The first thing Lyra noticed was the warmth.
Unlike the damp chill Kael had felt, the air here was soft and golden, carrying the scent of wildflowers and distant rain. She blinked against the light as the mist faded behind her like a curtain being drawn away.
She stood alone in a vast, open field. Rolling hills stretched in all directions, carpeted with violet grass that shimmered under the strange sun above. The sky wasn't quite blue, but a pale silver — calm, unnatural, and hauntingly beautiful.
At the far end of the field stood a castle.
It was ancient — its stone towers cracked and weathered, ivy growing like veins across its bones. Parts of it had collapsed, leaving jagged silhouettes against the horizon. And yet, it stood. Watching. Waiting.
Lyra's breath caught in her throat. The castle didn't scare her exactly — but it felt… aware.
Still, she stepped forward.
Kael…where are you? she thought, clutching the pendant around her neck. A gift from their mother. The only thing she had left.
Her steps were light, careful. The field was eerily silent — no birds, no wind, not even the sound of her footsteps seemed to carry.
As she walked, she felt the warmth shift. Slowly, the comforting heat gave way to a stifling heaviness, like she had walked into a memory not her own. Images flickered across her mind—ruined halls, voices screaming, children laughing. A vision of the castle in its prime.
She shook it off, setting her jaw.
Dont get distracted.
Up close, the castle loomed like a slumbering beast. Its great gates were wide open, dark within. Something inside called to her—not a voice, but a pull, like gravity. It wanted her to enter. Needed her to.
"Okay, Lyra," she whispered to herself, trying to sound braver than she felt. "One step at a time."
She crossed the threshold.
Inside, the castle was a mess of fallen stones and shadowed corridors. Dust floated in the sunlight beaming through broken ceilings. But even here, the silence was total. No creak of wood. No scurry of rats. Just… emptiness.
She explored slowly, her hand trailing the walls.
Then she heard it.
A soft hum.
Faint, melodic — like a lullaby sung through tears.
She followed it deeper into the ruins until she found the source.
In the center of a collapsed ballroom, lying untouched on a pedestal of vine-choked marble, was a shard. It glowed faintly, like moonlight caught in glass.
The shard pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
Her feet moved on their own.
But as she approached, something shifted.
The melody twisted.
The warmth returned—but this time it felt wrong, like a smile stretched too wide.
From the shadows above, something stirred