The crystal dragon was, Lyra had to admit, absolutely magnificent.
It perched on a branch that definitely should not have been able to support something the size of a small horse, its scales catching the filtered sunlight and throwing rainbows in every direction. Its eyes were faceted like gemstones, shifting through colors that had no names, and when it spoke, its voice was like wind chimes made of starlight.
"A bridge-daughter walks in our woods," it said, tilting its elegant head to study Lyra with obvious fascination. "How curious. How delightful. How utterly unprecedented."
"Hello," Lyra said, because she couldn't think of anything else to say to a talking rainbow dragon. "Nice to meet you?"
The dragon laughed, a sound like crystal bells. "Oh, she's polite! How refreshing. Most bridge-children are far too busy saving the world to bother with pleasantries." It looked at Puck with what might have been amusement. "I suppose you're responsible for this little expedition, trickster?"
"Guilty as charged, Prism," Puck said with a theatrical bow. "Though I prefer to think of myself as a facilitator of destiny rather than a mere troublemaker."
"The distinction is lost on most people," the dragon Prism said dryly. Then it turned back to Lyra, its gemstone eyes brightening. "Tell me, little bridge-daughter, can you hear them singing?"
"Hear who singing?"
"The crystals, of course. In my scales, in the heart of the mountain, in the very bones of the earth. They've been singing about you for days now, ever since your power awakened."
Lyra listened, extending her senses the way she had when touching the ancient trees. And there it was a faint, crystalline music that seemed to resonate in her bones, a harmony of mineral voices that spoke of deep earth and patient time and something that might have been recognition.
"I can hear them," she said wonderingly. "They're... they're welcoming me."
"Of course they are. Crystal dragons are creatures of threshold and transformation, and you, my dear, are transformation incarnate." Prism spread its wings, and the light refracting through them painted the forest clearing in impossible colors. "The old magic recognizes its own."
"Is there anyone in this realm who doesn't know what I am before I do?" Lyra asked, only half-joking.
"Probably not," Kieran said with amusement. "You're not exactly subtle, love. Your power signature is visible from miles away to anyone with the right kind of sight."
"My power signature?"
"Like a magical fingerprint," Rowan explained. "Every magic user has one, but yours is... distinctive."
"Distinctive how?"
"Well," Puck said thoughtfully, "most power signatures are single-noted. Fire magic feels like fire, shadow magic feels like shadow, and so on. But yours is a symphony. Multiple harmonies weaving together in patterns no one's ever seen before."
"Which means?"
"Which means you're either going to be incredibly powerful or incredibly dangerous," Prism said cheerfully. "Possibly both. How exciting!"
Lyra looked at her companions, reading varying degrees of concern and fascination in their faces. "Should I be worried about the 'incredibly dangerous' part?"
"Only if you lose control," Kieran said, his hand finding hers. "But that's why we're going to the Sanctuary. The Guardian there specialized in training mixed-blood children. If anyone can teach you to harness your abilities safely, it's him."
"Assuming he doesn't kill us for trespassing," Rowan muttered.
"Oh, he won't kill you," Prism said with evident amusement. "Not immediately, anyway. He's far too curious about what Lyra's become to waste the opportunity for study."
"That's... not as reassuring as you might think," Lyra said.
"Reassurance is overrated," Puck declared. "Where's the fun in knowing what's going to happen next?"
Before Lyra could point out that some people actually liked predictability, the forest around them went suddenly, unnaturally quiet. The crystal music stopped mid-note, the wind died away, and even the ever-present whisper of the ancient trees fell silent.
Prism's head snapped up, its faceted eyes darkening. "Hunters," it hissed. "Close. Very close."
"Which ones?" Kieran asked, his sword already in his hand.
"All of them," Prism said grimly. "They've converged faster than expected. Someone's been giving them very good intelligence about your route."
"That's impossible," Rowan said, flames beginning to dance around her body. "We've been traveling under Winter Court protection. No scrying spell should be able to track us."
"Unless," Puck said slowly, his expression growing troubled, "someone's been tracking something else entirely."
