The forest exploded into chaos.
Lyra moved like a storm—graceful, precise, lethal. Her dagger struck one soldier through the throat, and before the others could react, she cast a spell with a single whisper. The roots that bound Keal twisted backward, unraveling in a violent surge of energy.
"Elira!" Keal snarled, breaking free and summoning a blade of shadowed flame. But when he turned, she was gone—swallowed by an illusion.
Coward.
The guards rushed them, but Lyra was already spinning, casting sigils into the air with glowing fingers. A barrier of violet light rippled between them and the enemies.
"Back to the cliff!" she shouted. "We're outnumbered!"
Keal hated retreating. Every step away from the enemy felt like another scar added to his pride. But Lyra was right—whoever Elira had become, she had grown dangerous. Twisted.
And something darker was at play.
---
Later — Safehouse Ruins, Eastern Outskirts
Keal slammed his fist into the stone wall. Dust fell from the ceiling. Lyra watched him silently, a cut above her brow still bleeding.
"You knew her," he said, voice low.
She didn't answer immediately.
He turned sharply. "You knew Elira was alive. Or... something wearing her face."
"I suspected," Lyra said finally, stepping into the light. "Not alive, not dead. Something in between. There are old magics, forbidden ones, that can tether the soul to power."
Keal's eyes narrowed. "Who are you really, Lyra?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "Someone who lost everything too. Someone who doesn't care about your past, your rage, or your scars. But I do care about who you become next."
Keal's breath caught. She wasn't just beautiful—she was unwavering. Even in the face of madness.
He stepped closer. "And if I become a monster?"
Lyra didn't hesitate. "Then I'll be the one to stop you."
Silence hung between them—charged and intimate.
But before Keal could say more, Lyra's hand brushed his, and her voice dropped into a whisper. "But I believe you're more than vengeance. I see the man who still grieves... and the one who can still love."
A flicker of something strange lit in his chest—warm, painful, unfamiliar. Love? He had buried the idea long ago. But Lyra… she made the thought feel dangerous. And real.
---
Meanwhile — Fortress of Duskveil
Far from the forest, Rael watched through an enchanted mirror. Elira—what was left of her—stood beside him like a loyal specter.
"He hesitated," Rael mused. "That girl... Lyra. She's weakening him."
Elira didn't speak, only stared with hollow eyes.
"She'll be the key," he said darkly. "Break her… and Keal breaks with her."
From the shadows behind the throne, a cloaked figure stepped forward—a sorcerer with tattoos that moved like snakes.
"My Lord Rael," the sorcerer hissed, "shall I prepare the binding ritual?"
Rael smirked. "Yes. Let the game begin."
---
Back at the Safehouse
Keal lay awake, unable to sleep. Lyra sat by the fire, sharpening her blade.
He finally asked, "Why are you helping me?"
She didn't look up. "Because I've seen what happens when the good ones fall. And I'm not letting it happen again."
"You trust me?"
She finally looked at him, her eyes soft. "No. But I'm willing to."
Then she reached into her cloak and pulled out a silver ring—old, engraved, and humming with protective magic.
She held it out. "I found this in the ruins tonight. Your family crest. Wear it. Not for the past… but for what's coming."
He took it slowly, slipping it onto his finger.
And for the first time in years, Keal didn't feel hollow.
He felt ready.
> But none of them knew—by the next full moon, everything would change.
Including Lyra.
---
To be continued...