LYRA'S POV
(ONE WEEK LATER)
Seven marked wolves.
In one week, seven marked wolves had appeared at the castle gates, all seeking help. All corrupted. All desperate.
I stood in what we'd converted into a training hall, watching them practice basic control exercises. Sera was the oldest at ten. The youngest was barely five—a boy named Finn whose corruption manifested as shadow magic that literally ate light.
"Focus," I called. "Don't fight the magic. Guide it. Show it what you want instead of letting it show you."
Finn's shadows writhed, reaching for the torches. I felt them pull at the light, hungry and desperate.
"Finn. Look at me."
His eyes—pure black, no white remaining—found mine.
"Your shadows don't want to destroy light. They want to understand it. To touch it. To know what warmth feels like." I moved closer, letting my void-black runes glow. "I understand that hunger. That need to touch something bright. Show your shadows they can touch without consuming."
"How?"
