Lyra’s POV The High Priestess drew a dagger made of obsidian stone and, with one swipe of the blade, slit her hand open, dripping the blood onto the floor of the stage as she began to sway and chant: “By silvered night and blood-lit sky, By ancient vow that cannot die, We call the veil, we part the seam, Between the flesh and sacred dream. Moon Mother, watcher of the bound, Hear now the breaking of the ground. From sacred light and shadow spun, Reveal the truth of two made one. Let fate be bare, let silence shatter, Let hidden souls no longer scatter. By lunar flame and sacred sign, Unveil the bond that dares defy time. If heart meets heart by fated thread, Let glowing marks be clearly spread. If not, let truth in darkness stay— And all false ties be stripped away. In your name, we kneel, we call, we obey— Blood Moon rise… and show the way.”I feel it before I understand it.The moment the High Priestess lowers her hands, the world doesn’t move forward so much as it
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