The creature behind the Origin unfolded its seven wings. Each wing carried a different symbol: a crown, a broken mirror, a silver wolf, a bleeding moon, a black key, a burning heart, and an empty eye. Lyra felt every symbol burn beneath her skin. “What is that thing?” she whispered. The Origin’s enormous head turned toward the creature. “My enemy,” it answered. “The one even your ancestors were too afraid to name.” The creature laughed. Its voice sounded like thousands of people speaking through a single throat. “You still pretend to be a victim, Origin?” The Origin’s silver eyes narrowed. “You should have remained beyond the door.” “And you should have remained asleep.” The chamber shook violently. Karl fought against the black tendrils holding him. “Lyra! Get away from them!” She tried to reach him, but the invisible force around her tightened. Her feet rose several inches above the floor. The creature with seven wings turned toward her. “So,” it murmured. “The lit
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