POV: Lyra
I hadn't slept.
I couldn't sleep.
The blade Rhea gave me rested on the floor, untouched — but not forgotten.
It pulsed with energy I couldn't understand. Not like Kairo's magic, not like the bond. This was older. Wilder. It whispered things when I closed my eyes.
Things I shouldn't know.
Things I shouldn't remember.
And yet... I did.
Memories that didn't belong to me kept clawing to the surface, dragging me into someone else's agony. At first, they came in flashes. Fire. Screams. A man's voice, calling my name — not Lyra. Emberlyn.
Then they got clearer.
Too clear.
I saw a woman with silver-streaked hair kneeling at a broken altar, her hands trembling as she touched the blade now lying next to my bed. Her heart was breaking. She whispered a goodbye — not to her lover, but to the world.
And then she drove the blade into her chest.
I gasped and jolted up in bed, my heart slamming against my ribs.
I had felt it.
I had felt her death.
I had felt my death.
I gripped the edge of the sheets, grounding myself in the present. In this version of me. The one with shaking hands and a wild heartbeat and a man outside this door who I couldn't decide whether to run from or run to.
Kairo.
What was he hiding from me? Why hadn't he come to check on me?
Was he afraid of what I was becoming?
Because I was.
I was terrified.
The girl who wanted to love — she was slipping away.
And something colder, older, more dangerous was growing in her place.
I stood, walked to the window, and looked out over the moonlit courtyard. Below, guards moved like shadows. The world felt still. Too still.
Like it was waiting.
Then I heard it.
My name.
Not out loud — in my mind. A whisper, like it was coming from the blade.
Or from something far older.
"Emberlyn."
I turned quickly, heart pounding. But the room was empty.
No. No, it wasn't.
Because I wasn't alone in here. Not anymore.
Whoever she was — this girl I used to be — she was waking up inside me.
And she was angry.
And afraid.
And worst of all… in love.
The door creaked open.
Kairo stood there, shadows clinging to him like armor. His face was hard to read. But his eyes—
His eyes were wide. Alarmed.
"I felt it," he said.
I stared at him. "Felt what?"
"You remembered something," he said quietly, stepping into the room. "Something you weren't supposed to."
I didn't answer. I didn't have to.
Because in that moment, both of us knew.
We were no longer just fighting fate.
We were reliving it.
And this time… one of us might not survive.