The camp was quieter now, though the tension lingered in the air like a storm that hadn’t fully passed. Rebels moved about cautiously, tending to the wounded and repairing what they could after the attack. Smoke from the extinguished fires still curled into the dark sky, and the once-organized camp now looked like a battlefield.

Lyra sat near the edge of the clearing, her staff balanced across her knees. She felt the weight of the magic coursing through her, the raw energy she had unleashed still buzzing in her veins. It wasn’t just the power that frightened her—it was how natural it had felt. For a moment, she hadn’t been Lyra at all. She’d been Eira, in every sense of the word.

Across the clearing, Kael stood near a makeshift infirmary, his sharp voice cutting through the hushed murmurs of the rebels. Lyra couldn’t hear what he was saying, but his rigid stance and the way he gestured toward her made it obvious she was the topic of conversation.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Calen said, dropping down beside her.

Lyra startled, gripping her staff tighter. She hadn’t even heard him approach. “Maybe I have.”

Calen leaned back, resting his arms on his knees. “Kael’s not thrilled with you, if that wasn’t obvious.”

Lyra’s gaze flicked to the dark-haired rebel leader. “He doesn’t trust me.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” Calen replied. “But he’s not wrong to be cautious.”

She frowned, turning the staff over in her hands. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just… reacted.”

“You’re still learning,” Calen said, his tone softer. “But that kind of power… it scares people. Especially people like Kael.”

Lyra let out a frustrated sigh. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to wake up in this body or to have everyone think I’m someone I’m not.”

Calen studied her for a moment before speaking. “You may not be Eira, but you’re carrying her legacy. Whether you like it or not, people will see you as her. And that comes with expectations.”

“What kind of expectations?” Lyra asked, her voice rising slightly. “To destroy everything? To be the villain in their stories?”

“Maybe,” Calen admitted. “Or maybe to fix what she broke.”

Before Lyra could respond, raised voices drew her attention. Near the center of the camp, Kael stood with a group of rebels, his tone sharp and commanding.

“We can’t trust her!” Kael’s voice rang out, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You all saw what she did tonight. She’s a danger to us and everything we’ve built.”

“And what do you suggest we do?” one of the rebels shot back. “Hand her over to the Council?”

Kael’s jaw tightened. “If it keeps this camp safe, then yes.”

Lyra felt her chest tighten, her grip on the staff turning her knuckles white. She stood, ready to defend herself, but Calen placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Wait,” he said quietly. “Let me handle this.”

He rose and strode toward the group, his calm presence cutting through the tension. “Kael, you’re not thinking clearly.”

Kael turned on him, his dark eyes blazing. “I’m thinking about survival, Calen. Something you should consider.”

“And throwing her to the Council will help us how?” Calen asked, his tone measured. “They’ll kill her and come after us anyway. You know how they operate. They’ll wipe out anyone who’s even looked at her.”

Kael hesitated, the muscles in his jaw working as he processed Calen’s words. “She’s a risk we can’t afford.”

“She’s also the only one who can help us fight them,” Calen countered. “You saw what she did tonight. That kind of power could tip the scales in our favor.”

Lyra felt every eye in the camp turn toward her. The weight of their stares was suffocating, but she forced herself to stand tall.

“What do you think?” Kael asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. “That you can control this? That you won’t destroy us like she did?”

Lyra stepped forward, meeting his gaze. “I don’t know. But I’m willing to try.”

Kael didn’t look convinced, but before he could respond, a rebel came running into the clearing. “The prisoner is awake.”

Kael’s attention snapped to the newcomer. “Let’s go.”

The group moved toward a small tent at the edge of the camp. Inside, the captured attacker from earlier was tied to a wooden chair, his face bruised but defiant. Kael stepped in front of him, his imposing figure casting a long shadow over the man.

“Who sent you?” Kael demanded.

The attacker smirked, blood staining his teeth. “You already know the answer.”

“The Council,” Kael said, his voice cold. “Why now? Why attack this camp?”

The man chuckled, a low, raspy sound. “You’ve been a thorn in their side for too long. But she”—his eyes flicked to Lyra—“she made you a priority.”

Lyra stiffened. “I’m not Eira.”

The attacker’s smile widened. “Tell that to them. They know she’s alive, or at least something close enough to her. And they’ll stop at nothing to erase her again.”

Kael grabbed the man by the front of his cloak, pulling him closer. “What does the Council want?”

“Control,” the man spat. “They always want control. And if you think you’re safe here, you’re a fool. They’ll come for you. All of you.”

Kael shoved him back into the chair, his expression dark. “We’ll see about that.”

The attacker laughed, even as blood dripped from his mouth. “You’re already dead. You just don’t know it yet.”

Kael turned and stormed out of the tent, his frustration radiating off him. Lyra lingered for a moment, her mind spinning with the prisoner’s words.

“You brought this on us,” Kael said when she caught up to him outside. His tone was quiet, but the weight of his accusation hit her like a blow.

Lyra swallowed hard. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Kael stopped, turning to face her. “Maybe not. But if you want to stay, you’d better figure out what side you’re on.”

He left her standing there, the weight of his words heavy on her shoulders. Lyra glanced at Calen, who gave her a small, reassuring nod.

“You’re not alone,” he said quietly.

Lyra nodded, though she didn’t feel reassured. The lines were being drawn, and she wasn’t sure where she fit in. But one thing was clear: the Council wasn’t going to stop, and neither was she.