Lyra's POV
The first thing I felt was silk. Soft, smooth, strange against my skin.
The second was warmth. A low heat, like embers resting beneath the floor.
The third was fear.
My eyes flew open.
I was in a bed. A massive bed, draped in black and deep red sheets that shimmered faintly in the golden lantern light. The ceiling stretched high above, carved with patterns I didn't recognize. The walls were dark stone—cold-looking but clean—with tapestries hanging like shadows on either side.
Where was I?
I sat up too fast. Dizzy. My legs trembled under the thin black dress I didn't remember wearing. My heart pounded as I scanned the chamber. There were no windows. No visible doors. Just a vast room with a desk in the corner, some silver furniture, and that awful, suffocating silence.
Then it came back.
Mistress Elena. Her laugh. The strange man. The cloth shoved into my mouth.
"The Demon Lord will be pleased."
I pressed a hand to my chest. My heart was slamming against my ribs.
They sold me.
I tried to stand, but staggered. My knees hit the soft carpet.
The silence broke.
A soft creak echoed from the wall as a hidden door opened behind one of the panels. I backed up, stumbling into the bed.
A girl stepped in.
She was younger than me. Brown hair tied back, eyes cast down. Plain grey dress. She didn't look at me.
She carried a tray with a folded robe, a comb, and a bowl of steaming water. She placed it gently on a nearby table.
"Where am I?" I asked. My voice came out hoarse, unfamiliar.
She paused. Her hands twitched slightly, but her eyes never lifted.
"You're safe," she said. "You were brought to the palace."
"The palace?" I whispered. "Why? Who brought me?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she moved to the mirror and began laying out items like she was following orders burned into her mind.
"I... I didn't do anything wrong," I said. "I was just in the village. With Elena. Why am I here? What is this place?"
The girl finally looked at me.
There was fear in her eyes. Not of me—of someone else.
"You shouldn't ask too many questions," she said softly.
"Please," I whispered. "Just tell me. Who lives here?"
She hesitated. Then glanced at the door like she feared it would open again.
Her voice dropped.
"This is the chamber of the Demon Lord."
I felt the floor fall away beneath me.
She quickly looked down again.
"You were chosen. That's all I know," she said. Her voice shook now. "I'm only here to help you get ready."
"Ready for what?"
She didn't answer.
I stepped closer. "Please. Tell me what's going to happen."
She flinched, stepping back. "I've already said too much. If he finds out—"
She shut her mouth, her face pale as parchment.
I understood. She was terrified.
So was I.
"I don't even know his name," I whispered.
She only glanced at me. "No one says his name."
She held out the robe. "Please change. He'll come soon. You don't want to make him wait."
I took it with trembling hands. "What if I don't want to see him?"
Her expression didn't change. But her silence screamed: you don't have a choice.
I felt the cold settle in my stomach as I took the robe. It was black and finely made, far beyond anything I'd ever worn. The fabric felt heavier than it looked, pressing against my skin like it belonged to someone else.
My fingers shook as I pulled it over my head.
The air shifted.
The lanterns flickered.
A presence fell over the room like a thundercloud waiting to break.
The girl dropped to her knees, her face drained of color. Eyes wide.
She whispered one word.
"He's here."