Chapter Seven
The Harbinger’s Name
The sky split with a sound like shattering bone.
Lightning forked through the Hollow of Ancients, not white or gold, but violet. It flickered through the ancient trees, illuminating gnarled roots and runes carved centuries before Lyra had even drawn breath. The air thrummed with power — old, primal, and angry.
Kael stepped in front of her as the creature rose.
It was not born of this world.
Seven feet tall, cloaked in a shifting veil of shadows that moved like smoke, the Harbinger had no true face — just the impression of bone where a skull should be, and ember-lit sockets that burned brighter than any fire Lyra had ever seen.
“Lyra,” it said again. The voice was not a sound but a vibration. It rattled her bones, made the mark on her stomach pulse
