The forest had always whispered to Riven.
But that night, it screamed.
Not in words.
Not even in sounds.
But in feeling a deep, tightening pull in his chest, like gravity had chosen one heart to crush.
He jolted upright in the middle of the night, breath fogging in the cold air. The stars were out, but wrong scattered, flickering, distant. He knew them like the lines of his own hand.
Tonight, they looked… afraid.
He wasn't alone.
Not anymore.
Elsewhere, Lyra was dreaming.
She stood in a field of snow, barefoot and bleeding. The moon above her was red and bleeding too, its light falling like ash. In the distance, a boy stood with silver eyes—watching her, saying nothing.
He looked her age.
But older.
Worn.
Haunted.
She wanted to call out, but her mouth didn't move.
And then he whispered
"Run."
She gasped awake, sweat coating her skin despite the chill. The trees around her shifted. Her horse was restless.
Something had followed her into the forest.
Back in the Blackwood, Riven moved like a shadow between trees, blade in hand. He wasn't sure why he was heading north. The stars hadn't spoken in full sentences for days but his instincts did.
And they screamed go.
The swordmaster had warned him once:
"If you ever feel the pull in your chest, follow it. You might not like what you find but it will always be true."
So he followed it.
And found her.
He saw her before she saw him struggling to guide her horse through thick underbrush, muttering curses under her breath.
She didn't look dangerous.
She didn't look like a noble, either.
Too dirty.
Too determined.
Then the light shifted, and for one split moment he saw the letter fall from her cloak.
His eyes narrowed.
The wax seal bore a crescent moon.
His chest went still.
Who are you?
But he didn't speak.
Not yet.
Lyra froze.
Something had moved behind her.
She turned slowly, fingers grazing the hilt of the dagger at her waist. The silence was thick, and her heart louder than any animal nearby.
"I know you're there," she whispered into the dark. "Show yourself."
Nothing.
Then wind rustled the branches. A flicker of silver between leaves. Gone before she could place it.
But she wasn't crazy.
She wasn't alone.
Elsewhere, far away, in the heart of the capital...
The Crow Prince stood before a map, eyes like knives.
"She's entered the Blackwood," said the royal advisor beside him.
The Prince didn't blink. "Alone?"
"For now."
"And the boy?"
"Moving."
The Prince turned, slow and deliberate. He was a man of few words and fewer emotions but the corner of his mouth twitched.
Not a smile.
A memory.
"She found him sooner than I thought."
The advisor raised a brow. "You predicted this?"
The Prince looked out the window, voice low.
"I dreamed it."
Back in the Blackwood, Riven stood above her, hidden in the trees.
He had a choice.
Watch.
Or speak.
He chose neither.
Instead, he dropped a single item onto the forest floor a piece of bark carved with a symbol.
A warning.
A test.
Lyra bent to pick it up.
Her eyes widened. She recognized the mark.
The same one burned into the wax of the king's final letter.
Her fingers trembled.
The Moonborn was watching her.
And now, he knew she had come looking.