The girl lowered her hand.
The glass throne behind her no longer pulsed—it shimmered quietly, like a lake undisturbed. Kael dropped to one knee, sweat dripping from his brow, blade falling from limp fingers. Lyra stood between them, her wings half-folded, breath shallow but steady.
For a moment, the silence felt final.As if the story had ended.As if peace had returned.
Then Lyra's eyes were pulled skyward.
The rift—once sealed—had cracked again.
But not from chaos.
From something else.Something watching.
And there it was.
A smile.Shaped not by lips, but by space itself bending.An upward curve formed by inverted stars, floating where no stars should be.
Kael looked up and whispered, "...That's not the First Shadow."
The girl—still glowing—nodded solemnly. "No. That's the one who wrote the First Shadow's name."
Lyra's thoughts spun like leaves caught in a vortex.
She had survived death three times.Challenged her mother.Broken the throne.Forged a new one.