All eyes turned to Lyra, who felt her stomach drop. "Me. They're tracking me directly, aren't they?"
"The mate bond," Kieran said with sudden understanding. "It's not just connecting us it's broadcasting our location to anyone with the right kind of magical sight."
"But that doesn't make sense," Lyra protested. "Mate bonds are supposed to be private, internal"
"Normal mate bonds are," Prism interrupted. "But there's nothing normal about a bond between a bridge-child and a Shadow Walker. You're both drawing on power sources that span multiple realms. The resonance between you is probably visible from the other side of reality."
"Can we break it?" Rowan asked. "Temporarily, just to throw off pursuit?"
"No," Kieran said immediately, at the same time Lyra said, "Absolutely not."
"It wouldn't work anyway," Puck added. "The bond's already formed. Trying to sever it now would probably kill them both, and definitely leave a magical signature bright enough to be seen from orbit."
The sound of voices began to filter through the trees multiple groups, all converging on their position. Lyra could make out at least three different languages being spoken, none of them friendly.
"How long until they reach us?" she asked.
"Minutes," Prism said, launching itself into the air. "I can buy you some time, create a distraction, but you need to move. Now."
"Where?" Rowan demanded. "If they can track the mate bond, running won't help."
"It will if we can get them to the Sanctuary," Puck said, his expression growing calculating. "The Guardian's wards will hide them, and the ancient protections there are strong enough to keep out even the most determined hunters."
"How far?"
"Half a day at normal pace. Two hours if we push hard and don't worry about staying quiet."
"Then we push hard," Lyra said decisively. "I'm tired of running from people who want to use me. Time to find someone who might actually have answers."
They set off at a pace that was somewhere between a jog and a run, following Puck through increasingly dense forest. Behind them, Prism's voice rose in a song that sounded like breaking glass and distant thunder, and Lyra could hear shouts of confusion and anger as the hunting parties were apparently led in circles by a very amused crystal dragon.
"Will Prism be all right?" she asked, glancing back toward the sounds of chaos.
"Crystal dragons are nearly indestructible," Kieran said, breathing only slightly hard despite their pace. "And Prism's older than most. It would take an army to seriously threaten it."
"Unfortunately," Rowan panted, "I think that's exactly what's back there."
They ran in silence for a while, following game trails that seemed to appear just ahead of them and vanish just behind. The forest was helping them, Lyra realized the ancient trees were literally reshaping the paths to aid their escape.
"Puck," she called ahead to their guide, who was moving through the undergrowth with inhuman grace, "tell me about this Guardian we're going to meet. What's his name? What should I expect?"
"His name is Theron Nightbane," Puck said without slowing down. "And you should expect... complications."
"What kind of complications?"
"The kind that come from meeting someone who loved your mother."
Lyra stumbled, catching herself on a convenient tree trunk. "What?"
"Did I forget to mention that?" Puck's voice was full of false innocence. "How careless of me."
"Puck," Kieran's voice carried a warning that made small animals flee from nearby bushes.
"Oh, fine. Theron Nightbane was your mother's first love, before she met your father. He was also the one who was supposed to protect her when the Shadow King's forces came hunting. His failure to save her is why he withdrew to the Sanctuary and refused all contact with the outside world."
"So I'm about to meet my dead mother's ex-boyfriend, who blames himself for her death, and ask him to train me in the use of powers I inherited from her." Lyra shook her head. "This is going to go well."
"It gets better," Puck added cheerfully. "He also used to be engaged to the Winter King's sister, which is how they know each other. That engagement ended rather badly when she discovered his feelings for your mother."
"A love dodecahedron," Lyra muttered. "You weren't kidding."
"I never kid about matters of the heart," Puck said solemnly. "They're far too entertaining."
They crested a hill, and suddenly the trees opened up to reveal a valley that took Lyra's breath away. In the center stood a structure that defied every law of architecture she'd ever learned towers that twisted up toward the sky like frozen tornadoes, connected by bridges that seemed to be made of solidified moonlight. Gardens floated in midair around the structure, tethered by chains of silver that sang in harmonious tones.
