The Void was not merely the absence of light; it was a physical weight, a thick, suffocating blanket of absolute nothingness that pressed against Lyra's skin until she felt her very molecules beginning to fray. Here, in the belly of the Executioner's realm, silence didn't just exist it screamed. It was a high-pitched, ringing hum that vibrated in the marrow of her bones, threatening to drown out the memory of her own name.
Lyra reached out, her fingers clawing at the air, but she found no resistance. There was no floor, no ceiling, only a terrifying suspension in a vacuum that smelled of ancient dust and ozone. "Lucian?" she tried to call out, but the name was swallowed before it could even leave her lips. The darkness was a thief, stealing her voice, her sight, and slowly, her courage.
Then, a coldness far sharper than the Void's chill sliced through the air.
