It's been a while they've been here, taken along with the relics.
So all she could do was count them.
"One-fifty-nine… one-sixty… one-sixty-one…" Lyra muttered, her voice echoing softly into the void.
Each relic she counted hovered for a moment in the air before vanishing into an invisible tally. Her brow was furrowed, tongue pressed against her upper lip in exaggerated focus.
"…One-sixty-two!" She raised her arms triumphantly, grinning at the empty air. "That's all of them! One hundred and sixty-two glorious little trophies. Not like it matters—since, y'know, everyone else in the tournament is dead."
She spun around theatrically, expecting laughter.
Only silence greeted her.
She blinked, finally rembering the complete absence of sound or motion beyond herself and Caelen.
The air felt… heavy. Not exactly suffocating, but unnaturally still—like a breath between two heartbeats that never ends.
