The temple air didn't just get cold; it turned into a battleground. The old, still cold from inside met a rush of hot energy from the man in the doorway.
He was Marcus Thorne, a Decurion from the Solar Legion, a super-soldier whose blood had sun power in it. To him, freezing a village that paid taxes was more than just a crime—it was like slapping the Emperor in the face.
You talk like you can change the rules, Marcus said, his voice bouncing off the ceiling. He walked into the temple, and the frost on the floor hissed and turned to steam. I've stopped fire rebellions and smashed mountain troll heads. You're just a little girl being annoying.
Lyra stayed put on the altar, acting chill. Annoying? Is that what they call the end of the world in the Capital?
Marcus didn't say anything else. In the cultivation world, actions speak louder than words. He grabbed his claymore, almost five feet long and made of Sun-Iron, which glowed red. As he held the handle, symbols on the metal lit up.
Solar Art: First Form, Marcus groaned, his muscles getting bigger. The Blazing Path!
He charged.
He was super fast. A normal person couldn't even see him. He crossed the space between the door and the altar in a flash, swinging his sword to cut Lyra in half.
Lyra didn't even blink. She felt the heat—a hot wind that could burn her hair. But inside, the Dew-Drop in her Dantian was spinning fast.
Lunar Flow: Phase Shift.
As the hot sword was about to hit her, Lyra's body turned into a see-through mist. The sword went right through her and hit the altar, making a huge CRACK and sending sparks everywhere.
Lyra reappeared a few feet away, landing silently. She felt excited and strange. She didn't know she could do that. It was just something her Van-Heal bloodline remembered when she almost died.
A ghost-step? Marcus said, getting back into position. So, you're one of the Lunar Covens. I thought we killed all of you in the Great Purge.
You missed one, Lyra said.
She raised her hand, like she was grabbing something. The steam Marcus made stayed in the air, waiting for her command.
Lunar Art: Thousand Needles of the Frost Moon.
The steam froze into tiny, sharp needles. Lyra flicked her wrist, and they flew at Marcus.
Marcus yelled, spinning his sword. The Sun-Iron made a shield of heat, melting the needles. The temple sounded like rain as the needles turned back to water.
Is that it? Marcus said, but he was starting to sweat. The cold was strong, fighting his fire and trying to put it out. You've got talent, but you're not strong enough. You're just a weak flame!
He stomped his foot, breaking the floor. Solar Art: Second Form—The Rising Sun!
He swung the claymore up. A wave of fire came off the blade, shaped like a crescent but super hot. It was a big attack, hard to dodge in the small temple.
Lyra knew she had to do more than just play with mist. She needed to see what she could do with the Dew-Drop Stage. She found that tiny bit of moon power.
Freeze.
She went after the fire itself.
She pushed her hands out. A blast of cold energy came out. It wasn't ice; it was a cold that stopped everything. When the fire and cold met, there was a sound like glass breaking.
The fire froze.
The flames were stuck in the air, turned into a weird, orange ice sculpture. It was not normal.
Marcus stared, shocked. What are you? Even a High Priestess couldn't freeze a Solar Flare!
I told you, Lyra said quietly. The old rules are gone. I make the rules now.
She closed her fist.
The frozen fire broke, sending orange ice shards at Marcus. He tried to block his face, but the shards went through his armor like paper. He stumbled back.
This isn't over, Marcus said, his fire dying. He felt the cold inside him. The Legion will come. They'll burn everything to find you!
Let them, Lyra said, walking toward him. I used to be scared of a village. Now, I want to see how much of your sun I can swallow.
Marcus reached for a golden ball on his belt—a signal. But Lyra moved first.
She didn't use mist this time. She was super fast. She stood in front of him, grabbing his throat. Her touch was freezing.
Tell your Emperor, she whispered as his eyes rolled back. Tell him the Moon is back. It was just waiting for a voice. And now, it's shouting.
She didn't kill him, because she needed him to deliver a message. She threw him out of the temple into the mud. Marcus Thorne, a Decurion of the Solar Empire, crawled away, leaving his Sun-Iron sword.
Lyra looked at the sword. It was still warm, trying to glow. She picked it up. The metal screamed, fighting her cold touch.
Quiet, she said.
The glow faded. The red turned gray. The fire was gone, replaced by cold.
Lyra walked out of the temple. The villagers watched from far away. They saw their protector defeated. They saw his sword turned into ice in the hands of the girl they tried to kill.
Lyra raised the sword to the sun.
I am Lyra Van-Heal, she shouted. From today on, there is no Empire. There is only the Night. And the Night is just starting.
Inside her, the silver drop began to grow. It wasn't alone anymore. Another drop was starting to form, from the fight she just had.
She tasted blood and fire, and she liked the cold better.