The morning light did not gently wake the Obsidian Spire; it struck the violet-veined obsidian walls like a physical blow. Inside the royal bedchamber, the air was still heavy with the scent of sandalwood and the lingering static of the Void.
Lyra stirred against Lucian's chest, her skin humming with a new, permanent resonance. The Amethyst Crown mark wasn't just a brand anymore; it felt like a part of her heartbeat. Beside her, Lucian was already awake, his eyes fixed on the heavy oak doors with a lethal stillness.
"They're coming," he whispered, his voice a low vibration against her hair.
"Who?" Lyra asked, her voice raspy.
"Everyone," Lucian replied.
Before Lyra could pull the ruined black silks around her, the doors didn't just open—they were dissolved. A wave of sterile, white light washed into the room, clashing violently with the deep purple energy that now lived in the stone.
