Lyra’s POV
Dawn bled pale silver across Unity’s camp. The fires had burned low in the pits, leaving only coils of ash. Every sound carried farther in the chill, boots crunching frost, muted coughs, the groan of shifting wagons. I stood at the edge of the training field again, cloak pulled tight, watching the mist rise from the churned soil like ghosts.
Sleep had been impossible. Each time I closed my eyes I saw the glowing light in my palm, the cursed Damaitás crumpling under it, Maris’s wide eyes. My body still hummed as if a current ran beneath my skin. The child inside me stirred, just a flutter, but enough to anchor me.
Elista arrived first, hair braided back, posture coiled. “You shouldn’t be here before the healers clear you,” she murmured.
“You heard him. Training begins at dawn
