Chapter 92 Chants of Redemption
Lyra stood in darkness that was so thick that it almost felt solid, like a wall pressed up against her face.
She couldn’t see her hands, couldn’t see the floor beneath her bare feet.
The air was filled with the scent of incense and burnt herbs. Goodness, it smelled acrid and suffocating.
Despite her mouth being closed, it coated her tongue, crawled down her throat, and settled deep in her lungs.
Candles sat somewhere in the corners of the room, but they weren't flaming. They were smoking and making the room even more unbearable.
Lyra stood there, shaking. Her entire body was marked in white chalk, symbols, lines, and circles she didn’t recognize.
A thin white cloth was wrapped around her shoulders and chest, barely enough to keep her decent, doing nothing to protect her from the chill that seeped straight into her bones from the cold floor.
She stood inside a chalk circle etched into the stone floor. Her teeth chattered from the cold and fear.
“Hello?” her voice echoed weakly into the darkness. “Can I step out of the circle now?”
There was a pause. Then a voice answered from somewhere to her left. It was an old, cracked voice that came from the priestess.
“Stay within the circle,” the old woman said. “Step out now, and you may lose your life, child.”
Lyra swallowed hard. “You said this wouldn’t take long.”
The priestess snorted. “Time is a foolish thing to measure in a place like this.”
Lyra had no idea how long she’d been standing there.
An hour? Two? Her legs ached. Her shoulders burned from holding themselves rigid against fear. At some point, time had stopped meaning anything at all.
The cold room made her shiver violently, and the memory crept up on her uninvited.
This darkness reminded her of the summons she had with the Blood King.
She always felt just as helpless and exposed as she did right now.
Her chest tightened, and she tried to take deep breaths to calm herself.
“To the moon daughters, we cry for mercy,” the priestess called out powerfully.
Lyra flinched as the woman began chanting in an ancient tongue she didn’t recognize.
The words sounded like stone scraped against her ears, guttural and hoarse. It made her skin prickle, every instinct screaming at her to run.
She hugged her arms closer to her body, suddenly feeling painfully exposed. Naked, not just in flesh, but in soul.
She tried to be brave. She really did.
But fear has a way of finding its way in when one is in such eerie places.
Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.
“Do not waste your tears, child,” the priestess snapped sharply, even though the room was dark enough not to see anything. “This is not something pity will overcome.”
“I’m not crying,” Lyra said quickly, swiping at her face.
Her voice betrayed her anyway because it was shaking terribly.
The old woman chuckled darkly. “I heard you were strong, Luna. I didn't realize your strength was only a myth! You're so feeble and weak!”
Lyra let out a shaky breath. “Could you stop?” she pleaded. “All of this is new to me. I’m trying to be strong, but you’re making it worse.”
The priestess laughed mockingly. “Strength is not measured in days of joy, Luna. It is measured in days of adversity. Days like this.”
Lyra clenched her fists.
“Now shut up,” the old woman commanded, “and stay in the circle.”
Lyra fell silent, shivering harder as the chant continued.
The smoke thickened, curling around her legs, her waist, her chest. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure the priestess could hear it.
Then, in a blink, everything changed.
Light suddenly sprang up from everywhere.
Candles ignited in all four corners of the room at once, their flames tall and unnatural. The smoke thinned, drifting upward, and Lyra could finally see.
The priestess stepped forward out of the shadows.
She was old and willowy, with silver hair that was completely thinned out and lips that looked barely there.
Her eyes were startlingly silver, and she was frowning at Lyra with displeasure.
“You may step out of the circle now,” the priestess said.
Lyra exhaled in relief and shifted her weight, about to step out.
“Carefully,” the old woman warned. “You must step out with courage. If even a fragment of fear remains in you, the bond will not be severed.”
Lyra froze. “What bond?”
The priestess studied her. “The bond the Blood King has placed upon you.”
Lyra’s stomach dropped.
“The first step,” the old woman continued calmly, “is breaking it in the mind. Fear feeds him, and if you step out trembling, he remains.”
Lyra shook her head. “And if I succeed?”
“Then you may find his words no longer hold power over you.”
Lyra swallowed. “And if I fail?”
The priestess didn’t answer.
“Step out,” the old woman said again. “This time, imagine your greatest fear and overcome it. That is true courage.”
Lyra inhaled deeply and closed her eyes.
The image came instantly and violently.
The cold water, the crushing pressure, and hands forcing her down. Her best friend’s face above her, eyes empty as Lyra clawed for the surface, lungs burning, begging for mercy that never came.
That was her biggest trauma. The night of her death.
Her rebirth.
Her worst fear.
Her legs trembled violently as the images assailed her, but she stepped forward anyway, scrunching her face in concentration.
The moment her foot crossed the chalk line, her strength gave out, and she collapsed to the floor, gasping as her body crumpled with exhaustion.
The priestess didn’t rush to help her.
She merely looked down at Lyra, frowning slightly. “Let us hope you stepped with courage,” she said. “My work here is done.”
Then she turned and walked away.
Immediately, the door creaked open, and light spilled in from the hallway beyond.
Lyra lay there, too weak to move, her entire body shaking.
Footsteps rushed in, and someone called out.
“Lyra!”
Ryker dropped to his knees beside her, gathering her into his arms as if she were made of glass. “Are you okay, baby?” His voice cracked.
Lyra nodded faintly, unable to speak.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ve got you.”
He scooped her up effortlessly, holding her tight against his chest. As he carried her out of the room.