Oakhaven just didn't feel the same after Marcus Thorne was beaten. It wasn't that heavy, dead feeling anymore, instead, it felt like that sharp cold you get on a mountain right before everything comes crashing down. Lyra was standing tall on the temple steps, that Sun-Iron claymore she'd grabbed was now on her back. The sword wasn't working; its solar marks were covered in ice, but its weight reminded her that she wasn't just some victim anymore. Now, she was the one calling the shots.
The villagers gathered at the bottom of the temple stairs. They weren't cheering or yelling, just standing there quiet, eyes going back and forth between those frozen Guardian statues and the girl who used to pull their fishing nets. It was a scary kind of quiet.
The Knight will be back with a whole army, Elder Bram said, voice shaky. He was still feeling the effects of being stuck in that mist, even though he was standing on solid ground again. You've done more than just bring a cold snap, Lyra. You've signed our death warrant. When those Sun-Walkers see what you've done, they're not just going to kill you. They'll destroy everything so nothing can ever grow here again.
Lyra looked down; Bram was a guy who thought about life in terms of food and money. He couldn't understand a power that didn't belong to a king or some god.
Then let them, Lyra said, her voice clear in the morning air. I'm not growing flowers in the garden I'm building. Only stars.
She took that first step down, and the villagers moved out of her way like she was parting the sea. She didn't even glance back at the place where she grew up or the huts where she spent so many cold nights. That was all part of a life she had left behind.
I'm leaving, Lyra told them. Not running away, but going to take back what was stolen from my family. If you stay here, the Empire is going to punish you for what they see as my mistakes. If you want to live, head North. Follow the cold. By the time those Sun-Walkers get here, Oakhaven will just be a frozen ghost town.
She didn't wait for them to say anything—she just started walking.
When she got to the edge of town, she looked at the Great Northern Road, a muddy, twisting path that led to the Iron-Spine Mountains. Past those mountains were the ruins of Lunaria, the old capital of her people, which had been destroyed six centuries ago.
Lyra closed her eyes, she focused on the Dew-Drop inside her. Those two silver drops were spinning around each other, making a humming sound that vibrated through her bones.
Lunar Art: The Glacial Path.
She slammed her foot down, hard.
A burst of cold shot out from her heel. The mud didn't just freeze, but it changed. The brown, mushy ground became clear white glass, smooth like a mirror and as hard as diamond. The road started making itself for miles ahead, cutting through the forest like a silver mark.
Lyra started to move. She didn't walk, but she floated. Her feet barely touched the glass road, moving by the moon's power. If anyone had been watching, she would have looked like a ghost gliding across a lake.
The forest around her started reacting to her. Trees that had been standing for hundreds of years groaned as the sap inside them froze then expanded, their trunks splitting with sounds like explosions. The birds stopped singing, and small animals dug deep into the ground. Lyra was like a walking winter, a small disaster moving through the green.
As she went, her Dew-Drop started to feel stronger. She began to sense the world in a different way. She could feel veins of power under the ground—lines of power that the Solar Empire had found and drained to power their cities. But there were deeper veins, cold veins, buried so deep that the Sun-Walkers hadn't found them.
There, she thought, as she looked at a dark ravine to the West.
Something was pulling her in that direction. She left her glass road and went down into the ravine. The air here felt old. Sunlight never reached the bottom, so there was a rare kind of plant growing: Moon-Shade Moss. It glowed with a soft, blue light, feeding on bits of moonlight that made it through the trees.
In the middle of the ravine was a monolith, a pillar of black rock covered in those same silver marks that Lyra now had in her mind.
A waypoint, she whispered.
She put her hand on the stone. The marks didn't just glow, but they sang. A lot of info rushed into her mind—a map of hidden places, the locations of Tears of the Moon (powerful crystals to help develop power), and the ways of the Second Stage: The Frost-Vein.
But the monolith also gave her a warning.
A picture popped up in front of her. It was a woman, tall and noble. Her face was just like Lyra's. The woman looked really sad.
To whoever wakes the blood, the image said, her voice a hollow echo from the past. You've started on a path that either leads to becoming a god or to nothing. The Sun isn't just a star; it's an eye. The more powerful you become, the more it watches you. Don't get to the third drop until you have found the Shroud of Shadows, or the Sun-God will burn your soul before you even get a chance to scream.
The image disappeared, and the monolith cracked in half, its power all used up.
Lyra stood in that quiet ravine, her heart racing. The Sun is an eye. She looked up through the trees. The sun was higher now, but it felt different. It didn't feel warm; it felt like it was watching her. A cold, judging stare from above.
She reached into herself. The third drop of essence was already forming, powered by what she had taken from the monolith. She was close to getting to the Late Phase of the Dew-Drop Stage, but the warning gave her a reason to stop.
The Shroud of Shadows, she said. Where would someone hide a cloak from a god?
She looked at the map that was now burned into her mind. There was a place marked with a picture of a crying moon: The Sunken Library of Val-Raya.
It was three hundred miles to the North, hidden under a lake of liquid nitrogen in the heart of the Iron-Spine Mountains. To get there, she would have to go through the Solar Gates, a huge fortress-city that protected the only way through the mountains.
Lyra grabbed the hilt of her frozen sword. The Imperial Legion would be there, so would the Sun-Walkers. And, according to the monolith, the Eye would be watching.
Then let it watch, Lyra said, her silver eyes shining with new strength. I want it to see how I break their gate.
She stepped back onto her road of white glass. She didn't slow down. Every mile she went, the air got colder. Every time she breathed, the silver drops inside her spun faster.
She wasn't just a girl running from a village anymore. She was a leader coming back to her ruins, and the mountains themselves seemed to be bowing.