Lyra Spots the Orb

The storm roared like a living beast, pulling Lyra’s focus in a dozen directions at once. She steadied herself against a crumbling post, squinting into the chaos. That’s when she noticed Skyline—its luminous form bright against the swirling darkness—locked in a deadly dance with Victor.

Atop a raised plateau, several meters away, Victor lashed out like a cornered animal, his movements wild and desperate. A splintered beam Skyline had saved him from lay discarded nearby, a bitter reminder of the Creche’s restraint. For a moment, it was as though everything else faded—there was only Skyline’s light and Victor’s flailing shadow.

Then something gleamed on the ground between them, faint but unmistakable.

The orb.

Victor had dropped it. 

Her breath caught as the storm pulled at her hair and clothes. She darted forward without hesitation, her boots crunching over debris and loose stones. Neither Skyline nor Victor seemed to notice, their struggle absorbing them completely.