Chapter Five: The Eyes That See Beyond
The Temple of Vaelora stood at the edge of the mountain cliffs, carved from pale stone that shimmered under moonlight. Its spires reached toward the heavens, where stars burned cold and bright. Inside, candles flickered against ancient walls, casting moving shadows on murals of gods and saints.
And in the center of the prayer hall, Lyra knelt in silence, surrounded by the stillness of prophecy.
She was young, yet her eyes were old—far older than they should've been. Silver threads had begun to streak her dark hair, a gift—or curse—of divine sight.
Tonight, her hands trembled.
The gods were screaming.
---
She clutched the edges of the ceremonial bowl filled with sacred water and stared into it. The surface shimmered, then blurred. Images rose like smoke:
A black horse galloping through a burning field.
A forest screaming in pain.
A girl with a shattered mask, weeping blood.
A king surrounded by shadows he could no longer command.
Five flickers of light… flickering, fading, fighting.
Lyra gasped and fell back.
The vision shattered.
Sister Moen, the temple matron, rushed to her side. "Another vision?"
Lyra nodded, her voice barely a whisper. "Worse than before. They're not coming… they're already here."
"Who?"
Lyra looked toward the statue of Vaelora, goddess of truth and balance. The face was cracked. The eyes had darkened.
"The demons," Lyra said. "But also the ones who must fight them. The five. They're being pulled together. But if they don't find each other soon… the world will crack."
---
That night, Lyra walked alone through the high balcony of the temple, wind tugging at her robes. The stars above spun too quickly, as though the heavens themselves were disoriented.
She felt it in her soul: something ancient was breaking.
And something cruel was waking.
Suddenly, a voice whispered in her mind. It was not human. Not even godly.
It was between.
> "Daughter of stars... Bearer of the Eye...
The balance tilts.
Blood calls to blood.
Find the five.
Or perish with the silence."
A glowing mark burned into her palm—five circles connected by lines, forming a star.
She clutched her hand, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"Guide me," she whispered. "Please."
---
The next morning, Lyra descended from the temple for the first time in years.
Her sisters watched in stunned silence. She wore traveling robes now, a staff of moonwood in her hand, and the pendant of the Oracle hanging at her neck.
Sister Moen called after her, "Where will you go?"
Lyra didn't turn back. "Where the veil is weakest."
And as she vanished down the mountainside, the skies above the temple wept a single drop of black rain.
---
Meanwhile, far away…
Asha rode east.
Bryn began his journey.
The demon Talia stalked in silence.
And the five threads of fate began to twist tighter.