The world was a blur of shadows and light. Lyra floated weightless, as if torn between two realms. Voices echoed—some distant, some close.
“Lyra…”
Her name again, softer this time, laced with sorrow.
She turned, and the forest unfolded around her, glowing under a silver moon. In the centre stood a woman draped in white, her auburn hair gleaming like fire, her green eyes hauntingly familiar.
Lyra’s breath caught. “Mother?”
The woman’s lips curved in a sad smile. “My brave little wolf.”
Tears stung Lyra’s eyes as she stumbled closer. “It’s you—it has to be you! What’s happening to me? Why do I see these things?”
The woman raised a trembling hand, cupping Lyra’s cheek. “Because your blood remembers what you have forgotten. You are Mooncrest’s heir. The rogues thought they destroyed us,
