behind her, breathless. “One of the wards just snapped! We’re exposed on the west flank!”Kaelen snarled, his wolf tearing through a pair of Hollowed beasts slithering on limbs far too long to be natural. Blood sprayed the earth. His eyes glinted silver beneath the full moon.“Lyra!” he shouted. “They’re breaching faster than we can kill them!”“I know,” she ground out, voice ragged. “But we’re not trying to stop them—we’re trying to draw him out.”As if summoned, the Sovereign’s laughter cut through the storm like glass across skin.“You think I’ll fight
The Gate pulsed.Not with life but with memory.Each beat was a cry from the dead, echoing through the frost-choked air as if the earth itself mourned what had once been buried and now begged to rise. Lyra stood at the edge of the valley, wind whipping her cloak around her legs, eyes locked on the iron-bone monolith that stood crooked in the center of the desecrated grave field.She couldn’t look away.Because it was looking back.The air was heavy with old magic that was older than the Hollowed, older even than the Rift. This was ancestral. Primeval. A kind of quiet madness stitched into soil and sky.Kaelen stood beside her, hand resting near the hilt of his blade. “It’s... watching.”Lyra nodded, her voice thin. “It remembers me.”“You’ve never been here before.”“I don’t have to be,” she whispered. “I was born from what it holds.”Behind them, Veera and the scouts had set perimeter wards. Halden crouched near the treeline, muttering tracking incantations, while the child—the Seer
The snow began to fall again when they left the ruins of the Archives.Not the kind that signaled storm or danger. It was soft,haunting, almost beautiful but Lyra couldn’t feel it the way she once might have. The cold didn’t bite her. The wind didn’t chill. Ever since the vision, ever since the truth had settled in her bones, she felt half fire, half shadow. As though she no longer belonged entirely to the world that had birthed her.Kaelen rode beside her in silence, eyes alert to every crunch of snow beneath hooves. Behind them, Veera and Halden whispered between themselves. The two scouts, trailing at the rear, remained tense—uneasy ever since the vision at the archives had triggered a magical surge that split the ground like a wound.They didn’t ask questions.But Lyra could feel it.They feared her now.“South pass up ahead,” Kaelen murmured. “Two days’ ride to the Accord’s northern post.”She didn’t respond.He looked at her sideways. “You’ve barely spoken.”Lyra turned toward t