Chapter 9 - Edge of the Abyss
Bran skidded across the slick bridge, his bow snapping under his weight as he came to a shuddering halt inches from the sheer precipice. He spat blood onto the gray stones, struggling to prop himself up on one trembling elbow.
Hovering fifteen feet above the center of the bridge was a terrifyingly large black wyvern, its leathery wings generating gusts of wind that threatened to blow Lyra off her feet. Straddling the beast’s saddle was Commander Vane himself, clad in black-lacquered plate armor, holding a massive, double-pronged spear.
“Did you truly believe a filthy huntsman and a frightened little girl could outrun the king’s reach?” Vane sneered, his voice amplified by the enclosed gorge.
Zephyr leaped from Lyra’s tunic, planting his tiny claws into the stone, his pale wings flared wide in a pathetic imitation of a threat display. He hissed, a blue flame flickering between his needle teeth.
Vane laughed, a cold, metallic sound. “The last of the Pure Brood. The King will pay an empire’s ransom for its skull, little girl. And for you... a lifetime in the deepest oubliette.”
Vane spurred the wyvern. The beast lunged forward, talons outstretched to crush the child.
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Lyra didn’t scream. She didn’t run. She looked down at the golden scales creeping up her neck, pulsing in time with the deep, rumbling earth far behind them. She closed her eyes and shouted into her mind—a raw, wordless cry for help sent through the invisible thread connecting her heart to the chained beast beneath the castle.
A second later, the sky itself seemed to shatter. A blinding streak of pure white fire arced down from the upper clouds, striking Vane’s wyvern with apocalyptic force. The scream of the dying mount echoed down the canyon as the air burned so hot it turned the stone beneath Lyra’s boots to glass.
