Lyra, His Second Chance Mate
The beacon flickered.
The sky, once split by golden light, twisted into something unnatural - something wrong. The stars above dimmed, their brilliance swallowed by an unseen force. And then, the rift widened.
A clawed hand, black as obsidian and veined with molten gold, pushed through the crack between worlds. Another followed, grasping at the edges of the breach, pulling it open wider.
The ground trembled. Trees bent as if bowing to the force that had answered the call. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the valley, drawn toward the rift as though the entity were consuming the very light around it.
Bab Populer