The air inside the Sun-Reach Sanctum didn't just smell of ozone; it smelled of his own burning flesh. Lucian didn't care. Every step he took toward the cage of light was a promise of violence to the priests who dared to pull Lyra from his world.
"Release her," Lucian's voice was a low, gutteral vibration that caused the crystalline floor to spiderweb under his boots. "Now. Or I will turn this 'holy' sanctum into a tomb."
The High Priest at the center didn't stop the ritual. His eyes, glowing with a cold, stolen light, fixed on Lucian. "You are too late, Shadow-son. Her soul is already being re-woven. She belongs to the Light now."
Lucian's shadows didn't just lash out—they screamed. A physical manifestation of his agony and rage erupted from his back, black wings that blotted out the artificial sun above them.
"She belongs," Lucian hissed, reaching into the spinning halo of celestial fire with his bare, blistering hand, "to ME."
