The Verdant Vale was a tradi of a nd—sere untamed, weli wary. Its sprawling emerald forests and crystal-clear rivers wove an illusion of paradise, but beh that beauty y the quiet judgment of the empire’s gaze. To the nobles of the core worlds, it was little more than an unrefined backwater, a pce of rustic traditions and unsophisticated ways. But to Lyra, it was home.

  The midday sun dappled through the t opies as she strolled through the vilge square, the warmth catg in the soft freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. Her reddish-pink hair, casg into a vibraurquoise at the tips, shimmered in the light, adding to the almost ethereal air about her. There was a gra her step, a quiet poise, but in her golden-hazel eyes, a sharpness lingered—wisdom far beyowenty years.

  Beside her trotted Nyx, her Seraphyx familiar, the sleek feline’s golden gaze flig from vilger to vilger, wings-for-ears twitg at every whisper carried by the wind.

  “You’re staring again,” Lyra murmured, scratg Nyx behind her celestial ears.

  Nyx flicked her tail, the motion precise and calcuted. “I just fot how small everything is here.”

  Lyra let out a soft chuckle. “You spent too much time perched in the rafters of the Lyceum’s grand halls. Not everything o be t stone and gold.”

  The vilgers greeted her as she passed, their smiles warm but measured. She could feel their curiosity, their caution. They were not cruel—but she was different now. Time away at the Astralis Lyceum had left a sheen of empire polish on her, ohat set her apart.

  “She’s grown into a fine young dy,” one of the older women murmured approvingly to her neighbor. “The mayor must be proud.”

  “I heard she graduated sed in her css,” another added, the admiration ced with awe. “We’re lucky to have her back.”

  The words settled over her like a fortable shawl, warm but slightly ill-fitting. She gave a polite nod and pressed forward, pushing aside the nagging thoughts in her mind. She had more pressing matters—an old woman y bedridden, and the potion to aid her required rare ingredients. The local healer had asked for her help, and Lyra had readily volunteered.

  The first ingredient, a Moonblossom, bloomed only in the cool shadows of the Whispering Falls. The jourhere was familiar, the path winding through the Vale’s endless green, the st of damp earth and wildflowers filling the air. Nyx flitted ahead, leaping gracefully from rock to rock, wings twitg as though she were listening to the wind.

  The falls were as breathtaking as ever, a silver cascade spilling into a pristine pool, mist curling around the jagged rocks. At its base, led in the damp moss, glowed a single Moonblossom. Lyra k and carefully plucked the delicate flower, cradling it as if it were made of spun gss.

  “One down,” she murmured. “Two to go.”

  The item, a Shimmering Scale from a River Nymph, would be trickier. The nymphs were capricious creatures, their favor difficult to earn. Lyra made her way to the Crystal River, where the water ran so clear it seemed like liquid gss. She k by the bank, her voice carrying an old, fotten melody. The rippling water parted, and from its depths emerged a nymph, her skin adorned with iridest scales that caught the light like crushed diamonds.

  The nymph regarded her with knowing amusement. “What do you seek, child of the Vale?”

  “A single scale,” Lyra answered. “For a potion to aid a woman in need.”

  The nymph’s gaze lingered, and for a moment, she said nothing. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she plucked a scale from her arm and held it out.

  “Ah… I see.”

  Lyra hesitated, something in the nymph’s voice raising her suspis. But she pushed the feeling aside and accepted the gift with a small bow. “Thank you.”

  The final ingredient was the most dangerous: a drop of venom from a Manticore’s stihe ir y deep within the forest, where the trees grew twisted and the air was thick with the st of damp stone and decay.

  Nyx padded silently beside her, her usual fidence dampened. “Are you sure about this?”

  Lyra offered a half-smile. “I didn’t graduate with honors by bag down from a challenge.”

  She stepped into the cave, the light from her staff casting long, flickering shadows. Bones littered the ground, the unmistakable st of predator thi the air. At the cavern’s heart, the Manticore slumbered, its massive lion-like body rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. Its scorpion tail twitched even in sleep, the venomous tip glistening in the dim light.

  Slowly, carefully, Lyra crept forward. She had studied the teique—how to extract the venom without waking the beast. She just had to—

  A sharp intake of breath. The Manticore’s eyes snapped open.

  In a blur of motion, it lunged. Lyra barely had time to react, her staff fring as she jured a barrier. The force of the impact rattled through her arms as the creature’s cws scraped against the shimmering shield. It reared back, muscles coiling for arike.

  Then, a sharp metallig. A polearm, long and elegantly crafted, struck against the Manticore’s tail mid-strike, diverting its trajectory with unnatural precision. The air shimmered where the on made tact, a faint glimmer of magic reinf the steel.

  A man stood at the entrance of the cave, the dim light casting his silhouette in shadow. He was dark, weatherworn armor, a great helm cealing his face. At his waist hung a device—a pocket watch-like traption pulsing with faint energy.

  The Manticore snarled, shifting its focus. Lyra’s heart pounded, but amidst the chaos, her trained mind caught the details. The way the fortification spell had maed—precise, trolled. It was different from anything she had see oddly familiar.

  The man did not speak. He simply shifted his stance, pleaming as he prepared for the strike.

  And then, the Manticore attacked.