LYRA!

A loud, nightmarish voice, hoarse and broken, shouted her name. Her eyes flew open, and she jolted upright inside her dark shelter.

For a moment, she couldn’t tell where she was.

Her heart was pounding so hard it hurt. She could feel it beating at her temples, heavy and relentless, as though it were pressing outward from inside her skull.

Her chest rose and fell sharply, without rhythm.

A nightmare.

The thought startled her.

She had not had a nightmare in years.

She lifted a hand and wiped the sweat from her cold forehead. She drew in a deep breath, trying to regain control, to find her rhythm again.

Her throat burned. Her mouth was dry.

Water.

She reached for the bag she was using as a pillow and found her flask.

She brought it to her lips, but nothing came.

It was empty.

She let out a breath and remained still for a moment.

She did not think much of it. She rose and slipped out from behind the fabric partition, careful not to make a sound.

The knights were sleeping peacefully around the fire. Their breathing was heavy and steady.

The flames burned low, but they still kept the circle of light alive. The torches around them flickered, casting unsteady shadows across the tree trunks.

A little farther away, she saw him seated on a half-collapsed stone column. His body looked relaxed, but his gaze was fixed on the forest.

Valir remained motionless like a statue forgotten by time.

Lyra stood there for a moment and watched him.

She glanced at the flask in her hand, then toward the darkness behind her.

She did not want to disturb him.

The river was very close, only a few steps beyond the circle of light.

How dangerous could it be?

So she moved quietly forward, leaving the warmth of the fire behind.

The darkness wrapped around her almost at once, the moment she passed the line of trees.

The fog near the riverbank was thicker.

It clung to her skin, damp and cold, making every breath feel heavier.

The ground was soft beneath her feet. Every step sounded louder than it should have. Dry fallen leaves crumbled beneath her boots.

When she reached the rocks along the bank, she glanced back. Through the leaves, the orange glow of their camp was visible, but it did not reach this far.

She knelt beside the water in a hurry and lowered her flask into the current.

The cold bit into her fingers immediately. She remained there, looking around and listening carefully while she waited for the empty container to fill.

The sound of the water was clearer here. Steady. Almost soothing.

She lifted the flask to her lips and took a quick, deep sip, welcoming the icy rush down her parched throat. She sighed. 

Her head still felt heavy. 

She bent down and splashed a little water onto her face. The cold struck her sharply, but it helped clear her head, chasing away the last traces of the nightmare.

And then she noticed that something was wrong.

The river continued flowing before her, water slipping over the stones in the same steady rhythm, and yet there was no sound.

As though the forest had withdrawn, leaving the space around her stripped of noise and life.

Lyra remained kneeling, her hands still half-submerged in the water, without realizing it. She had frozen in place.

She lifted her gaze, looking around uneasily.

The opposite bank was half-hidden in the mist. An unnatural mist, gathering and twisting low between the trees. It was as though something was there, disturbing it, something Lyra could not clearly make out. For a moment, she thought it was a trick of the light, an error of her eyes in the darkness, but the feeling did not fade.

That tightness in her stomach.

The hairs at the back of her neck had risen.

Something pulled at her, urging her to look harder, deeper. She stood to see better.

And then she saw it.

The darkness itself seemed to have peeled away from the tree trunks and begun to move. To spread, then gather back into itself in a way that obeyed no logic.

It had no clear edges. No shape she could truly distinguish.

And yet something was there.

A presence.

Lyra felt her heart rise into her throat. Without realizing it, she held her breath.

The shadow began to rise slowly, as though lifting itself out of the very air. At first, it resembled smoke, something shapeless and fluid. The more it gathered, the more it took form.

It was tall.

Unnaturally tall.

Her body had understood before her mind did that what she was seeing was not merely dangerous.

She could not breathe properly.

There was no face. No eyes.

And yet she felt it watching her.

It was a cold sensation spreading through her body, winding around her chest, and pressing the air from her lungs.

It was not fear as she knew it. It was something deeper, more primal. Something that made her feel small and alien in the very space beneath her feet.

And then, without warning, the figure moved.

It did not walk.

It unraveled.

For a fraction of a second, it was nothing but formless darkness spilling between the tree trunks, gliding through the trees and bushes without truly touching them, and before she could process it, it was closer.

Across from her.

Almost at the riverbank.

The distance between them had vanished.

Lyra felt her body react violently, a wave of terror cutting through her before a single thought could form. She took half a step back, trembling. Her gaze remained locked on the figure.

Run.

Move.

She kept telling herself again and again. But her legs would not obey.

She was rooted to the spot.

And then she heard the voice from the nightmare again, the one that had shaken her so deeply. Heavy. Cold. Absolute.

YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE.

It did not sound around her. It was not a voice coming from the opposite bank.

No.

It was as though it had been spoken inside her own mind, carved directly into her thoughts.

OURS.

And then everything around her disappeared. There was no forest. No river. She looked behind her. Not even the campfire was visible anymore. She saw nothing.

