Chapter 3 — The Forbidden Wing
The roar echoed again — low, trembling, ancient.
It rattled the windowpanes of Lyra's chamber and made her candle flicker.
She sat up in her bed, heart pounding. The sound came from deep inside the palace — not outside. Somewhere close.
She slipped from beneath the sheets, her bare feet touching the cold marble floor. The corridors beyond her door were drenched in moonlight, quiet except for the faint whisper of the wind.
The left wing, she thought. It came from there.
She hesitated, remembering the King's warning:
> "You will not enter the left wing."
But the sound came again, softer this time — like a cry more than a roar. It didn't sound like a monster. It sounded… like someone in pain.
She took a candle from the wall and followed the echo.
Each step she took seemed louder than the last. The palace stretched endlessly, filled with portraits that watched her pass and suits of armor that gleamed under silver light.
When she reached the great archway that led to the forbidden side, the air changed. It was warmer — heavy, almost alive. The marble beneath her feet felt like it hummed faintly, as if something beneath it was breathing.
The massive door before her was carved with dragons and old runes.
Chains of gold and iron wrapped across it, sealed with strange symbols that pulsed faintly red.
Lyra stepped closer.
A heat brushed her skin, and she could swear she heard a heartbeat from the other side — slow, deep, powerful.
Her hand lifted before she could stop herself. The closer she got, the stronger the warmth became, until it was almost too much to bear.
Then—
"Stop."
The voice was cold, commanding.
Her candle went out instantly.
Lyra froze. Her breath caught as the darkness swallowed her whole — until a faint glow illuminated the corridor behind her.
King Auren stood there. His amber eyes burned faintly in the shadows, his black cloak trailing like smoke.
"I told you never to come here," he said quietly, walking toward her.
"I heard something," she whispered. "It sounded like… someone crying."
"Do you think I care what you heard?" His voice rose, a thread of anger — but beneath it was something else. Fear.
He stopped inches away from her. The warmth from the door reflected in his eyes, and for the briefest moment, Lyra thought she saw pain flicker across his face.
"This place is not for you," he said softly. "Not for anyone."
He turned to the chained door, placing his hand against the runes. They glowed under his touch, and the sound — the heartbeat — stopped.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Then he looked back at her, his voice low and sharp.
"If you value your life, Lyra, do not step near this door again."
And with that, he left, his cloak vanishing into the shadows.
Lyra stood frozen in the moonlight, her hands trembling.
But even as fear filled her chest… so did curiosity.
Because she could still feel it — faint, hidden beneath the silence.
A heartbeat.
Slow.
Powerful.
Alive.