The Outlands were never quiet. They only pretended to be.
Lyra Ashen moved through the narrow streets with practiced ease, boots skimming over cracked stone and packed ash. Evening had settled in, turning the sky a muted violet, the hour when shadows stretched long enough to hide in and most sensible people disappeared behind locked doors.
She preferred this hour. It asked fewer questions.
A trader's fire hissed as she passed, the scent of burning oil and dried herbs clinging to the air. Somewhere nearby, metal clanged,too sharp, too deliberate. Lyra adjusted the strap of her satchel and altered her path without thinking. Instinct mattered more than curiosity out here.
"Careful," someone muttered as she slipped past. She didn't answer. Being noticed was a mistake she avoided whenever possible. The Outlands sat at the edge of the realm, forgotten by the Council unless taxes went unpaid or rumors grew inconvenient. Buildings leaned into one another as if exhausted by the effort of standing alone. Nothing here was permanent,not safety, not loyalty, not people.
Lyra had learned that early.
She reached the end of the street just as the bells rang. Low. Distant. Wrong. Her steps faltered. Bells weren't for the Outlands. They belonged to the inner districts,warnings, summons, announcements meant for polished stone and guarded gates. Hearing them echo this far out set her nerves on edge. A few others noticed too. Doors creaked open. Faces appeared, wary and curious, then vanished again. No one lingered. Neither did Lyra.
Her room sat above an abandoned tannery, the air permanently tinged with old leather and smoke. The stairs groaned beneath her weight, but she climbed them anyway, locking the door behind her once inside. Only then did she breathe. The space was small but familiar,one narrow bed, a scarred table, a cracked window overlooking the street. She set her satchel down and rubbed her hands together, trying to chase away the chill that had nothing to do with the weather. The bells rang again. Closer this time. Lyra turned toward the windowsill. The stone lay where she'd left it.
Dull gray at first glance. Unremarkable. Anyone else would have mistaken it for scrap rock. She picked it up, letting its weight settle into her palm. It pulsed. She frowned. The stone had always felt warm,comforting, almost,but this was different. The heat spread quickly, seeping into her skin. Thin silver veins beneath its surface glimmered, brightening as if waking from a long sleep. "Stop," she whispered, though she wasn't sure why. The candle on the table flickered. The air thickened, pressing against her chest. Lyra stepped back as the stone slipped from her fingers,then froze when it didn't fall.
It hovered between them. Her heart hammered painfully. "That's not possible." The silver veins flared, light spilling outward, painting the walls in pale blue. The room trembled. Dust drifted from the ceiling, caught in the glow like falling stars. Lyra raised her hands without realizing she'd done it.
The power answered.
It surged through her,hot and cold all at once rushing down her arms, coiling in her chest. She cried out as the pressure built, sharp and overwhelming, until...
The ceiling shattered.
A column of light tore upward, piercing roof and sky alike. The force slammed Lyra backward, knocking the breath from her lungs. The candle extinguished instantly. The bells outside erupted into frantic noise. When the light finally faded, silence crashed down just as hard. Lyra lay on the floor, chest heaving, ears ringing. Smoke curled lazily from the ruined ceiling. The stone dropped at last, clattering beside her hand. She stared at her palms. They trembled.
Nothing like this had ever happened before. Nothing like this was supposed to happen. The stories she'd heard growing up,about Starborn and celestial gifts,were myths. Warnings told to children to keep them obedient.
Weren't they?
Footsteps sounded outside. Voices. Shouts. Lyra scrambled to her feet, heart racing. Whatever she'd just done, it wasn't something she could hide. The bells had seen to that. She grabbed her satchel, hesitating only once as she glanced back at the glowing stone. Then she ran. Far away, where polished towers cut into the night sky, Lord Kaelen Duskbane stood very still. The light had been unmistakable.
Silver-blue. Celestial.
For years, the stars had offered nothing but silence. Prophecies had faded into dust and ridicule. The Starborn line was supposed to be gone. Kaelen smiled slowly.
"So," he said softly, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. "You survived." Behind him, a servant knelt, trembling. "Send word," Kaelen continued. "Seal the roads. I want her found."
The stars above pulsed once, as if in answer.
And somewhere in the Outlands, Lyra Ashen disappeared into the night,unaware that the world had just begun to move around her.