LYRA'S POV
(THREE MONTHS LATER)
I stood before the mirror, adjusting the ceremonial armor Mama had commissioned for me.
Silver and gold, with void-black accents. Light enough for a seven-year-old to move in. Strong enough to stop most blades. And covered in runes that matched the ones on my skin.
I looked like a warrior princess from the old stories.
I felt like bait in fancy wrapping.
"You look beautiful," Maya said from the doorway. She wore her own armor now—lighter than mine, designed for speed and evasion. Three months of intensive training had changed her. Made her harder. Faster. Still bookish, but now deadly with a blade.
"I look like a target," I corrected.
"That too." She moved beside me, our reflections side by side. "Are you scared?"
"Terrified."
"Good. Fear means you're smart." She squeezed my hand. "We've got this. You, me, your parents, Morrigan, all the warriors. The Architect doesn't stand a chance."
