Cold air bit against her skin as Lyra stepped through the barrier. The others faded behind her — their shapes lost to the wall of frost — until only silence remained.
The light from the ice-petaled tree pulsed softly, steady as a heartbeat.
Each step she took echoed faintly, her breath clouding in the pale blue glow. The closer she drew, the heavier the air became — like the world itself was watching, waiting.
Then, without warning, the ground beneath her rippled.
Light surged up around her, blinding white and sharp. The cavern vanished.
When the glow faded, she stood in a vast hollow of glass and snow — endless, silent, empty. A single voice filled the air, neither loud nor soft, but heavy with something ancient.
"You seek what was lost… yet you do not remember what you were."
Lyra turned, searching the emptiness. "Who's there?"
The voice came again, echoing through the frozen light.
"To break the seal, you must face what remains of yourself."
The air shimmered, and from the mist, a figure stepped forward — her own reflection, eyes cold and hollow, a shadow of herself wrapped in threads of frost and smoke.
The mirror Lyra lifted a hand, and at once, the ground cracked.
Chains of ice erupted, lashing toward her.
Lyra raised her arm instinctively, chaos flaring along her palm — dark and light twisting together. The blast shattered the first strike, but more followed, relentless. Each impact shook the hollow, echoing with fragments of voices — her own fears, her doubts.
"You forgot who you were."
"You let them fall."
"You shouldn't be here."
Lyra staggered back, teeth clenched. The storm howled around her, and for a heartbeat, she felt it — the weight of her forgotten name pressing against her chest.
She fell to her knees. The shadow stood over her, a blade of ice forming in its grasp.
Lyra closed her eyes. I don't remember… I don't remember anything.
Then, the thought came — quiet, defiant.
But I know who I am.
Her eyes snapped open, burning silver against the storm. "I don't remember who I was," she whispered, her voice steadying, "but I know who I am. I don't need my past to define me."
The ice stilled.
The shadow froze mid-step — then shattered, breaking apart into light.
The storm collapsed into silence.
The hollow cracked, and the glass sky above splintered into thousands of fragments, falling around her like snow.
Through the falling shards, a soft light descended — forming the shape of a man, tall and indistinct, woven from mist and silver fire. His hair floated like smoke, his eyes faint blue, endless as winter. His body was made of light, not flesh — an essence, not a being.
He looked at her, and for a moment, smiled — faint, knowing.
"You haven't changed," he said softly. "Even after everything."
Lyra stood slowly, her breath shaking. "Who are you?"
The light around him flickered once. "A fragment of what was. You don't need to remember me — not yet."
Something shimmered in the air before her — a coin, small and ancient, etched with a symbol she didn't recognize. She caught it as it drifted into her palm. The metal was warm, pulsing faintly.
When she looked up again, the hollow was breaking apart, dissolving into the same soft white light that had birthed it.
The deity's voice followed her as everything vanished.
"One seal undone… four remain."
The world snapped back.
She stood once more before the ice-petaled tree.
The barrier behind her cracked and shattered like glass, dissolving into wind.
Lyra stepped out, snow crunching beneath her boots, the faint glow of the coin still in her hand.
The others turned — Azel first, then Kairis, then Kael. None spoke.
And just for a moment, behind her, the faint outline of the deity's form lingered in the mist — formless, fading — his gaze calm, ancient, watching her go.
Then he was gone.
The world trembled once more.
A pulse ran through the ground — soft, steady — spreading outward from the tree like a breath the land had forgotten to take.
Lyra lowered her hand, the coin still warm against her palm.
The glow from the tree dimmed, its petals slowly closing like it had gone to rest.
A wind stirred — not sharp this time, but gentle, alive.
The gray sky above, for the first time in days, began to thin. The storm clouds drifted apart, letting a faint silver hue spill through — not sunlight, but light enough to see by.
The stillness around them began to shift.
Frozen branches creaked as if remembering movement. The air no longer burned with cold, only whispered with it. The snow still lay deep and white, yet something beneath it stirred — faint colors returning to the buried moss and stone.
Kael was the first to speak, his voice quiet, almost uncertain.
"…Did she just do that?"
No one answered.
Azel stepped forward, his gaze flicking from the dimming tree to the faint shimmer still clinging to the air. He said nothing, but his eyes narrowed slightly — not with suspicion, but thought.
Kairis's golden light flickered faintly around her, reflecting in the soft silver sky. "The first seal…" she murmured, her voice low. "It's broken."
Lyra looked at them, the wind brushing through her hair. "No," she said softly. "It's awake."
They all turned to her.
For a heartbeat, none spoke.
Then Azel nodded once — quiet, firm. "Then whatever sleeps in these mountains… has begun to stir."
Lyra's gaze drifted upward. The sky was still gray, still heavy, yet through it, faint veins of silver moved — not stars, not light, but life returning to a world that had forgotten it.
Kairis exhaled slowly, her breath no longer a cloud. "We should move before the frost wakes again."
"Right." Kael slung his pack over his shoulder, still glancing at the tree. "Next time, warn me before we break the world a little."
Lyra smiled faintly at that, though her fingers tightened around the coin in her hand. The metal pulsed once more — a slow, living heartbeat — before it stilled.
As they began their descent, the wind carried a different sound — faint, distant, like the echo of a song long buried beneath the snow.
And behind them, the Frostspine no longer seemed silent.
It was breathing.