The Artifact’s Hold Tightens
Lyra’s grip on the artifact tightened as its whispers surged, drowning out her thoughts. The training ground seemed to blur around her, the pulsing energy of the crystal matching the frantic rhythm of her heart. Its commands were relentless: Unleash. Dominate. Destroy. The promises woven between the demands were even more unsettling: Power. Freedom. Control.
Across the field, Eryon moved with precision and confidence, his strikes slicing through the shadowy constructs conjured by Eira. Each blow landed perfectly, the constructs dissipating into smoke at his feet. The artifact’s energy coursed through him, making every movement sharper, every action more deliberate.
“You’re holding back, Lyra,” Eira’s voice cut through the air, cold and sharp as the winter wind. Her silver gaze bore into Lyra, dissecting every ounce of hesitation in her stance. “Your brother understands what it means to embrace power. Why don’t you?”
“I’m trying,” Lyra muttered, her voice strained and brittle. But the words felt hollow, even to her. Every time she reached for the artifact’s energy, it felt like it was reaching deeper into her, threatening to devour the parts of herself she wasn’t willing to lose.
Eryon landed another flawless strike, his amber eyes glowing faintly with satisfaction. He straightened, turning to face Lyra, his tone sharper than usual. “You need to stop doubting yourself,” he said, his words cutting like a blade. “It’s holding you back, and we don’t have time for that.”
Lyra’s jaw clenched as frustration bubbled beneath the surface, amplified by the artifact’s whispers. “It’s not that simple!” she snapped, her voice cracking with emotion. The outburst startled even her, but she couldn’t stop the anger surging inside her.
Eira tilted her head, her smirk widening as if she had been waiting for this moment. “That’s the power you’ve always feared, isn’t it?” she said, her tone laced with mockery. “The part of you that you keep caged. Let it out, Lyra, or it will destroy you.”
The words struck a nerve, and Lyra’s wolf instincts stirred restlessly against the artifact’s overwhelming influence. She glanced at Eryon, his stance relaxed, his power radiating control. How could he wield the artifact so effortlessly while it threatened to break her? Was she the only one struggling?
The artifact pulsed violently in her hands, the whispers turning cruel, taunting her insecurities. You’re not enough. You’re weak. You’ll never be what they need.
Her fingers trembled against the jagged crystal as doubt clawed at her resolve. She bit down on the urge to lash out, to scream, to let the artifact’s power consume everything around her.
Seraphine stepped forward, her movements fluid and calculated, her expression softening into a mask of concern. “You’re stronger than you think, my love,” she said, her voice smooth and soothing. She placed a gentle hand on Lyra’s shoulder, her touch grounding yet oddly suffocating. “Trust me, and you’ll see it for yourself. You’re destined for this.”
Lyra’s chest tightened, her conflicting emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She cast a fleeting glance at Seraphine, the faint smile on her lips making Lyra’s stomach churn. How could her words feel both reassuring and manipulative all at once?
The artifact surged again, its whispers rising to a crescendo. Lyra’s knees buckled slightly, and she gritted her teeth, forcing herself to remain standing. She focused on the crystal’s light, trying to drown out the voices, but their venom refused to relent.
Eira watched the scene unfold with an almost predatory satisfaction. “Good,” she said, her voice a low purr. “Struggle. Fight. That’s how you grow. That’s how you survive.”
Eryon approached, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. “Lyra, you can do this,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re stronger than you think. Stop fighting yourself and start fighting for us.”
Lyra’s gaze darted between her brother and Seraphine, the weight of their expectations bearing down on her. Her hands shook, the artifact’s glow casting eerie shadows across her face. The voices in her head screamed louder, demanding her surrender.
Behind her, Seraphine’s faint smile widened, her silver eyes gleaming with satisfaction as Lyra’s struggle deepened. She took a step closer, her voice soft and almost hypnotic. “You don’t need to be afraid anymore,” she murmured. “I’ll guide you. Trust me, and you’ll become unstoppable.”
