Lyra felt the difference immediately. The cold iron band around her head was gone, replaced by a clear, echoing void. The twelve hours of enforced rest had worked, settling the psychic storm in her mind. She stood beside Ronan in the main armory, a cavernous, stone-vaulted space where a final group of seven warriors stood waiting.
Ronan addressed the candidates with the gravitas of a king dispatching his last loyal unit. "The Shadowfang journey is not just diplomatic; it is a knife fight disguised as a dinner party. You are representing the last hope of the North. Choose your armor and weapons with care, and choose your loyalty with more. Tonight, Lyra will perform a final assessment. She seeks not disloyalty, but vulnerability."
Lyra stepped forward, feeling the scrutiny of every warrio
