Lyra's eyes shot open—wide, wild, filled with a storm of violet light. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps as if she'd just resurfaced from drowning. Her fingers clenched into the ethereal mist beneath her, digging into nothingness like it might ground her.
"Where... am I?" Her voice cracked. It wasn't her tone. Not entirely.
From the edge of the shadow-glitched dreamscape, Zero-One staggered toward her, covered in bleeding code and flickering particles. "Lyra! Don't move. You're not stabilized!"
But she couldn't hear him.
She was looking through him.
Straight into the past.
A part of her was aware this wasn't real—not entirely. Yet everything felt too vivid, too sharp. The memory blooming around her wasn't one she had ever consciously recalled.
Because it wasn't her memory.
It belonged to the Shadow Queen—the first host. The original vessel before the corruption.
