The air was thick with smoke, heat licking at Lyra’s skin as the camp erupted into chaos. Shadows darted through the trees, their movements too quick and purposeful to be anything but an ambush. The fire crackled, consuming tents and casting eerie orange light over the scene.

Lyra gripped her staff tightly, her heart pounding. This wasn’t like the scavengers—these attackers moved with precision, their black cloaks blending with the night. She spotted Kael in the distance, commanding his rebels as they fought back. His sword moved in a deadly rhythm, cutting down anyone who got too close.

“Stay close to me!” Calen barked, appearing at her side. His daggers gleamed in his hands, and his eyes scanned the battlefield with practiced ease.

Lyra barely had time to respond before an attacker lunged at her. She raised her staff, the blue energy crackling as it formed a protective barrier. The impact sent her stumbling back, but the magic held strong, knocking her assailant to the ground.

Her hands trembled, but she forced herself to stand firm. “I can fight,” she said, more to herself than to Calen.

He gave her a quick glance. “Then do it.”

The battle raged on around her, and Lyra focused on defending herself. Each time she raised her staff, the magic came more easily, responding to her instincts. It felt natural, like an extension of herself. Or maybe… of Eira.

She didn’t have time to dwell on the thought. Another attacker charged at her, their hands glowing with red magic. Lyra countered with a blast of her own, the blue light colliding with theirs in an explosion that shook the ground. The attacker was thrown back, but the force of the impact sent Lyra to her knees.

A sharp, painful memory surged through her mind—a grand hall filled with people wearing black cloaks, their hands raised in defiance. She saw herself—or rather, Eira—standing tall, betrayed by those she had once trusted.

The vision left her breathless, her grip on the staff slipping. “No… not now…” she whispered, clutching her head.

“Lyra!” Calen’s voice cut through the haze. He pulled her to her feet just as another wave of attackers swarmed in.

Desperation fueled her next move. Lyra raised her staff, letting the magic surge through her unchecked. A blinding burst of blue light erupted, throwing the attackers back and silencing the battlefield. For a moment, everything was still.

When the light faded, the damage became clear. The attackers were either unconscious or retreating, but the camp wasn’t unscathed. Several rebels lay injured, their bodies sprawled near the glowing remnants of Lyra’s attack.

Kael stormed toward her, his face a mask of anger. “What did you do?”

Lyra stumbled back, the weight of the staff suddenly unbearable. “I—I didn’t mean to…”

“You could’ve killed us!” Kael shouted, gesturing to the injured rebels. “You’re more dangerous than they are!”

“Kael,” Calen said firmly, stepping between them. “She was defending herself. And all of us.”

Kael’s glare didn’t soften. “That doesn’t make her any less of a threat.”

Before Lyra could respond, one of the attackers groaned, drawing their attention. Kael stalked over to him, grabbing him by the front of his cloak and dragging him upright.

“Who sent you?” Kael demanded, his voice low and sharp.

The attacker smirked, blood staining his teeth. “The Council knows. They know she’s alive.”

Kael’s grip tightened. “Alive? Who?”

The man’s eyes flicked to Lyra, his smirk widening. “Eira.”

Lyra’s stomach twisted. She wanted to deny it, to shout that she wasn’t Eira, but the words stuck in her throat. The attacker coughed, blood spilling from his mouth as he choked out his final words.

“They’ll come for you.”

The camp fell silent as the attacker slumped lifelessly in Kael’s grip. He let the body drop and turned to Lyra, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve brought this on us,” he said quietly.