The moon hung full and unforgiving above the Kingdom of Virelyn, washing spired towers and ancient streets in silver. Nights like this were never quiet. People said the veil thinned when the moon climbed so high. Old things listened. Old promises stirred.
Lyra crossed the inner courtyard with her hood drawn low, her steps measured, her pulse loud in her ears.
Come alone.
The message had been brief. No seal. No explanation. But it had carried the weight of command all the same. A king's request was never just a request.
The air around her shimmered faintly, like something unseen shifting too close to the skin. She ignored it. She always did. Acknowledging it only made things worse.
Stone arches rose above her, carved with runes older than Virelyn itself. Dead magic, they said. Decorative relics.
As she passed beneath them, the runes flickered to life.
Lyra stopped.
The glow was soft, almost hesitant, as if the stone itself were waking. Her chest tightened. That had never happened before. Not once.
She curled her fingers into her palms until the light faded. "Don't," she whispered under her breath. "Not now."
A lie. And she knew it.
Steel whispered behind her.
"Don't," Lyra said calmly, without turning. "If you were here to kill me, I wouldn't be standing."
A pause. Then footsteps.
She turned.
The man was hooded, lean, eyes sharp with a predator's patience. A dagger rested in his hand, half-drawn, uncertain.
"You walk like someone who expects trouble," he said. "That usually means trouble follows."
Lyra met his gaze. "I was summoned."
Something flickered in his eyes at that. Recognition, maybe. Or annoyance.
"Kael."
The voice cut cleanly through the courtyard.
The man stiffened.
A woman stepped into view clad in silver armor etched with the royal crest. Blue magic hummed faintly along the edge of her longsword. Captain Elowen of the Royal Guard.
"She's expected," Elowen said. "Stand down."
Kael slid the dagger back into its sheath, slow and reluctant. "Then tell His Majesty," he muttered, eyes lingering on Lyra, "that the shadows aren't waiting anymore."
"I'll tell him myself," Elowen replied.
Kael vanished into the dark like smoke.
Elowen turned to Lyra. "You were told to come alone."
"I did."
"You're late."
Lyra exhaled sharply. "I wasn't given a time."
A ghost of a smile tugged at Elowen's mouth before discipline took over. "You have nerve."
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
Before Elowen could respond, the air shifted.
The courtyard seemed to bend inward, as if acknowledging something greater than stone or steel.
Footsteps echoed from the grand stairway. Slow. Certain.
Lyra felt him before she saw him.
King Alaric of Virelyn descended in black armor traced with silver filigree, his cloak dark and heavy behind him. His crown was sharp, severe. His presence pressed against her like the edge of a storm.
He stopped a few paces away.
"You may go," he said to Elowen, without looking at her.
Elowen hesitated, then bowed and withdrew, casting Lyra one final, warning glance.
They were alone.
The king studied her, not with curiosity, but assessment. As if he were comparing her to something long imagined.
"You came," he said.
Lyra swallowed. "Your message didn't leave much room for refusal."
"No," he agreed quietly. "It wasn't meant to."
Moonlight flared behind him, outlining his form in silver and shadow. His gaze dropped—briefly, precisely—to her wrist.
The sigil awakened.
Light pulsed beneath her skin, answering the runes carved into the stone around them. Lyra sucked in a breath.
"There it is," the king murmured.
Her heart slammed. "You knew."
"I suspected."
"You summoned me for this?" She lifted her wrist, anger threading through the fear. "For something I don't even understand?"
His eyes finally met hers. Cold. Ancient. Certain.
"I summoned you because my kingdom is breaking," he said. "And because only your kind can hear the cracks."
"My kind?" Her voice shook despite her effort. "I'm human."
A pause. Then, softly: "No."
The word landed heavier than any shout.
"What am I, then?" she demanded.
He straightened, every inch the ruler once more. "You are a sorceress bound to old magic this kingdom buried and pretended was dead."
The sigil flared brighter, burning now.
"And you," he continued, "are the reason it's waking."
From the shadows beyond the arches, unseen eyes watched. Kael's warning echoed in her mind.
The shadows were moving.
And the moon, ancient and merciless, bore witness to the moment everything began to unravel.