The deeper they went, the quieter the world became.
The Veilwood didn't just swallow sound—it swallowed truth.
Lyra walked beside Lucien, Vesper slinking just behind her like a shadow with teeth. Every few steps, the dragon huffed softly, scanning the trees. He didn't trust this place.
Neither did she.
Lucien hadn't spoken since the fire went out. That meant something. Lucien was the type to calculate even silence. His silence now? It screamed.
She almost asked what he was thinking.
Almost.
But then they reached the clearing.
And the world changed.
There were statues.
Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Carved from black stone. Some shaped like dragons. Others like people—knights, mages, even children. All frozen mid-motion, faces twisted in fear.
It wasn't art.
It was a massacre.
Lyra stepped closer to one—a young girl clutching a dragon egg, her mouth open in an eternal scream.
"She was running," Lyra whispered. "From something."
Lucien crouched beside another statue, his frost-gloved hand brushing its surface.
"These aren't stone," he said.
Lyra blinked. "What?"
"They were turned to ash. Burned so hot, so completely… they fused into stone."
A chill ran down her spine.
"This wasn't a battle," Lucien muttered. "It was a purge."
Glyphs were burned into the trees—old and violent. Forbidden. The kind only whispered about in shadowed corners of the Academy library.
And at the center of the grove was a dais.
A single stone pedestal with a scorched crown resting atop it.
Lyra stepped toward it. Her bondstone pulsed violently.
The crown called to her.
"Don't," Lucien warned, stepping forward. "This place is cursed."
She didn't stop.
As she neared the pedestal, the glyphs around them flared to life.
Fire bloomed. Air hissed. The ground groaned.
And then—
A voice.
"The flame that forgets its past shall burn the world to ash."
Lyra stumbled back. "Did you hear that?"
Lucien's blade was out. "It wasn't spoken aloud."
Another voice, this one low and cold:
"The girl bears the cursed flame."
Lyra spun. The forest had shifted.
The statues were moving.
Not physically—they still stood frozen.
But something moved through them. Like ghosts bound to the stone. Echoes of their final moments.
And then—screams.
Hundreds. All at once.
Pain.
Betrayal.
Names shouted in desperation:
"Aerin!"
"Velora, please—"
"Protect the child!"
"The Crown must not awaken!"
Lyra clutched her head, falling to her knees. Her body pulsed with heat. She felt Vesper roar behind her, fire flaring. Lucien rushed to her side.
"Lyra!" he shouted, grabbing her shoulders. "You have to let go—let the flame settle!"
"I can't—" she gasped. "They're in my head—screaming—so many—"
He did the only thing he could.
He kissed her.
It wasn't soft.
It wasn't sweet.
It was desperate.
The moment his lips met hers, the flames snapped back into her chest like a leash pulled taut. Her body stilled. Her eyes cleared.
And when he pulled away, he looked just as stunned as she was.
"…I'm sorry," he said.
But she wasn't.
Because in that moment, when the world was madness, Lucien was real.
Silence fell again.
But it wasn't over.
Because when she looked up—
She saw something she couldn't explain.
A shimmer in the air behind the crown.
She reached out—
And the shimmer cracked like glass.
A door opened.
Not a physical one—but a rift in the very world.
On the other side—a temple, black and burning.
And a figure in a crimson hood.
Watching her.
Waiting.
Lucien pulled her back just as the rift snapped shut.
"What did you see?" he asked.
She looked at him, her voice shaking.
"I think… I saw where I came from."
They left the clearing before nightfall.
As they reached the edge of the Veilwood, the trees opened—and standing there, waiting, was Velora Emberlyn.
Her smile was small and cold.
"You survived," she said. "Impressive."
Lucien stepped forward, jaw clenched. "You knew what was in there."
"I did."
"And you sent her anyway."
"I had to know," Velora said. "If she was strong enough to hear the voices and live."
Lyra stared at her.
"You used me."
Velora didn't deny it.
"You'll thank me. In time."
Lucien's hand hovered near his blade. "She's not your pawn."
Velora's gaze turned sharp. "She's the Crown's heir. She belongs to the flame. As do we all."
She turned, her robes trailing behind her.
"Come," she said. "You've awakened something that can't be undone."
That night, Lyra stood at her window, watching the storm roll across the peaks.
In the distance, the Veilwood still burned.
In her chest, her bondstone glowed brighter than ever.
And in her dreams, the hooded figure whispered—
"Soon, child of ash. Soon, the fire shall remember."
🔥Teaser ~: The mysterious hooded figure is real—and knows who Lyra is. The past is no longer buried… and the Ash Crown may not be as lost as they thought.