Chapter Twenty-Eight
The first sign was the sky.
Not darker.
Still.
Clouds hung unmoving over the valley as if pinned in place. Wind died mid-gust. Torches burned straight and narrow without flicker.
Lyra felt it before anyone reported it.
The land wasn’t breathing.
It was holding.
She stood in the courtyard as wolves slowly noticed the unnatural stillness. Murmurs began. Guards shifted uneasily.
Cain stepped beside her. “It’s wrong.”
“Yes,” she said quietly.
Elias joined them moments later. “Scouts say the treeline hasn’t moved in ten minutes. No birds. No sound.”
As if summoned by the word, a crack split the air.
Not thunder.
Stone.
The ground trembled—not violently, but with deliberate force.
Then the whisper came.
Not from below.
Not from the chamber.
From everywhere
