The air shifted the moment Lyra crossed the threshold of the temple. Warm sunlight filtered weakly through the cracks in the canopy above, but inside, the light was swallowed by the oppressive shadows that clung to the ancient stone walls like spider silk. The entrance sealed behind them with a low rumble—stone grinding against stone—as though the forest itself had decided they were no longer visitors, but challengers.
A heavy silence pressed in on the group. No birdsong. No breeze. Only the sound of their footsteps echoing off the moss-covered floor, as if the temple were waiting… watching.
Eamon moved ahead cautiously, his sword drawn. The runes carved along its blade hummed faintly, reacting to the energy around them. "This place... it's not just a ruin," he muttered. "It's alive. Breathing. Remembering."
Mira ran her fingers along the wall, her lips pressed in concentration. "These carvings—this is pre-Eclipse magic. Older than the wars. Older than even the Shadow's Edge."
Lina let out a soft, bitter laugh. "Great. That just means whatever's down here has had centuries to get pissed off."
Despite her sarcasm, even Lina kept her blade close.
They pressed forward. The hallways were narrow and angular, designed not for comfort but for purpose. Symbols pulsed faintly on the walls—some glowing blue, others red, a few flickering as if reacting to the party's presence.
Lyra's orb pulsed in unison with the shifting colors, guiding her like a heartbeat. She felt something pulling her deeper—not malicious, not yet—but undeniably strong. The same force she had felt on the mountain, only now it was more focused, more… conscious.
As they turned a sharp corner, they found themselves standing before a vast chamber. Pillars soared into the darkness above, and a cracked mosaic sprawled across the floor, depicting winged beings locked in battle with monstrous shadows. At the center was a raised dais, upon which sat a pedestal—and on it, a blackened shard humming with dark energy.
"The Heart of the Rift," Mira whispered, awe and dread thick in her voice. "It's real."
Lyra approached slowly. Each step echoed like thunder. Her orb grew warmer in her palm, as if warning her… or preparing her.
She stopped a few feet from the shard. "This… this is where it began," she said softly. "The first breach. The first darkness."
Then came the voice again—disembodied, ancient, and solemn.
"You stand at the veins of the forgotten. You touch what the world chose to bury. What makes you think you are worthy to change fate?"
The floor beneath them rippled with arcane energy. Symbols along the walls blazed to life, and the entire temple seemed to inhale. The air grew heavy. Dense. Unforgiving.
Suddenly, from the shadows, they emerged.
Figures.
Not wholly human. Not entirely demon. Half-wreathed in smoke and fire, their faces were twisted echoes of the dead. Their eyes glowed like coals.
Wraiths of the ancient war.
They rushed forward, silent and swift.
Eamon reacted first, intercepting the nearest one with a swift slash. His blade bit into its ethereal form, scattering it into sparks. Mira unleashed a wave of warding magic, forcing several back. Lina roared and charged straight into the fray, her twin daggers a blur of flashing steel and burning fury.
Lyra stood frozen at the dais, the orb in her hand pulsing violently.
"Lyra!" Mira shouted. "The shard—it's reacting to you! Either destroy it or contain it—now!"
Lyra's heart thundered in her chest. She reached toward the shard, her fingertips just brushing the surface—
—And was pulled violently inward.
Her vision blackened. Her body stiffened. She fell.
She stood in a place of silence and flame.
The world was fractured around her—floating ruins suspended in midair, rivers of molten magic running through cracks in the sky. Above, a colossal winged figure hovered, its form shifting between angelic and monstrous. Its face—her face. Lyra's.
"No…"
The entity spoke in her voice. Cold. Distant. Measured.
"You are the storm and the stillness. The light and the shadow. You cannot seal what you carry within."
Lyra staggered back. "This… this isn't real. You're not me."
"But I am. I am every choice you feared to make. Every power you dared not use. You tasted the mountain's gift. You know what lies within your blood."
The figure raised a hand. Flames coiled around its fingers—silver, not red. Pure. Untamed. Angelic fire.
"You were chosen not to seal the darkness," it continued, "but to command it."
Lyra clenched her fists. "I won't let the darkness take me. I won't become what we're fighting."
The entity smiled, and the sky cracked with thunder.
"Then fight me."
Outside her mind, the battle raged.
Eamon was bleeding from a slash across his chest, barely standing. Mira's wards were flickering. Lina had run dry of breath and blades. The wraiths kept coming.
But then, the shard pulsed once—bright, blinding white—and Lyra rose.
Her eyes were glowing, her hair floating as if underwater. Magic swirled around her in a storm of golden and black flame. The orb cracked in her hand, its light merging with her aura.
The wraiths recoiled, hissing.
"Step back," she said, her voice layered with an ethereal undertone.
She raised her hand.
And the chamber erupted with light.
The wraiths screamed as they were torn apart by the arcane storm. The air became a hurricane of raw power, blowing out every torch and collapsing pillars in a cascade of dust and stone.
When the light faded, the chamber lay in ruin.
And Lyra knelt at the center, panting. Her eyes dimmed. The shard had vanished—consumed by her magic or sealed. She wasn't sure which.
Her friends rushed to her side.
"Are you alright?" Eamon asked, his voice hoarse.
She nodded weakly. "I… saw something. A piece of me I never knew existed."
"You channeled something we've never seen," Mira said, trying to hide the worry in her voice.
Lina stared at her silently. Then, simply: "You burned like a star."
Lyra met their eyes, the fear returning. "That power… it's not just light. It's everything. It's creation and destruction. If I lose control…"
"Then we'll stop you," Lina said. "Same way we'd expect you to stop us."
It was a grim promise. But it was enough.
Lyra stood again, slower this time. "The shard is gone… but the voice said something. That this wasn't the end. That I was part of this. That I carry it inside me."
Mira looked to the far wall, where a new path had opened. "Then we follow the trail. There's more than one shard. More than one truth."
Eamon placed a hand on Lyra's shoulder. "We're with you. Whatever this is… whatever you are… we face it together."
The four of them looked into the passage ahead. The shadows beyond seemed darker now—less like night, more like a waiting judgment. But their steps did not falter.
Behind them, the temple began to collapse, its purpose served.
Before them, destiny beckoned.
As they stepped into the corridor, Lyra whispered to herself.
"Not angels. Not demons. Just people… trying to hold the line."
And with that, they disappeared into the dark once more.