The wind howled differently that night.
It wasn't cold—not truly—but it carried weight, as if the air itself was burdened with secrets. Lyra stood at the edge of the forest, her hands clenched. The sigil on her chest pulsed again, and every beat felt like a challenge thrown into the stars.
Behind her, Raven approached silently. His presence no longer felt foreign. It was like breathing. Natural. Dangerous.
"They've called for a hearing," he said, voice clipped.
Lyra didn't turn. "The Council?"
"They want you to answer for the relic. For what we saw. For us."
A pause.
"And they sent the hunter," he added.
That made her spin around.
"What?" Her voice cut through the mist like a blade. "They summoned him?"
Raven nodded once. "Calyx has already crossed the lower mountains. He'll be here by dawn."
Lyra's breath stilled. Calyx wasn't just a hunter. He was the enforcer of the Council's unbroken oaths—trained to destroy magical anomalies. Especially those rooted in emotion. Especially those that threatened the realms.
Their bond.
"He'll kill us both," she murmured.
"No," Raven said. "He'll try. That's different."
They both knew the difference was razor-thin.
Still, neither of them backed down.
Not now.
Because after everything the relic had shown them, one truth remained undeniable: their connection wasn't an accident. It was a design. One older than prophecy. One the Council feared more than death.
"Then we fight," Lyra said simply.
Raven's expression didn't change—but something softened in his eyes. "I thought you'd say that."
They returned to the sanctuary within the forest, a place where witches once carved starlight into stone. Lyra placed her palms against the old runes, channeling the pulse of her unstable magic. Raven stood behind her, quiet, until the markings began to glow.
"How long can you hold the barrier?" he asked.
She exhaled. "Not long. It's not meant to repel Calyx. Just slow him."
"That's enough."
But even as they prepared, unease slithered between them.
Because beneath all the fury, all the rebellion, was fear. Not of death.
Of being separated.
Of losing the one person who had seen them, chosen them, even when the entire world demanded otherwise.
"Raven," she said quietly, "if I fall—"
"You won't."
"If I do," she insisted, turning to face him fully, "you don't run. You burn them all."
He stepped forward, brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "If you fall, Lyra, I fall with you."
It wasn't a vow.
It was a curse they accepted.
The sky cracked open as thunder rolled again. The storm was drawing near, and with it, Calyx.
Just past midnight, the wards trembled.
Then a voice echoed from the shadows. Cold. Distant. Familiar.
"Lyra of the Ashmark. Raven of the Lost House. Surrender peacefully, and your deaths will be honored."
She stepped out before Raven could stop her.
"No."
Calyx emerged from the mist like a blade being unsheathed. Pale eyes, silver armor etched with binding runes. His voice was devoid of mercy. "Then your names will be erased. Along with your sin."
He raised his blade.
Raven was faster.
Lightning cracked across the clearing as magic surged.
The battle had begun.
And the world would never forget what came next.