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Chapter 23 - Chapter 22-Raiden- Not so easy.

The tunnels pressed close, shadows dragging along the damp stone. My boots struck loose gravel, echoing sharp. Revik kept pace, muttering under his breath, sword half-drawn.

"I don't like this," he said, voice low. "Lyra. Alone with him. That bastard doesn't have a line he won't cross."

"He needs her alive," I said, jaw tight. "He won't risk it."

"That still leaves a hundred other ways he could screw her over. Or she puts a claw through his ribs first. Honestly, I'd bet on her."

I didn't answer. My ears were already shifting, stretching dragon-sharp. The cave unfolded—drips, fractures settling, the hiss of hidden magma. Then—

a roar.

A strike heavy enough to shiver the wall under my hand. Lyra's voice—sharp, ragged. And Muir's, too close to hers.

My chest locked. Breath vanished.

Before I thought, I was sprinting, crashing around corners, scraping shoulders on rock. Too fast, too blind. My mind flooded with things I never let myself imagine—her hurt, her broken, her gone. I couldn't think. Couldn't plan. Just run.

A hand slammed my shoulder. Revik. He yanked me up short.

"Raiden! Stop."

"I can't—" The word tore out of me. "She's—"

"Breathe." His voice cut hard. "You're no use to her like this. Breathe."

I froze, chest heaving, every muscle ready to break free. The echoes still battered my skull—stone cracking, her voice cut short. My pulse drowned reason.

Revik shook me once, sharp. "Think, damn it. You've got ears that can hear a mouse in a storm. Use them."

The words landed. I forced air into my lungs, one breath, then another. The cave steadied, sounds layering back into place. Drip. Grind. Magma hiss. And—faint—footsteps dragging. Two sets. And a voice, muffled, frayed.

"That way." My hand pointed before I realized it was moving.

We pushed through a fissure barely wide enough to squeeze, shoulders scraping stone, then down a steep descent where heat rose like a furnace. Every turn I strained for her voice, every silence threatened to drown me, and yet I still felt like my body was being pulled towards her. Like she's calling me. What is wrong with me. Focus find her

I listened. Footsteps, breathing. Left.

The closer we got, the worse it sounded: staggered breathing, boots scuffing stone, someone swearing under their breath—Muir.

And then we broke into a larger passage. My chest locked.

Lyra.

She stood unsteady, shoulders braced against the wall, her body a map of blood and bruises. Her cheek split, her arm wrapped tight across her ribs, smears of soot and dried blood making her look like she'd clawed her way out of the mountain itself. Her chin was lifted, her eyes steady—but it was a mask. I could see the tremor in her legs, the way each breath shuddered.

I didn't think. I pulled her into me, one arm circling her, holding her against me like I could anchor her upright. She stiffened, hands pressing weakly at my chest as if to protest—but she didn't push away.

Her blood smeared my shirt. Her heat seeped into me, uneven, fragile.

But with her in my arms, I felt like I could breathe again.

The relief lasted only a heartbeat. Then my gaze lifted—past her shoulder, to the smirking bastard standing a few steps back. Muir.

Rage surged, clean and sharp. My fist curled, lightning itching at my veins.

Her hand caught my wrist, quick. "Don't. Not him." She met my eyes, steady despite the shake in her body. "He saved me."

The words stopped me cold. My body obeyed her before my mind did, the charge dying uselessly in my veins.

"You hear that, Stormboy? A hero." Muir's voice echoed from behind her, smug and grating.

I didn't take my eyes off Lyra, though every part of me wanted to put him through the wall.

I lowered my fist by inches. "Don't push it." Muir only chuckled.

Revik stumbled up behind, breathing hard. His gaze swept over the three of us, but it stopped on Lyra. He crossed the space and ruffled her hair gently. "Good to see you still standing, lovey."

She managed a faint smile before batting his hand away.

He turned on his heel toward Muir, planting himself at his side. "Thanks for keeping her alive." An elbow drove into Muir's ribs before he added, "That's for not keeping her from getting hurt."

Muir grunted, rubbing his side. "Well, that's some thank you."

I ignored him, my focus fixed on Lyra. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"It was a lot worse a while ago," she admitted, voice low but steady. "I'm getting some strength back."

Lyra pulled back enough to stand on her own. Pale, eyes shadowed, but upright. That steadiness was hers, not mine. Reluctantly, I eased half a step aside. Not all the way.

"We move," I said.

