The chamber was cold, but it pulsed with a quiet power that made Lyra’s skin prickle. She stood at the center of the circular room, the faint glow of ancient runes etched into the stone walls illuminating the faces of the council members gathered around her. Each was a Whisperborn elder—guardians of the secrets, keepers of the old magic. Their eyes, sharp and unwavering, weighed her with a mix of expectation and concern.

Miraen stepped forward, her voice steady despite the tension in the ...