LYRA'S POV
(FIFTEEN YEARS LATER (AGE 22))
The coronation crown was heavier than I expected.
Luna and Queen. Both titles, both responsibilities. All mine now.
I stood before the mirror in my chambers, adjusting the silver circlet. My reflection stared back—older, harder, marked by years of choices that had shaped me into someone I barely recognized from childhood.
My eyes were the most obvious change. Silver, gold, and void-black swirled together constantly. A permanent reminder of the day I'd absorbed corruption to save my best friend.
A reminder of the day I'd learned that mercy had a price.
"You look beautiful," Maya said from the doorway. Now twenty-three, she'd grown into her role as Royal Healer. The scars on her chest—faint silver lines from void-touched claws—were visible above her formal dress. She wore them proudly now. Badges of survival.
"I look terrifying," I corrected.
