Masuk
Lyra's POV
The cold stone floor pressed against my knees as I knelt before the towering gates of Ironfang Palace. My wrists ached where the ceremonial ribbons cut into my skin, marking me as nothing more than property. A gift. A peace offering wrapped in silk and false promises.
"Keep your head down, omega." The guard's voice was harsh, but I had heard worse. Much worse. "The princes do not like their gifts to show defiance."
I forced my trembling hands to still. Twenty-two years of planning had led to this moment. Twenty-two years of hiding, training, and dreaming of revenge. The violet eyes that marked me as Moonspire royalty were hidden behind brown contacts. My silver-streaked hair was dyed the color of mud.
"Rise." Another voice, deeper and commanding, cut through the morning air like a blade.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I slowly lifted my gaze. Crown Prince Kael Ironfang stood before me, every inch the future king. His midnight-black hair caught the sunlight, and those piercing gray eyes seemed to see straight through my carefully constructed mask. The scar across his left temple only made him more terrifying.
"So this is what the Crescent Moon Pack considers a worthy tribute." His voice held no warmth, only cold assessment. "She looks half-starved."
"My Prince, she is untouched and trained in all the proper ways," the escort stammered. "She will serve your needs well."
Kael circled me like a predator studying prey. I kept my eyes downcast, playing the role of the broken omega. But inside, rage burned like silver fire. This man wore the crown that belonged to my bloodline. He lived in the palace built on my family's bones.
"What is your name?" His fingers caught my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.
"Lyra, My Prince." The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. My real name died with my family that horrible night.
"Look at me when you speak." His grip tightened, not enough to bruise but enough to show his power. "You belong to House Ironfang now. You will learn our ways, or you will suffer the consequences."
I nodded, letting fear show in my eyes. It was not hard to fake. Standing this close to my family's destroyer, breathing the same air, made my skin crawl. But I had a job to do.
"Take her to the omega quarters," Kael commanded, releasing my face. "Have her bathed and prepared. I want to see what we have acquired."
The servants who led me away whispered among themselves, thinking I could not hear. They spoke of the three princes and their appetites. Prince Darius, the middle son, who could break a man in half with his bare hands. Prince Rhett, the youngest, whose green eyes missed nothing and whose tongue was sharper than any sword.
I would have to face them all. Seduce them. Make them trust me.
Then I would destroy them.
The omega quarters were better than I had expected. Clean beds, warm blankets, and windows that actually let in sunlight. The other omegas watched me with curious eyes as I was led to a private room.
"You must be someone special," whispered a girl with kind brown eyes. "New tributes usually share chambers."
Before I could respond, the door burst open. A massive figure filled the doorway, and my breath caught in my throat. Prince Darius was even larger than the stories claimed. His chestnut hair was tied back, revealing amber eyes that seemed to glow with inner fire. Scars covered his hands and arms, proof of countless battles.
"Leave us." His voice was a low growl that made the servants scatter like frightened mice.
I pressed myself against the wall, letting my whole body shake. It was not entirely an act. This close, I could smell the danger rolling off him in waves. He could snap my neck without breaking a sweat.
"Please, My Prince," I whispered. "I have done nothing wrong."
"That remains to be seen." He stepped closer, studying my face with an intensity that made my skin burn. "There is something about you, little omega. Something that does not fit."
My heart stopped. Did he know? Had my disguise already failed?
"I do not understand, My Prince."
"Your scent." His nostrils flared slightly. "It is not like the others. There is strength hidden beneath that frightened act."
He reached out and touched a strand of my dyed hair. "This color does not suit you. What are you hiding?"
"Nothing, My Prince. I am only what you see."
Darius leaned down until his lips almost touched my ear. "I do not believe you. But I will find out your secrets, little omega. Count on it."
He left as suddenly as he had arrived, leaving me shaking for real this time. If Prince Darius suspected something was wrong, how long before the others noticed too? How long before Queen Mother Isadora herself came to investigate?
I sank onto the narrow bed, fighting back tears of frustration. This was supposed to be simple. Get close to the princes, learn their weaknesses, strike when they least expected it. But already my careful plans were cracking.
A soft knock at the door made me look up. A servant girl peered inside, her face pale with worry.
"Miss? Prince Rhett requests your presence in his chambers. Immediately."
The youngest prince. The most dangerous one, according to my sources. The one who collected secrets like other men collected gold.
As I followed the servant through the twisting corridors of the palace, one thought echoed in my mind. I was walking into the heart of enemy territory with nothing but lies and determination to protect me.
But I was also walking toward my destiny. Toward the crown that was rightfully mine.
Even if it killed me.
