The forest released her slowly, as if reluctant to let her go.
Lyra stumbled through the final veil of trees, her breath ragged, her skin tingling with the remnants of magic. The trial had stripped her bare mind, body, soul and the forest had answered. Her mark, once a simple crescent, now sprawled across her shoulder in dark, living patterns. It pulsed faintly, like a second heartbeat.
Moonlight spilled across the Raventhorn clearing, casting a ghostlight over moss-covered stones and frost-laced grass. The pack was already gathered, their eyes fixed on her as she emerged. Some stared in awe. Others with fear.
She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. The silence was heavy, reverent, like the forest itself was holding its breath. The trial was over. Lyra stood at the center, the Queen’s crown cra
