The night settled over the Grey Reach like a held breath. The valley lights dimmed one by one, not from sleep but from caution, as if darkness itself were something that needed to be managed. Lyra stood at the edge of the upper terrace, hands resting on the cold stone rail, feeling the slow, deliberate pulse of Starfire beneath her skin. It no longer surged without warning. It waited. That, somehow, unsettled her more.
Below, Watchers moved in quiet patterns, shifting sentries, reinforcing wards, murmuring updates that never quite reached her ears. Since the evacuation drills began, the Reach had changed. The laughter that once threaded through the halls had thinned. Conversations ended too quickly. Doors closed with care. Everyone felt it, the tightening of something inevitable.
Seris approached without announcement, her presence known only by the slight change in the air. She stood beside Lyra, gaze fixed on the darkened sky where the moons would soon rise.
The scouts returned an hour ago, Seris said. Council forces crossed the eastern ridges. Not close enough to strike, but close enough to remind us they are patient.
Lyra nodded. She had sensed it before the words came, a distant pressure, like a tide pulling back before a wave. They were being watched, not hunted yet, but measured.
Kaelin wants you in the inner hall, Seris continued. There is disagreement.
There always was. Lyra pushed away from the railing and followed, her steps echoing softly through corridors carved from stone and time. The inner hall was already full when they arrived. Watchers lined the circular chamber, faces lit by a single star-lamp suspended overhead. The map etched into the floor glowed faintly, its lines shifting as if responding to unseen forces.
Kaelin stood at the center, arms folded, posture rigid. His gaze met Lyra's, and for a moment something like relief flickered across his face before duty smoothed it away.
We cannot delay any longer, he said, addressing the room but clearly meaning her. The Council is testing our boundaries. If we remain still, they will assume we are afraid.
A murmur rippled through the Watchers. Some nodded. Others looked away.
Lyra felt the familiar pull of attention, the weight of expectation settling onto her shoulders. She had not asked for this, yet here it was, again and again.
What are you suggesting, she asked, keeping her voice steady.
Kaelin gestured toward the map. A marked line pulsed along the northern pass. We move you. Tonight. Beyond the Reach. There are old routes, places the Council does not monitor closely. If we scatter, we reduce the risk of a single decisive strike.
Seris stiffened beside her. And if she leaves, the Reach becomes vulnerable. They are not chasing us, they are chasing her.
Exactly, Kaelin replied. Which is why keeping her here endangers everyone.
The words landed heavier than Lyra expected. Not because they were cruel, but because they were honest. She looked around the hall, at the faces she had come to recognize, some wary, some sympathetic, some calculating. They were afraid, not of her, but of what followed her.
She understood that fear. It lived in her too.
If I go, Lyra said slowly, I will not be invisible. The Veil has already touched me. Whatever is watching will follow.
Kaelin inclined his head. Yes. But it will follow you away from here.
A silence stretched between them, taut and fragile.
Seris spoke then, her voice sharp with restraint. You are asking her to walk into uncertainty without support. Training is incomplete. Control is not stable.
Lyra felt Starfire stir at that, not flaring, but responding, as if acknowledging the truth of it. She was better than before, but better did not mean ready.
Kaelin's jaw tightened. We do not have the luxury of readiness. We have survival.
The argument threatened to fracture the room. Lyra could feel it, the split running beneath the surface, duty against loyalty, logic against instinct. This was the cost Seris had warned her about, not power, but presence.
She stepped forward, moving into the center of the map. The glow beneath her feet brightened, lines shifting to accommodate her weight.
If I leave, she said, I do not run. I draw them. I choose the path, not the Council. And I will not do it alone.
Kaelin studied her carefully. You are proposing terms.
I am proposing responsibility, Lyra replied. I did not ask to be Starborn. But I am. And pretending otherwise will not protect anyone.
The Starfire answered her conviction, a soft resonance that hummed through the hall. Not loud. Not violent. Certain.
Seris looked at her then, really looked, as if seeing something newly solidified. You are changing, she said quietly.
Lyra met her gaze. I have to.
Kaelin exhaled slowly. Very well. We send a small escort. Not Watchers in force, but shadows. Guides. If the Council believes you are alone, they may underestimate the risk.
And if they do not, Seris asked.
Then they will reveal themselves sooner, Kaelin said. Either way, the stalemate ends.
The decision settled, heavy but unavoidable. Plans began to form, routes discussed in hushed tones, contingencies layered upon contingencies. Lyra listened, absorbing, memorizing, the way she had learned to do when fear threatened to overwhelm her.
Later, as the hall emptied, she remained behind. The map dimmed, its glow retreating into stone. The star-lamp flickered, casting long shadows that stretched and recoiled like living things.
You are not obligated to do this, Seris said, standing close now. There are other ways.
Lyra shook her head. Every other way delays the same outcome. I am tired of delaying.
Seris hesitated, then placed a hand over Lyra's, grounding, steady. Whatever waits beyond the Reach, remember this. The Starfire reflects you, not the other way around. Do not let their fear become yours.
Lyra closed her fingers around Seris's hand, drawing strength from the contact. I will remember.
As Seris left, Lyra turned her gaze upward. The moons had risen, one pale and distant, the other shadowed, their alignment imperfect but suggestive. Somewhere beyond sight, the Whispering Veil stirred. She could feel it now more clearly than ever, not invading, but observing, as if curious about the choice she had made.
You want to see what I will become, Lyra thought, the idea forming without words. So do I.
The Starfire pulsed once in response, a quiet acknowledgment, and then settled, waiting for the road ahead.