The road to Caelond ran like a scar across the plains, pale and cracked, as if the land itself had once tried to heal and failed. Lyra Ashen followed it in silence.
By midday, the sky had deepened into a hard blue, too clear to be kind. The sun hung high, glaring off stone and dust, and each step stirred memories she would rather have left buried beneath the ash dunes of the Outlands.
Caelond rose ahead of her at last, not as a city but as a wound held open by stubborn hands. Its outer walls were old, their once-white stone dulled to gray and brown by smoke and time. Towers leaned where they should have stood straight. Banners hung from battlements in faded reds and silvers, their sigils frayed by wind and neglect.
This was no capital of legends.
This was a city surviving on habit.
Lyra adjusted the strap of her pack and drew her cloak closer around her shoulders. She could feel it again now the low, thrumming pressure beneath her skin. The Starfire did not like walls. It pressed outward, restless, as if sensing the density of people ahead.
She slowed her steps.
Crowds meant eyes. Eyes meant questions. And questions had a way of becoming chains.
At the southern gate, guards lounged rather than stood. Their armor was mismatched, scavenged pieces held together by straps and hope. One of them straightened when he saw her approach, hand resting loosely on his spear.
"State your business," he said, his tone more weary than threatening.
Passing through, Lyra replied. Her voice was calm, unremarkable. She had learned long ago that sounding ordinary was its own kind of armor.
The guard's gaze flicked over her cloak, boots, the faint glow he almost noticed but didn't quite understand. His brow creased, then smoothed.
Name? She hesitated for the briefest moment. Just long enough. "Lyra," she said. From the east. That was true enough. He waved her through.
Inside, Caelond smelled of iron and old rain. Narrow streets wound between stone buildings stacked too close together, as though they leaned for warmth. Vendors called out from crooked stalls, their voices competing with the clang of distant forges and the low murmur of conversation.
Lyra moved with the flow, head down, senses sharp.
She felt it before she saw it.
A flare of power,not wild like hers, but controlled, contained, humming with structure. Magic shaped by training rather than survival.
Her steps faltered.
She followed the sensation instinctively, letting it pull her toward the central square. There, a crowd had gathered around a raised stone platform. At its center stood a woman in dark blue robes, her hair bound tight against her head, her hands lifted as sigils burned briefly in the air before fading.
A mage.
Lyra's jaw tightened.
The woman spoke, her voice amplified by subtle enchantment. "By order of the Council, all relics of pre-Fall origin are to be surrendered immediately. Harboring Starborn artifacts is a crime punishable by imprisonment."
A ripple of unease moved through the crowd.
Lyra stepped back, heart thudding. She did not carry a relic. She did not need one. But the words pressed too close to the truth she carried in her blood.
Starborn.
The term still felt foreign, even after everything she had seen.
She turned away before the mage's eyes could find her.
It was in the quieter streets beyond the square that Lyra noticed she was being followed.
She did not react at first. Panic made mistakes, and mistakes drew blood. Instead, she counted steps, listened to echoes, watched reflections in darkened windows.
One shadow kept pace with her own.
She turned sharply into a narrow alley, then another, and another. The sounds behind her faltered, then resumed.
So it was deliberate.
Lyra stopped abruptly and spun.
The man nearly collided with her.
He was younger than she expected, perhaps a few years older than herself, with dark hair pulled back and eyes the color of storm clouds. He raised his hands slowly, palms open.
"Easy," he said. "If I meant harm, you'd already be on the ground."
She studied him, weighing distance, angles, exits. "Then why follow me?"
"Because you don't belong here," he replied simply.
Her pulse quickened. "Neither do you, if you're tracking strangers."
A corner of his mouth twitched. "Fair."
They stood in silence for a moment, the alley pressing close around them.
"My name's Kael," he said at last. "And you're glowing."
Lyra swore under her breath and pulled her cloak tighter. The faint silver-blue light beneath her skin dimmed, but not fast enough.
"You should be more careful," Kael continued. "Caelond isn't kind to anomalies."
"I didn't ask for your concern."
"No," he agreed. "But you might need it anyway."
She took a step back. "If you're planning to turn me in
"I'm not," he interrupted. "If I were, you'd be surrounded by guards, not talking to one."
Something in his voice controlled, restrained, gave her pause.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Kael hesitated, then sighed. "I want you alive."
That was not the answer she expected.
Before she could respond, a shout echoed from the mouth of the alley. Boots struck stone. Too many.
Kael's eyes sharpened. "We're out of time."
He grabbed her wrist.
Instinct flared.
The Starfire surged in response, heat and light bursting outward. The air cracked. Kael staggered back, cursing as blue-white sparks raced across the stones between them.
Lyra gasped, fighting for control. The alley glowed briefly, then dimmed.
Silence followed then running footsteps.
"Great," Kael muttered. "You just rang the dinner bell."
Guards spilled into the alley, spears raised, eyes wide.
"There!" one shouted. "The glow,did you see it?"
Lyra's heart pounded. She could feel the power clawing at her ribs, desperate to be released fully. If she let it loose, there would be no hiding after this. No quiet corners. No passing through.
Kael met her gaze.
"Trust me," he said softly.
She didn't want to. Trust was a luxury she had learned to live without.
But the guards were closing in, and the walls offered no escape.
"Fine," she said through clenched teeth.
Kael slammed his palm against the wall. Runes flared, ancient and precise, and the stone shimmered like water. He pulled her forward.
They fell through.
The world twisted, sound warping into a low roar. Lyra felt weightless for a heartbeat, then slammed onto cold ground, breath knocked from her lungs.
Darkness swallowed them.
For a moment, she lay still, listening. No shouts. No boots.
Only the distant drip of water and the echo of her own breathing.
She pushed herself upright, light bleeding faintly from her skin again. They were in a tunnel,old, carved deep beneath the city. The walls were etched with symbols worn nearly smooth by time.
Kael leaned against the stone, chest heaving. Next time, he said, try not to explode. She glared at him. You dragged me into this.
"And out of it," he countered. "You're welcome."
Lyra stood slowly. "You used old magic."
"Yes."
"Pre-Fall."
"Yes."
"That's illegal."
"Most useful things are."
She studied him more closely now. The controlled power she'd sensed earlier was clearer here, woven tightly into his movements, his breath. You're not just a mage,she said. Kael's expression closed. "Neither are you."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, he spoke. "The Council is hunting Starborn. Not rumors. Not artifacts. People."
Lyra's stomach twisted.
They know, she said quietly. They suspect, Kael corrected. Which is worse. Fear fills in the gaps. He pushed off the wall. "If you stay in Caelond, you'll be found. If you leave alone, you'll be tracked."
"And if I go with you?"
A faint smile touched his lips. "Then you might survive long enough to learn why you burn. The Starfire pulsed in her chest, answering something older than fear. Lyra looked down the dark tunnel ahead,For the first time, she did not walk alone. And somewhere far above, beneath the unblinking sky, something ancient shifted,and turned its gaze toward her.