Chapter 6 Whispers of the Wind

The sun hung high over the palace, gilding the stone walls with its harsh, unflinching light. Prince Aerion was buried in the affairs of the kingdom, as always, receiving diplomats, reviewing petitions, and giving orders with a calm, meticulous precision that made everyone around him feel both safe and insignificant.

Lyra Thorn, meanwhile, had been waiting in the training yard for Cassian Ale. The rogue hadn't arrived yet. Apparently, the chaos of palace life even for someone like him, couldn't be escaped. She tapped her foot, checking the time.

Then, a messenger had found him first, dragging him away with a sense of urgency Lyra didn't like. He left her a note: "Wait. Don't get yourself into trouble without me. -C"

Trouble, of course, seemed to follow her everywhere.

Lyra was halfway down the marble corridor leading from the training yard to the outer gardens when a soft cry echoed from the alley beside the palace kitchens. Curious, and never able to ignore anyone in need-or anyone who looked like they might make a mess-Lyra slipped off the main path.

A young kitchen boy was pinned against the wall by a group of silver-eyed rats, oddly large and unnervingly silent. He held a tray of fresh bread and cheese, arms shaking, eyes wide.

"Lyra!" he gasped. "Please-help!"

Lyra's fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger at her belt. With a swift leap, she landed between the boy and the rats. The creatures hissed, their eyes glowing faintly as they circled her. But Lyra had dealt with worse. With a sharp swing of her dagger, she slashed at the nearest rat, sending it tumbling into the shadows.

The fight was barely over when the air shifted.

It wasn't the wind. It wasn't a smell. It was... something else.

A faint hum, like the whisper of silk across a polished floor, tickled her ears. The hairs on her arms rose. Lyra's pulse quickened-not in fear, exactly, but in recognition. She had felt this before, with the relic humming in her palm, calling, warning.

The shadows deepened around the alley. The rats recoiled, hissing and flattening their fur. A shimmer of movement appeared against the sunlit wall, bending light in unnatural ways, like heat waves above a desert. And then she saw it: a figure. Its form was barely human, fluid and flickering, as though painted in liquid shadow.

Before she could react, a line of energy shot toward her-not a bolt of lightning, not fire, but something that twisted the air itself, like strands of invisible silk snapping across her skin. The alley bent and rippled around the attack, and Lyra leapt to the side just in time. Her dagger caught the edge of the blast, and sparks of magic sizzled off the metal.

The figure advanced. She could see now its eyes-pale and hollow, yet filled with curiosity and malice at once. Its hand waved, and the air shimmered again, forming a ripple that struck the ground, twisting the cobblestones upward like a wave frozen in place. Lyra felt the ground beneath her heels shift, threatening to unbalance her.

This was not ordinary magic.

She gritted her teeth and whispered a curse under her breath. This was the kind of magic that came from the old world, the same sort of subtle, precise, twisting energy that the Ardent Kings had used to harness the relic's power. Too much, and it destroyed everything. Too little, and it could still kill.

Her fingers brushed the medallion hidden beneath her tunic. The relic pulsed sharply, sending a warmth up her arm, as if encouraging her. Instinctively, she raised her dagger, letting the relic's power hum along the blade.

The shadow lunged again, tendrils of distorted air lashing out like whips. Lyra dodged, rolling forward, then spun to slash the dagger through the nearest tendril. The energy hissed and recoiled, dissipating into faint sparks that vanished into the sunlight.

She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. The figure was patient, testing her, teasing her, gauging her reflexes. She realized that it wasn't trying to kill immediately-it wanted to probe her, to see what the relic might allow her to do.

Another attack came, subtler this time-a wave that twisted her vision, bending the alley around her. Lyra gritted her teeth, letting her training and instincts take over. With a swift roll and a kick that sent a stack of crates flying into the shadow, she created enough space to think.

This is the first test, she realized. It's not just about surviving-it's about understanding what the relic will allow me to control.

Her dagger hummed now with a resonance she could feel in her chest. Carefully, she extended her hand, letting a thin, golden shimmer of energy snake along the blade toward the shadow. The air thickened, vibrating against her fingers, and for the first time, the figure recoiled.

It hissed-or maybe it laughed-and for a moment, its fluid form flickered. Lyra seized the opening, lunging forward, dagger slicing through one of the energy tendrils. The figure's advance faltered. Then, with a sharp motion, it dissipated into a whirl of shadows, retreating down a side alley as if it had never been there.

Lyra sank to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The medallion's hum slowed, and the warmth faded, leaving her with a shiver of exhaustion.

Behind her, soft footsteps echoed. She didn't turn immediately. She already knew who it was.

Cassian Ale emerged from the shadows, hair disheveled, eyes dark with concern-and something else. Surprise. Admiration. Perhaps a little frustration that she had survived without him.

"You really can't help yourself, can you?" he said, voice low, brushing past her to check the crates scattered across the alley. "Do you always run toward danger?"

Lyra exhaled, letting herself lean back against the wall. "Someone had to help the kid. And... I may have encountered... a problem."

Cassian's gaze narrowed as he followed her hand to the faint scorch marks along the ground, the curling traces of twisted magic. "A problem?" His voice was sharper now, carrying warning. "That wasn't a problem. That was a warning. Someone-something-just tested you."

Lyra swallowed. "And I... survived."

Cassian smirked faintly, though his eyes were still cautious. "Barely. Next time, you wait for me."

Before she could reply, the alley grew unnaturally cold, and the medallion pulsed again-a soft, insistent warning. Lyra's stomach dropped. Whatever had attacked her was far from finished. This had been just the first strike. A whisper of what was coming.

And she knew, deep down, that the shadow had not attacked by accident.

Somewhere in the city-or beyond it-something ancient was awakening. Something that would not stop until it had either the relic or her.

Lyra's grip on her dagger tightened. The game had changed.

And this time, there would be no running.