The northern valley still breathed in silence. Traces of winter clung to every shadow, each one carrying the faint memory of the fallen Ordo Arcanis. The air tasted of burnt metal and dying magic, and from afar, the collapsed tower rose like a bone jutting from the earth.
Lyra stood at the edge of the ravine, staring at what was once her home. There were no bells, no chants echoing through the air, no blue wards lighting the sky—only stillness. Her hand trembled as she touched the silver mark circling her wrist. It pulsed faintly, as if it still lived.
"It's over," she whispered. "It's all over." She pressed her palms against her face, trembling in frustration. For the second time in her life, tragedy had devoured everything she loved.
But something within the bracelet stirred—a breath against her skin.
"No, Lyra. This is only the beginning."
She froze, eyes shut tight, forcing the voice back. She knew it too well—the same whisper that had risen amid the fire and the screams, when Seren had dragged her out of the ritual chamber. Since that night, it had never left.
The morning sky shimmered with a dull silver as Lyra began her descent into the valley.
Each step crunched through thawing snow. Mist hung low, wrapping the world in a quiet shroud. She didn't know where to go—only that the South meant life, and beyond the mountains, Aetheris waited.
The wind tugged at her cloak, turning her into a shadow dissolving among dead trees.
On her shoulder hung a small satchel: a little food, fragments of broken crystals, and Seren's half-burnt notebook.
She turned to a surviving page, words scrawled in hurried ink.
"From the ashes of ruin, a new light is born. But not all light descends from heaven."
The words struck deep. On another page, she found a note—an old record about Aetheris.
"Aetheris, one of the oldest cities of magic. There, Resonance was first woven into form. If the world still holds a pulse, it hides there."
That line became her compass. Days blurred into nights. Lyra learned to measure time by the color of the sky. When the sun bent west, she sought shelter beneath stone and root, lighting a small fire that offered no warmth to her heart.
Then the voice came again.
"Cold?"
Lyra sighed. "I don't need company from under my own skin."
"I'm no companion. I'm part of you."
"Then I reject that part."
"You can silence a voice, but not an echo. I am the echo of something older than you, Lyra."
Her gaze fell on the bracelet—its surface flickered with a pale blue sheen, like eyes she once knew.
"Seren…" she whispered. But the image faded like mist, leaving her hollow. For a fleeting moment, Lyra thought she would rather be consumed by darkness than by this unbearable loneliness.
꧁𓆩༺✧༻𓆪꧂
Two days passed. The world began to shift. Snow melted into rivers that cut through the stones, and Lyra followed the current—because water always led to life.
Sometimes she found remnants of others: old campfires, torn cloth, the clean bones of beasts. The outside world wasn't the sanctuary the magisters had promised. She had to learn to survive.
"Ugh," she grimaced, chewing bitter roots, wild berries, and sometimes nothing but melted snow in her palm. She was truly starting from nothing.
On the third night, rain fell. The moon's silver glow washed the world into a dream of frost. Lyra ran through the forest until she found a cave beneath a cliff, damp and half-covered in moss.
Inside, she built a small fire and leaned against the stone wall. Water dripped rhythmically from above, a lonely cadence. She stared at the flame, waiting—though she didn't know for what. Then the fire flickered.
"Lyra." The voice again—clearer, deeper. Inside her mind now.
"I'm tired of talking to you," she muttered.
"You shouldn't resist your calling."
"My calling? I just lost everything. What's left to answer?"
"Destiny doesn't end with loss. It's born from it."
The voice almost laughed—softly, mournfully. As if it knew her pain.
"Who are you, really?" Lyra asked quietly.
Silence. Then a low echo from within the bracelet.
"Erebus. Remember my name."
"Pretty name for an annoying voice," she retorted.
"I am more than a voice, Lyra Veynhart. I am what kept you alive that night."
Her heart stilled. There was truth in that—she didn't remember how she survived the fall of the Ordo. Only light, Seren's scream, and then darkness. Perhaps it was this voice that called her back.
"What do you want from me, Erebus?"
"To guide you."
"From where? Why me? Why now?"
No answer. Only the sound of dripping water.
Lyra sighed, exhausted. "Fine. Then explain it later."
She closed her eyes and let the cold sink into her skin.
By the fourth morning, the forest thinned into a wide, silver-green plain. Beyond the mist, mountains pierced the sky—and beyond them, Aetheris waited.
But the world was not empty. From the brush stepped a white creature, slender like a deer, with eyes of glowing blue. It bowed its head gently. Lyra approached, cautious, hand outstretched. The creature didn't flee—it simply touched her fingertips with a warm tongue, then turned east and vanished.
For the first time since the fall, Lyra smiled. The world still held life—fragile, but real.
"I won't let their darkness take this from me," she murmured.
That spark of resolve burned quietly within her. By dusk, she climbed a narrow ridge.
The sky opened before her, an endless valley painted in hues of blue and green, rivers glimmering like silver threads, and far in the distance—shrouded in white mist—stood a great crystal spire, crowned in gold light.
"Is that… Aetheris?" she breathed.
Her heart pounded. She didn't know if salvation or another curse awaited her there—but the world itself seemed to call her onward. Lyra tightened her grip on the silver band around her wrist.
"Whatever lies ahead… I'll face it. Even if I'm alone."
"You are not alone, Lyra. I am with you."
Silence lingered between them, filled only by the sound of wind and distant rivers. Then the bracelet pulsed violently.
Symbols flared—circles of silver forming the shape of a closed eye, traced with three faint cracks. Lyra froze. She recognized it. The same mark that sealed the forbidden chamber of the Ordo.
"Erebus… what is this?"
"A warning," he replied. "You're approaching something older than Aetheris."
"But this is the path to the city—"
"And the path to the awakening of the Veil."
Lyra swallowed hard. The world ahead felt vast, alive, and colder than ever. But she didn't stop. She descended toward the valley of light, toward Aetheris. The wind whispered faintly behind her.
"Lyra Veynhart… last bearer of the Echo. We await you."
Lyra didn't care what awaited her there. She had made her choice—no more running, no more hiding. She had already lost everything worth fearing for, her mother, her friends, her home, and the one who was like a father to her. What else was there to fear?
꧁𓆩༺✧༻𓆪꧂