Lyra's POV
The forest had changed since the ritual.
Every step Lyra took along the Riverbend training grounds felt heavier, as though the very earth was still recovering from the magic that had been unleashed beneath the blood-red moons. The trees no longer whispered in familiar tones their murmurs had turned cautious, their silence deeper. Even the air carried a faint metallic taste, the residue of blood and power.
Three days.
Three endless days since Kaelan had left for Ironclaw.
Lyra inhaled, forcing her body into motion again. Sweat gathered at her brow as she pivoted, blocking Elias's strike with her staff. The wooden rods cracked together with sharp precision, the echo bouncing off the clearing.
"Faster!" Elias barked, though his grin betrayed him.
Lyra spun, disarming him with a clean sweep that sent his staff tumbling to the dirt. "You're slowing down," she said, breath steady, teasing but tired.
