Lyara's POV
We burst out of the tunnel into the night. The air was freezing, stabbing my lungs like knives, but even that was a relief compared to the foul, suffocating dark behind us. The Starborn stumbled beside me, still pale, still trembling—but alive. Alive was enough for now.
I didn't let go of her wrist. Not yet. If I did, I wasn't sure she'd keep running. And if she fell, I knew I wouldn't be able to pick her up again.
The Highlands stretched before us—jagged rocks, twisted trees.
The land itself looked wounded, scarred by centuries of Azrath's curse. Grass grew only in patches. Bones lay scattered everywhere, as though the earth was too tired to bury its dead.
And behind us… the hunters.
The first roar shook the mountains. Not Azrath this time. No—the Nocturnis. They didn't need torches to see in the dark. Their eyes glowed like fire, burning red in the distance.
