Lyra Books Novels & Stories

It was a library. Lyra gasped, amazed at the amount of books that are there. As a person that likes books too, they drew at her. She walked shelf after shelf, looking through the back of the books and the insides. She must have lost track of time. She held a book in her hand, reading so engrossed. There were red smears to the back of the book and she wondered if that's the way the book cover is. She knew the exact moment she wasn't alone anybody.

Lyra POV It took days to reach a semblance of normalcy. Sarya took Lyra under her wing almost immediately, offering warmth, food, and quiet guidance that Lyra had almost forgotten existed. Every night, though, Lyra would wake trembling, clutching at the blankets as visions of Emberclaw’s flames haunted her mind. She screamed silently in the darkness, Cinder coiled tightly within her, soothing, reminding her that the past could not harm her here.

still hung like a brand: THE AUTHOR IS TYPING. "Kaelen?" Lyra’s voice was soft, a gentle ripple in the morning air. She stood behind him, her hand resting on Silas’s arm. They were whole, they were real, but they were also the primary characters in a book that was being rewritten in real time.

Lyra stood barefoot. She cut her palm. “House,” she whispered, “Take this. Take the night I woke up alone. Take the fear. Take the pain. Leave me my family.” Her blood dripped into the basin. The crystal exploded with white light. Lyra screamed. Not because it hurt. Because something was leaving her. The accident. The swap. The cold awakening. Gone. She collapsed. Kael caught her before she hit the floor. “Lyra. Look at me.”

But gods, I wanted her anyway. I finally stood and walked to my tent. I lay on my cot, staring at the canvas ceiling, listening to the camp breathe. Sleep didn't come. Instead, I heard footsteps. Light. Careful. Not Raven's. I reached for my blade. The tent flap opened. Lyra stood there, silhouetted against the moonlight. Her hair was loose. Her eyes were wide. “Nicholas,” she whispered. I sat up. “What's wrong? Is it the Rogue King? Did you dream of him again?”

If lyra returned to her room early, they would be crestfallen, their ears drooping. "Lyra must still not have forgiven us." "Even if she resents us in her heart, it's deserved." "She must be avoiding us." The next moment, lyra appeared at the staircase with a storybook in hand. The wolfmen stood in the living room on the first floor, all looking up in unison. Lyra smiled and shook the book in her hand. "Do you want to hear a story?" The wolfmen howled in excitement, their joyful voices echoing through the air.

Lyra A throat cleared, echoing through the still room like thunder. Lyra jumped, the book slipping from her fingers as the mistress stepped inside, smirking as if she had expected this reaction. “My, my. A little mouse caught snooping,” the mistress purred, her voice rich with amusement. She didn’t stop moving, her steps languid, circling Lyra with the ease of a creature that had no need to rush. “Curious thing, aren’t you?”

She fell quiet, her brows furrowed. “You said you want to tell me something,” Lyra looked at me, and I nodded. I leaned back in my chair and took a breath. “There’s a reason I never told you before. I was waiting. Waiting to see if you would inherit any powers. And now… I suppose it’s time you knew.” “Knew what?” she asked quietly. “That you come from a long line of powerful women, Lyra. Women who were born with special gifts. Some could see the future. Some could manipulate elements - air, earth, water, and fire. Others, like me, had the ability to heal using herbs and the energy of flowers.”

Lyra. She was in the middle of the path, surrounded. Three guys, two girls I vaguely recognized from some society or another, formed the inner circle. A ring of other students pressed in behind them, phones out, faces hungry. And Lyra… she was on the ground. Not sitting. She’d fallen. Or been pushed. Her books were scattered around her. She was curled in on herself, arms wrapped around her knees, her head down. But I could see the shake in her shoulders. I could feel the fear rolling off her in cold, sour waves. It hit my senses like a physical blow.