Only darkness.

Darkness, silence, and the sensation that she was sinking underwater, slowly. Without breath. Her body went numb.

A small sob escaped her lips. In the middle of her panic, she could not even find her voice. Her mind burned.

What is happening?

Her body pulled backward in a desperate attempt to get away, but her foot slipped, and her balance vanished in an instant.

The world tilted backward.

No! No! No!

Before she could fall, two hands caught her around the waist.

She reacted to the touch at once. She jerked upright in panic, trying to pull away from whatever had touched her.

Terror burst through her as she turned, ready to fight, to escape. She wanted to scream, but only a muffled, breathless sound left her lips. She could not see anything.

In her panic, she thrashed blindly. Her hands struck at the air without even looking ahead of her. All she wanted was to get away, to run, to put as much distance as she could between herself and whatever was there.

“Lyra! Lyra!”

She heard a familiar voice calling her name. Sharp. Firm.

“What happened? It’s me.”

The familiarity of his voice seemed to bring her back to her senses.

Everything around her began to return. Her vision cleared. She snapped her head up, her eyes trying to focus through the chaos of panic.

“V… Valir…” Her entire body was trembling.

His eyes were fixed on her face.

“I’m here.”

He was holding her firmly by the arms now, steadying her while she still struggled weakly to free herself. Her hands hovered in the air for a moment before striking his chest.

He was in front of her. She was not alone now. She could see again.

“Val…ir.” Her voice broke uncontrollably. Her breathing was still uneven.

Her body moved instinctively toward his, pressing against him as though trying to escape from something she could no longer see.

“Th… There’s something… there… the bank… a shadow…” The words came out with difficulty, through sobs and broken breaths.

He lifted his gaze toward the opposite bank.

There was nothing there.

Only trees, darkness, and fog.

“Whatever it was, it’s gone,” he said calmly. “Are you all right?”

Lyra did not answer right away. Her body was slowly beginning to recover, the numbness receding and leaving behind uncontrollable trembling.

Her breath was still struggling to find its rhythm. She could not speak. She only turned fearfully and looked toward the opposite bank.

There was nothing there.

“Lyra.”

This time, his voice was steadier.

She turned back to him.

Her hands had tightened around his cloak. She was gripping it so hard that her knuckles had gone white. Her gaze was still shaken.

He let out a slow breath and wrapped his arms around her. His touch was warm, comforting.

His warmth rushed through her sharply, almost painfully, after the frozen grip of terror.

Only then did her trembling begin to ease, and she realized how close she was to him.

Her cheeks burned. Panic flared inside her again. For an entirely different reason this time.

She let go of his cloak hesitantly, and her hands slipped lower without thinking, finding support on his forearms.

He did not release her immediately. He held her for another moment, making sure she could stand on her own before loosening his grip.

“Do you feel better now?” His voice was low, calm.

She still could not trust her voice. She just nodded.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Water…” she whispered. “I was thirsty… There wasn’t any…” Her voice was still uncertain, unsteady. Her thoughts came out tangled. She stopped and drew in a deep breath.

Her gaze drifted back toward the bank.

“You should have told me.” 

Her shoulders tensed again. 

“Do not leave on your own again,” he said, his voice low. “The forest is dangerous, even for the most experienced among us.”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry.” She looked back at his face. “I… won’t do it again.” Her voice was a whisper. His expression softened. She took half a step back, only to lose her balance and lean against him again.

“We should go back. Can you walk?”

“S… Sorry!” she said, carefully pulling away from him. “Let’s go back… yes…” she stammered, stepping forward. Her movements were clumsy, as though her legs had forgotten how they were meant to work.

He followed calmly half a step behind her. It was as though he had placed himself between her and the darkness of the forest.

When they reached her temporary shelter, he handed her the flask. It had slipped from her hand in her panic, falling to the ground beside the river.

Before they turned back, Valir had seen it and picked it up.

“Be careful with your things…” It was not quite a reprimand. His tone was reassuring.

Lyra nodded.

“Try to sleep. I’ll keep watch.” He had the same familiar, steady posture as always, but his eyes seemed troubled.

“Thank you…” She paused. “For everything.” Her voice came out like a whisper before she turned and disappeared behind the fabric.

The moment she was alone, she collapsed to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest, and let out a deep breath.

She wrapped her cloak tightly around her body and leaned her back against the frozen rock of the cave behind her.

She could not lie down.

From outside, she could hear the river, the low crackle of the fire, and, closer than before, Valir’s footsteps moving slowly in front of her makeshift shelter.

Behind the stretched fabric, his shadow was faintly outlined by the firelight.

Then his footsteps stopped.

He sat a little way in front of her shelter.

Lyra remained motionless, her breath half-held, staring at his dark silhouette as though she feared that if she moved, it would disappear.

His presence there gave her a sense of safety.

And something else.

Something quieter. Warmer.

Something she was not ready to face yet.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, but sleep did not return that night.

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