Title: The Shard of Elysia – Chapter 2: The Obsidian Chase
The wind tore at Lyra's cloak as she ran. Twigs snapped beneath her boots, and the cold night air stung her lungs. Behind her, the forest stirred—shadows shifting unnaturally, as if the very woods bent to the will of her pursuer.
The shard burned cold against her palm, its silver light pulsing softly with each heartbeat. She knew she shouldn't stop—couldn't stop—but the weight of the vision still lingered: a kingdom in flames, a faceless tyrant, and a sword of light. What did it mean? And why had the shard chosen her?
A low voice cut through the night. "You cannot outrun the Order."
Lyra's heart pounded as she glanced back. The armored figure was closer now, moving with eerie silence. The moonlight gleamed off his dark helm, the silver raven-serpent sigil unmistakable. She knew the rumors—when the Obsidian Order came for you, no one ever returned.
She pressed on, weaving through the dense undergrowth, the shard's light flickering faintly through her fingers. Her legs ached, but the thought of capture pushed her forward.
A sudden root caught her foot. She fell hard, the air driven from her lungs. The shard slipped from her grasp, landing in a patch of moonlight. Its glow flared brighter—as though calling out.
Panic surged through her veins as heavy footsteps approached. Lyra scrambled forward, fingers brushing the shard just as the armored figure emerged from the shadows.
"You should not have touched it," he said coldly.
Lyra clenched the shard, feeling a strange warmth spread through her hand. "I didn't ask for this," she snapped, rising to her feet.
The man tilted his head slightly, as if studying her. "Yet it chose you." He took a step closer, gauntleted hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Give it to me, and perhaps I will let you walk away."
Lyra laughed bitterly. "You'll kill me either way."
The man's silence was answer enough.
A strange pulse raced through her veins—raw power, ancient and wild. The shard flared brighter, and without thinking, Lyra raised her hand. The light erupted outward, forcing the man back.
His sword hissed free of its scabbard. "You do not know what you hold, girl," he growled.
Lyra didn't wait to find out. She turned and ran again, the shard's energy burning through her like fire and ice. The edges of the forest blurred as she pushed herself harder, her mind racing.
She had to get to Ironhold. If anyone knew what the shard was—and why the Obsidian Order wanted it—it would be there.
But deep inside, she already knew. This wasn't just some forgotten relic. It was a weapon. A key to something far greater.
And she was no longer just a girl running from the darkness.
The darkness was chasing her because—whether she wanted to or not—she was meant to fight it.
To be continued…