The horn's call still echoed in Lyra's ears long after Caelen left the library. She tried to return to her scrolls, but the words swam uselessly before her eyes. A gnawing unease had settled in her chest.
By nightfall, the Tower was restless. Messengers came and went, their boots tracking mud across the marble floors. The High Keeper paced the halls, issuing orders with clipped urgency. No one told Lyra what was happening—probably because they thought she'd try to interfere.
They were right.
A crash shook the western wall, rattling the shelves. Dust rained down from the high ceiling. Lyra shot to her feet just as a young acolyte burst into the library, panting.
"They've breached the outer gate!" he cried. "It's the Binder's herald!"
Her blood went cold. The Binder. The very name was a shadow in her nightmares.
Without thinking, Lyra grabbed her satchel, stuffing it with the scrolls she had been studying. The prophecy could wait—survival could not. She hurried down the spiral stairs, her boots echoing against the stone.
Halfway down, she collided with someone rounding the corner. Strong hands caught her before she fell.
Caelen.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded.
"I could ask you the same," he replied, his jaw tight. "The herald isn't here for the Tower. He's here for you."
Before she could protest, the air around them shivered—like glass cracking without breaking. A dark figure emerged from the shadows at the base of the stairs, cloaked in black smoke.
The herald's voice was like a blade scraping metal."The Binder summons his chosen."
Caelen stepped in front of her, drawing his sword. "She's not going anywhere with you."
The herald's smile was a thin, cruel curve."Fate says otherwise."
The floor beneath them trembled, and in that instant, Lyra realized the truth: running from the prophecy had only made it come looking for her.