The cold was no longer something Lyra only felt on her skin. It felt heavy, like it was pressing down on her whole body. Her breath came out in short, frozen clouds. Only the golden warmth inside her kept her heart beating.
She stumbled through the Iron Woods. The trees were frozen solid, bent and cracked under thick ice. Everything was silent.
Behind her, the loud metal footsteps of the Feathered Queen had stopped.
That scared Lyra more than the noise ever had.
The Queen was no longer walking. She was gliding through the air, quietly searching. Her many watching eyes looked for any sign of warmth in the dark, frozen world.
Suddenly, Lyra tripped over a frozen root and fell down a steep slope. She expected to hit hard ground—but instead, she broke through hidden brush and dropped into a space filled with stale, warm air.
She landed inside a tunnel.
The tunnel was not natural. Rusted copper pipes lined the walls, and they hummed softly, just like the Queen's ship.
"Don't move," a rough voice said.
Lyra jumped up, her hands glowing gold in fear. The light filled the tunnel, and she gasped.
A man stood in front of her—though he barely looked human anymore. He was extremely thin, with gray skin and torn clothes held together by copper wire. His eyes were gone. In their place were glowing amber lenses fixed into his skull.
"A Prime," the man said quietly. "Your golden energy is leaking. You're shining too brightly. If you don't hide it, she'll find us."
"Who are you?" Lyra asked, slowly calming her hands until the light faded.
"We are what's left," the man replied. "The ones who survived the Mill. The ones who weren't fully drained. We are called the Gray."
He motioned for her to follow him.
They walked deeper underground into a hidden world beneath the kingdom. These tunnels had once served the palace, but now they were a refuge. Lyra saw hundreds of people living there. Many had metal arms or mechanical lungs. They looked half alive, kept going by stolen heat and broken machines.
At the center of the tunnels was a large chamber filled with steam. A woman sat in a tall chair made of scrap metal. Her hair was white, but her face looked young, untouched by time.
"Princess Lyra," the woman said. "My name is Kaelith. I was the Prime Tithe sixty years ago. I helped design the Gilded Mill—before I understood the truth."
"Then you know how to stop the Queen," Lyra said urgently. "She's destroying everything."
Kaelith's expression was sad. "The Queen cannot be killed with weapons," she said. "She was created long ago to hold back something worse—the Great Void. If she dies, the sun will not just go dark. It will disappear forever."
"There must be another way," Lyra said. "The golden energy—it's people. Their futures."
"Yes," Kaelith nodded. "The Queen stores that energy in her Heart of Glass. To defeat her, you must break that heart and return the stolen Potential to the world."
"How?" Lyra asked.
Kaelith pointed to Lyra's chest. "You are the key. You survived the Mill and became a vessel. You carry enough energy to restart the world. The Queen doesn't want to kill you. She wants to use you—to wear you—and rule forever."
The ground suddenly shook. Dust and ice fell from the ceiling. A terrible, high sound echoed through the tunnels.
"She's here," one of the Gray whispered.
"She followed the gold in your blood," Kaelith said as she stood, metal parts in her spine hissing. "You didn't bring hope, Lyra. You brought the end to our door."
Above them, the stone ceiling began to glow and melt.
The Feathered Queen was coming.