The glade had stopped breathing.
Lyra knelt in the ash, Raven's weight heavy against her lap. His skin was pale, too pale, like winter had kissed him and never left. His breathing was shallow, uneven—every rise and fall a battle.
But he was alive.
Barely.
The relic had dulled now, its monstrous glow reduced to a soft pulse. Not dormant. Just satisfied.
Lyra brushed soot from Raven's face, her hands trembling. "You're still here."
His eyes flickered open, dazed. "Unfortunately."
She let out a shaky breath, half a laugh, half a sob. "Idiot."
"I felt… it tearing," he rasped. "Not my body. Something else."
"I know," she whispered. "It went for the bond."
The connection between them wasn't gone, but it was thinner. Like a thread soaked in ice water—there, but numbed.
Changed.
She looked around. The guardians had vanished without a trace. No footsteps. No scent. Just the eerie silence of a glade that had witnessed too much.
"We need to move before they return," she said.
Raven nodded weakly, trying to rise. His body wouldn't obey.
Lyra gritted her teeth. "I'll carry you."
He blinked. "Romantic."
"Shut up and let me save your life."
She gathered him into her arms, his weight awkward but familiar. Her magic was still flickering wildly beneath her skin, barely contained. Whatever the relic had awakened, it hadn't gone dormant inside her.
Not yet.
She moved fast, slipping between trees that whispered secrets in languages older than the realms. The forest twisted around her, paths changing when she blinked. But something inside her guided her—a pull.
And she followed.
After what felt like hours, she reached the edges of the witch realm. Familiar trees, familiar scents. Safety—or the illusion of it.
She found shelter in an old rune circle buried in ivy. Wards sparked as she stepped inside, recognizing her as one of their own.
Raven winced as she laid him down gently.
"We're safe for now," she said, voice hoarse.
He opened one eye. "You didn't leave me."
She leaned down, pressing her forehead to his. "Never."
The bond flickered between them. Still broken. Still alive.
Somewhere, the relic pulsed again.
And in Lyra's chest, the frost whispered:
This is only the beginning.