The tunnel widened, heat pressing heavier with every step. Just before the cavern opened, a polished slab of stone blocked the way forward, carved with runes that glowed faintly red against the black.

I stepped closer, squinting. The lines twisted, shifting, but made no sense to me. Ancient script, maybe—but dead languages were as good as scratches on rock.

The slab loomed out of the heat, black and polished smooth, carved with runes that glowed like embers. I frowned, trying to make sense of the curling script, but the markings twisted uselessly before my eyes.

Lyra froze beside me. Her gaze clung to the stone, lips moving soundlessly before the words spilled free, her voice low and strange.

"Power eternal burns at the heart of the flame. It answers only the worthy. To wield it is to bind blood to fire. To take is to give. A soul for a spark, a life for the flame."

The sound of it seemed to hang in the chamber, vibrating through the stone underfoot.

When silence fell, Lyra swayed slightly, color drained from her face.

I stepped closer. "You can read that?"

Her eyes flicked to mine, wide and unsettled. "I… shouldn't be able to. I don't know how to read."

The words lodged in my chest, heavier than lead. She looked terrified of herself, more than of the inscription.

Muir broke the silence with a humorless laugh. "Charming. So the relic wants blood. Maybe we should decide now whose it'll take."

Lyra's gaze didn't leave the slab. Her lips moved soundlessly again, eyes tracing the glowing runes as though the stone whispered only to her.

My stomach tightened.

Then she lifted her hand.

"Lyra—" I moved, closing the space just as her palm brushed the stone. Heat flared, brighter than before. I caught her wrist, yanking it back, words sharp on my tongue—

The slab cracked.

A thunderous sound split the chamber as lines of fire ripped through the black surface, runes shattering like glass. The ground shook beneath us. With a roar like the mountain itself breaking open, the slab burst apart in a rain of molten shards.

Beyond it yawned the chamber, vast and terrible—rivers of magma pulsing through black glass walls, and at its center, suspended above a jagged fang of obsidian, hovered the relic.

The last shards clattered to the ground, heat rushing out of the chamber beyond. My grip was still iron on her wrist.

"What were you thinking?" The words tore out sharper than I meant. "You can't just—"

Lyra wrenched free, eyes flashing. "I'm not stupid, Raiden. I wasn't throwing myself into it for fun."

The retort snapped against the cavern walls. For a moment, we just stared at each other, her cheeks flushed, my jaw locked.

Revik cleared his throat behind us. "Hate to interrupt your lovers' quarrel, but maybe argue after we're not standing in front of ominous ancient relics."

"Well," Muir said, smirking. "That's convenient."

"So do one of you just go and get it?" Revik asked.

I shook my head. "I don't think any of us should touch it. We don't know what will happen." My eyes slid to Lyra. "Only you."

Her jaw tightened, but she didn't flinch. She stepped closer, gaze locked on the relic. "Then you'll fly me."

It seemed too easy. My gut coiled tight, warning me it wasn't. Nothing about this had been simple.

Still, I nodded. Her hands settled on my shoulders, small but unyielding. Mine circled her waist. For a breath, neither of us moved, tension strung tight between us. Then I opened my wings.

We rose, heat rolling off the magma in waves. It licked harmless against my skin, but the intensity stole my breath. Lyra didn't flinch. Her gaze stayed fixed on the relic, unwavering.

I lowered her toward the black altar, wings straining against the heavy, stifling air—

And the temperature plummeted.

The temperature plunged further, every breath frosting in my throat. The molten rivers around us dimmed as if smothered, their glow paling in the shadow that rose from them.

The shape gathered slow, deliberate, like it wanted us to watch. Smoke and cinder folding into a figure too tall, too wrong. Claws dripping molten rock, jaws twisting open on a soundless snarl. Its eyes were pits of burning coal.

Lyra's grip on me tightened. "Fuck."

An Ash Wraith.

The chamber fell silent, every sound swallowed by its presence. Even Muir didn't joke.

The Wraith's gaze locked on her.

I didn't hesitate. "Muir!"

I threw her. He caught her, wings flashing, landing them hard on the ledge. Safe.

The Wraith turned to me. Good.

Its claws sliced the air where I'd been a blink before. I rolled, lightning surging to my hands, and struck. The bolt split it in two. It reformed in a breath.

Muir's voice echoed. "Well. That was disappointing."

"Shut up," I snapped, and braced for the fight.

Figures. My gut was right—this isn't gonna be easy.

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