Lyra's pupils shrank to slivers of white.
She stood trembling at the heart of the sealed chamber, obsidian flames licking the floor at her feet. The Codex hovered midair, pages flipping with a will of their own. Each turn unleashed whispers—some ancient, some far too familiar.
Her lips parted against her will.
"Kill the doubt."
The voice wasn't hers.
Not anymore.
She could feel her mind fragmenting—shards of memory and emotion splintering under the Codex's weight. It didn't scream like mortal pain. No, it seduced. It curled around her thoughts like velvet shadow, replacing grief with fury, hesitation with cold focus.
Why do you kneel when you were born to rule?
She had come down here to borrow power.
Instead, she was bargaining with something that had her name already etched in its bones.
