The sanctuary trembles again.Dust drifts softly from the stone ceiling above them while ancient lanterns flicker along the walls. Somewhere beyond the mountain, Caedryn moves closer, each step of the ruined Alpha sending vibrations through the sanctuary floor.But inside the chamber, no one moves.Vaelith cannot stop looking at Lyrienne.The woman standing before them should not exist. Centuries should have hollowed her into myth by now, yet she stands calm and composed beneath the pale sanctuary light, carrying grief so old it feels woven into the mountain itself.Draven remains close beside Vaelith, his arm brushing hers every few seconds as though instinct keeps checking she’s still there.The contact steadies the bond immediately each time.Lyrienne notices every reaction.“So much resemblance,” she murmurs softly.Vaelith folds her arms tightly.“You keep saying things like we’re copies of you.”“No,” Lyrienne says gently. “You’re not copies.” Her gold eyes drift briefly toward
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