The world returned in fragments.
The first thing Lyra felt was the cold—so sharp it gnawed through her bones. The second was pain, blooming across her wrists and ankles where silver bit deep into her skin. She tried to move, but the chains rattled, cutting deeper, sending jolts of fire through her veins. Her storm didn’t answer.
It was gone.
Her chest seized with panic. The storm, the thing that had been clawing at her skin since she was a child, was silent. For the first time in her life, the air inside her body felt hollow.
Her vision cleared slowly, adjusting to the dim orange light of torches. The walls weren’t stone but metal, sealed and etched with runes she didn’t recognize. She wasn’t in the forest anymore. This was a fortress—a cage built specifically for creatures like her.
