LYRA POINT OF VIEW

My chamber was quiet.

Not the comforting quiet of rest or peace, but the heavy, suffocating kind that settles after chaos, when echoes still linger in the air long after voices fade. The celebration in the great hall had ended hours ago, yet faint remnants of it still drifted through the castle like ghosts, distant laughter carried by corridors, the dull thud of retreating footsteps, the occasional howl of drunken warriors celebrating Moonfang’s supposed triumph.

Inside ...