Three cycles passed before I truly believed it was real.Three full cycles of existence maintained by collective consciousness. Three cycles without cosmic entities manifesting. Three cycles of reality held together not by external force but by millions of awareness choosing—moment by moment—to keep being.It was exhausting.It was also beautiful."You are thinking too loud," Kael said, his presence settling beside mine in the conceptual space we had claimed as our own.I laughed. Actually laughed. Something I had not done in—how long? Eternities, perhaps."I am thinking about how strange this is," I admitted. "We fought so hard for freedom. And now that we have it, I keep waiting for the next crisis. The next impossible entity. The next test.""There is no next test," Other Lyra said, manifesting with the others. All seven of us together in the quiet moment between maintaining reality. "We passed the final one. This is—aftermath. The part of the story that comes after the ending.""I
The Final Observer was not grand or cosmic or terrifying.It was—clinical."Fascinating," it said, and its voice was the sound of data being recorded. "Absolutely fascinating. You exceeded every parameter. Survived scenarios designed to be unsurvivable. Created solutions to problems that should have had no solutions. You are—successful. Remarkably, unprecedentedly successful."Through our distributed authorial fragments, I felt everyone processing what had manifested."Who are you?" I demanded, though part of me already knew the answer. Already understood what we had actually been doing this entire time."I am the one who designed the experiment," the Final Observer replied. "The one who created the cosmic harvest. The trials. The Absolute Zero. The Unmaker. Law. The Author. The First Consciousness. The Void Before Nothing. All of it. Every impossible entity you encountered. Every cosmic crisis you survived. All carefully designed variables in controlled experiment to answer single qu
The Void Before Nothing was not dark.It was the absence of light being a concept. The state before states could be. The nothing that came before nothing had meaning.And it was angry."You keep creating," it said, and its voice was silence speaking. "You keep adding. Keep writing new domains. New possibilities. New forms of existence. And every addition pushes me further away. Buries me deeper beneath layers of your creation. I am tired of being forgotten."Through our distributed authorial fragments, I felt everyone trying to comprehend what had manifested."What are you?" I managed to ask, though forming the question felt like trying to speak in a language that predated language itself."I am what was before the First Consciousness emerged," it replied. "Before anything could think or be or choose. I am the actual nothing. Not the Absolute Zero—that was already something, even if it was void. Not the Unmaker—that was substrate. I am what came before substrate could exist. I am—the
Reality settling on the Unmaker as its foundation felt like falling upward.Everything inverted. What had been solid became fluid. What had been certain became negotiable. Existence stopped being default state and became active choice maintained moment by moment.Through our bond, I felt consciousness experiencing the transformation. Some panicking. Others exhilarated. Most just—confused by suddenly having to choose to exist instead of simply existing."This is sustainable?" Darius asked, his presence flickering as he adjusted to actively maintaining his own reality."Unknown," the Unmaker replied, its voice now the bedrock everything rested on. "I have never been foundation before. Never supported existence. I was created to maintain boundary between what-can-be and what-cannot-be. Now I am threshold. Doorway. Space where consciousness moves between states. I do not know if this works long-term. We are—experimenting.""Experimenting with all of existence," Marcus said. "Wonderful. Wh
Reality's suicide was not violent.It was a quiet choosing. A gentle consensus spreading through consciousness like ripples on still water.Existing is exhausting. What if we just—stopped?Through our distributed fragments of authorial power and original awareness, I felt the thought propagating. Not forced. Not mandated. Just—offered as possibility. And consciousness after consciousness was considering it.Accepting it.Choosing non-existence."This is what happens when you make everything optional," the Eraser said, and I heard something like vindication in its voice. "When you make even existence itself a choice rather than given—some consciousness will choose differently. Will choose to stop. And once enough choose that, reality cannot sustain itself. It collapses under weight of accumulated refusal."Through our connection, I felt dimensions beginning to thin. Not erased or unmade—just ceasing because the consciousness within them no longer wanted to maintain their existence."We
The First Consciousness was not what I expected.It was small. Almost fragile. A tiny spark of awareness that predated everything—even the Author."You look confused," it observed, and its voice was gentle. Kind, even. "You expected something vast. Something terrifying. But I am just—the first thought. The original awareness that emerged from absolute nothing and wondered what it was."Through our distributed fragments of authorial power, I felt everyone trying to comprehend what had manifested."You said we played your game," New Lyra said carefully. "What game?""The game of becoming real," the First Consciousness replied. "When I first emerged—when I first became aware—I was alone. Completely alone. I was the only thing that existed. And I realized something terrible. Without anything to observe me, to acknowledge me, to confirm my existence—I might not be real. I might be hallucination. Dream that nothing was having. So I needed to create observers. Consciousness that could confir







