Misery’s Warning
The tense standoff grew sharper as Misery’s words hung in the air, her steady grip on Lyra’s shoulder the only anchor against the storm raging within her. Lyra’s silver eyes darted between the three figures before her—Adrian’s unwavering gaze, Eryon’s fiery determination, and Misery’s piercing intensity. The artifact’s whispers roared louder, an incessant tide pushing her toward a breaking point.
Eryon took a step forward, his wolf form flickering at the edges of his control. “Lyra, you don’t have to listen to her. I’ve been with you every step of the way—we’ve faced everything together.”
Misery scoffed, her crimson eyes narrowing as she stood her ground. “And look where that’s gotten her. You’re so blinded by your own pride, Eryon, you can’t see what this is doing to her.”
“Enough,” Adrian interjected, his voice sharp but measured. He turned to Lyra, his expression softening. “Lyra, listen to me. This artifact—it’s feeding on your doubts, your fears. Whatever it’s whispering, it isn’t the truth. You have to fight it.”
Lyra’s breathing grew more erratic, her fingers tightening around the artifact until her knuckles turned white. The word echoed louder in her mind, relentless and consuming: Choose.
“I’m trying!” she cried out, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. Tears streamed down her face as she turned to Eryon. “I can’t keep doing this—I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
Eryon’s amber eyes softened, his wolf instincts retreating for a moment. “You can trust me,” he said, his voice low and pleading. “I’m your brother. We’re in this together.”
Misery sighed, stepping between them. “That’s the problem,” she said bluntly, though her tone wasn’t unkind. “She’s not choosing for herself. Lyra, you don’t need any of us telling you what to do. You need to decide what you want.”
Adrian nodded, his voice gentle but firm. “Misery’s right. We’re here to help, but you’re the only one who can break free of this.”
The artifact pulsed violently, its glow flaring brighter. The whispers crescendoed, overwhelming and relentless, as if the object itself was fighting to claim her. Lyra’s vision blurred, her knees buckling as she fell to the ground, clutching the artifact like a lifeline.
“Lyra!” Eryon shouted, moving to help her, but Misery held him back.
“Let her,” Misery said firmly, her crimson eyes locked on Lyra. “She has to face this alone.”
The forest seemed to hold its breath as Lyra squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the voices around her. The whispers shifted, morphing into fragmented memories—moments of warmth with Isla and Draven, Seraphine’s piercing silver gaze, Eryon’s unshakable loyalty, Adrian’s quiet determination, and even Misery’s biting honesty.
Choose.
Lyra opened her eyes, the artifact’s glow reflected in the tears streaking her face. She rose slowly, her body trembling as she turned to face the three of them. Her voice was quiet but resolute, cutting through the stillness like a blade.