"The Sanctuary of Lost Things," Puck announced. "Where broken dreams go to heal and forgotten magics find new purpose."
"It's beautiful," Lyra whispered.
"It's also heavily warded," Rowan added, pointing to the shimmering barriers that surrounded the valley. "I can see at least seven different defensive layers from here."
"Eight, actually," Puck corrected. "The eighth one is designed to be invisible to Flame Wielders. It's specifically keyed to repel Council magic."
"So how do we get in?"
"We ask nicely," Puck said, producing what looked like a crystal bell from thin air. He rang it once, and the sound echoed across the valley with impossible clarity.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the air in front of them shimmered, and a figure stepped out of what Lyra would have sworn was empty space.
He was tall and lean, with dark hair shot through with silver and eyes the color of winter storms. His face was sharp-featured and aristocratic, marked by lines that spoke of both power and pain. He wore simple black clothing that somehow managed to look both practical and elegant, and when he moved, it was with the deadly grace of a trained warrior.
But it was his expression that made Lyra's breath catch a look of such profound, startled recognition that she knew immediately who she was looking at.
"Selene," he whispered, and his voice was rough with emotion.
"No," Lyra said gently. "I'm Lyra. Selene's daughter."
Theron Nightbane closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, the resemblance that had shaken him was still there, but he had himself under control.
"You look exactly like her," he said quietly. "For a moment, I thought... but no. She's been gone twenty years." His gaze sharpened, taking in Kieran and Rowan and finally settling on Puck with something that might have been resignation. "And you've brought me a message from the Winter King."
"I have," Lyra said, reaching into her pack for the sealed letter Puck had given her. "Though I'm not sure what it says."
Theron took the letter, his fingers brushing hers for just a moment. When they did, Lyra felt a shock of connection not like the mate bond with Kieran, but something deeper and more fundamental. Recognition of shared loss, shared power, shared purpose.
"You have her gift," he said wonderingly. "The ability to see connections between souls. But stronger. Much stronger."
"Is that what that was?"
"Among other things." Theron broke the seal on the letter and read it quickly, his expression growing increasingly grim. "How long since you left the Court?"
"This morning," Rowan said. "Why?"
"Because according to this, the Shadow King's forces attacked the Court of Stars two hours ago. They were looking for Lyra, and when they didn't find her..." He looked up, his storm-gray eyes dark with concern. "They took hostages. Three Council members, including Councilor Thorne."
Lyra felt the bottom drop out of her world. "No. No, they can't we have to go back. We have to help them."
"We can't," Kieran said firmly, his hand on her shoulder. "It's a trap, Lyra. He's using them as bait to draw you out."
"I don't care if it's a trap!" Lyra's power flared, silver light erupting around her as her emotions spiraled out of control. "Those people are in danger because of me. Because I ran instead of staying to face whatever the Council wanted to do."
"If you'd stayed, you'd be dead or captured right now," Theron said bluntly. "Along with your Guardian. Valdris doesn't take prisoners unless he plans to use them."
"Then we have to do something!"
"We will," Theron said, and something in his voice made them all look at him more carefully. "But first, you need to understand what you're truly capable of. What your mother was capable of, and why Valdris wants you so desperately."
He gestured toward the Sanctuary, and the shimmering barriers parted like curtains. "Come. Let me show you the real reason the Shadow King has spent twenty years hunting for Selene Nightwhisper's daughter."
"What reason?"
Theron's smile was sharp as a blade and twice as dangerous. "Because you're not just a bridge between worlds, Lyra. You're the key to unmaking the barriers between them entirely. And in the right hands or the wrong ones that power could reshape reality itself."
As they walked toward the impossible architecture of the Sanctuary, Lyra felt the weight of destiny settling around her like chains. Behind them, the sounds of pursuit were growing closer, and ahead lay answers she wasn't sure she wanted to hear.
But she kept walking, because Councilor Thorne and the others were counting on her, because two worlds hung in the balance, and because sometimes the only way forward was straight into the heart of everything you feared most.
Even if that heart held the power to destroy everything you'd ever loved.