The grand hall had never seen a crowd so tense. Tapestries of gold and indigo swayed from the high pillars. Candles blazed in their sconces, casting nervous light on the councilors, nobles, and guards that packed the room.
At the far end of the chamber stood a silver altar carved with celestial symbols—stars, wings, and divine runes no one had uttered aloud in centuries.
Lyra stepped forward.
She wore a white ceremonial robe embroidered with golden wheat stalks—the same symbol carved above the bakery back in her village. Her hands didn't tremble, but her chest burned with the weight of everything she had learned.
Today wasn't just a ritual.
It was war—of truth, of legacy, of fate.
---
Queen Yseult sat beside the throne, her chin high, her eyes razor-sharp beneath her crown.
The King had remained secluded since the last council, recovering from a sudden illness that no healer could cure. Some whispered that it was grief. Others murmured darker possibilities.
Lyra stepped before the altar, and beside her stood Arin Valen, the royal mage. His staff glowed faintly blue.
"In accordance with the Decree of Skyfire," Arin announced to the chamber, "we gather here to witness the truth behind Lyra of Vellmere. Born a baker's daughter. Named a child of the stars."
A murmur echoed through the nobles. Lyra caught the eye of Lord Halden across the chamber. He did not flinch. But he did not blink, either.
---
A circle of runes lit up beneath Lyra's feet.
The enchantment was ancient, pulled from the oldest scrolls of the Divine Council. No one had performed this ritual in over a hundred years.
Only those touched by the gods could survive it.
"Close your eyes," Arin whispered.
Lyra obeyed.
She felt a wind that did not come from the earth. A pulse that did not match her heart.
Visions surged before her:
—Golden cities in the sky.
—Voices calling her name: not "Lyra," but "Aurelienne."
—A crown she once wore, cast down by her own hand.
—The sound of bells, screaming, fire.
"You chose compassion. And they called it weakness."
"You defied the law of eternity, and so you fell."
"But your fall... was only the beginning."
Her knees buckled. Her mouth opened—but no scream came.
Light erupted from the circle.
---
The hall was silent. Some shielded their eyes. Others dropped to their knees.
When the light faded, Lyra stood tall.
Behind her, two ethereal wings—made of woven starlight—shimmered for a brief moment before dissolving into dust.
"She's not mortal," someone whispered. "Not completely."
Arin's voice trembled. "She is... of the celestial line. A true descendent of the higher realm."
Gasps. Shouts. One noble fainted.
But the loudest voice belonged to Lord Halden.
"This is a trick," he shouted. "The council should not be deceived by such theatrics!"
"Then explain this," snapped Queen Yseult. She hurled a sealed letter into the center of the chamber. The crest on the wax was unmistakable—the Veiled Eye.
It had been taken from Halden's own quarters.
---
Chaos erupted. Guards surrounded Halden, who didn't resist. But he smiled.
"You're too late," he said. "The others are already moving."
Queen Yseult stood, her voice like a blade.
"Then we will move faster. You may have shadows, Halden. But we have light. And she"—the Queen gestured to Lyra—"is its bearer."
---
That night, Lyra stood on the palace balcony, watching the capital below.
The ritual was done. Her identity confirmed. Her enemies unveiled.
But something still burned inside her.
Not fear. Not anger.
Purpose.
Arin approached quietly. "The Council will reconvene in the morning. Some wish to name you heir."
"I don't want a crown," she replied.
"I believe you. But sometimes fate gives it anyway."
She turned to him. "If the veil between realms is weakening... will more gods fall? Will more chaos come?"
Arin looked up at the stars.
"Yes. And not all of them will come seeking peace."
---
In the royal garden, Queen Yseult received a final report from her spies.
More cells of the Order of Shadows had been discovered—hidden in merchant guilds, old shrines, even among palace guards.
The Queen didn't hesitate.
"Purge them. Quietly."
She watched the moon rise. Then, almost inaudibly, whispered:
"Forgive me, Aurelienne. But I must protect this world. Even if it means breaking it."
---
Meanwhile, Lyra sat alone in her room, reading the last of her mother's letters she never got to send.
"If they ever take you away, know this: You are stronger than what the stars say. And gentler than what the world demands."
A tear fell, but she smiled.
Because in the end, she was both—divine and human.
And she was ready.