The chaos within the subterranean temple was absolute. Dust choked the air, turning the cavern into a gray, hazy abyss where the only light came from the erratic flashes of gunfire erupting from the balcony high above. Zeven clutched Lyra against his chest, her weight a heavy, grounding anchor amidst the swirling destruction. Every step he took on the uneven floor felt like a gamble, his boots sliding on the mixture of loose stone and the viscous, dark fluid that surged from the agitated reservoir. He pushed himself toward the edge of the temple, seeking the sanctuary of the shadows cast by the fallen stone pillars.
"Hold on, Lyra," he whispered, though she remained deathly still in his arms.
The heat of the battlefield was intense, a dry, blistering wind that scorched his lungs. He reac
