Three years had passed since K’tthar’s defeat. A hard-won peace had finally settled over the kingdom, making days like today possible—days we’d once only dared to hope for.

I gave a gentle knock on Liora’s heavy oak door. “Liora? Can I come in?” My voice was softer than I’d intended, barely disturbing the quiet excitement that seemed to fill the castle.

“Yes, Lyra, please,” her voice drifted back, musical with excitement and just a hint of nerves.

I pushed the door open, stepping into a room flooded with soft morning light. Liora stood by the tall, arched window, which overlooked the sprawling castle gardens already busy with final wedding preparations. The sunlight caught her hair, making it shine like spun gold. It flowed down her back in beautiful, shimmering waves, nearly reaching her waist. She wore a stunning white gown of flowing silk and delicate lace, its bodice embroidered with tiny, gleaming seed pearls. A delicate diamond necklace, a gift from Finnian, rested against her collarbone.

When she turned, a radiant, though slightly shaky, smile lit up her face. Her green eyes, the color of spring leaves, sparkled with excitement, but I could see a flicker of nervousness in them. She took a small, almost unconscious breath.

“Liora,” I breathed, my own heart swelling, “you look absolutely breathtaking.”

“Thank you, Lyra,” she replied, her fingers lightly tracing the lace on her sleeve. The slight tremor was still in her voice. “I can hardly believe today is real. Getting married here, in the castle gardens… it’s everything I ever dreamed of.” Her gaze drifted to the window, a look of wonder on her face.

“It’s going to be a magical day,” I assured her, stepping closer. The scent of lilies and roses, her chosen flowers, filled the air around her. “Everything is perfect.”

Just then, a soft, respectful knock sounded. “My Lady,” a voice called from the hallway, “Lord Finnian and the guests are waiting. They’re ready for you.”

Liora’s wide, bright eyes met mine. A fresh wave of nerves and excitement washed over her. “Are you ready?” I asked, focusing completely on her.

She took another deep breath, her shoulders rising and falling. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” she admitted, a nervous smile playing on her lips, despite the brightness in her eyes. “My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.”

“It’ll all be okay,” I said softly, offering what I hoped was a deeply reassuring smile. “He’s waiting for you. And it’s going to be wonderful.” I squeezed her hand gently. “I’ll see you down there.”

She closed the small distance between us and gave me a quick, heartfelt hug, clinging for just a moment longer than usual. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “for everything.” I nodded, my own throat tight, then slipped from the room, giving her a moment before her grand entrance.

As I walked through the now pristine, sunlit halls, memories surfaced. It was strange to think we had once fought our way through these very corridors, walls crumbling around us. Looking at them now, meticulously restored, you would never know such devastation had occurred.

Even the cities had recovered. Laughter and business filled streets that had once been silent and empty. Thalia’s quiet strength and wisdom had really guided the kingdom into a great new era, making sure everyone was taken care of.

Rounding a sunlit alcove, I saw Noctis. He was talking with a young knight, carrying himself with the quiet confidence of the respected Commander of the Royal Knights. He was a long way from just being Riverwood’s guardian, but he still had that same loyal core. He caught my eye and offered a warm, familiar smile. With a final nod to the knight, he walked over to me.

“How’s our bride doing?” he asked, his voice low and friendly. “Nervous, I’m guessing?”

I chuckled. “She is, but I think she’s more excited than anything right now.”

“Good to hear,” Noctis said, his gaze drifting towards the gardens. “We should probably find our seats.”

“See you around,” I replied, then headed towards the ornate doors leading outside.

The moment I stepped out, the beauty of the garden surrounded me. It was a riot of color and fragrance. Every flower seemed to be perfectly in bloom, their petals open to the sun. The combined scent of the flowers—a rich mix of sweet and spicy—blended with the smell of fresh-cut grass and warm stone. Rows of white chairs, each with a delicate lace ribbon fluttering in the gentle breeze, lined the main stone walkway. At the far end, under a stunning archway woven with white roses and ivy, stood Finnian. He looked both eager and endearingly anxious, his gaze fixed on the entrance, beside the officiant.

I quickly moved towards the front, finding my seat next to Adrix, who greeted me with a welcoming smile, his warm violet eyes studying my face.

As I settled in, Adrix leaned closer, his voice meant only for me. “You look as beautiful as ever, Lyra,” he murmured.

A soft blush crept up my cheeks. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, I thought, a familiar flutter in my chest, he still makes me blush. “Thank you,” I whispered back, my eyes meeting his briefly before turning towards the aisle.

Then, the music swelled—a rich, soaring melody that announced pure joy. Every head turned. And there, framed by the castle entrance, stood Liora.

She moved with a quiet grace, a vision in white. Her smile was bright and pure, her eyes locked entirely on Finnian. His adoration was clear, his earlier anxiety gone, replaced by a look of such deep love it felt almost real in the sunlit air.

When Liora reached him, they joined hands, their fingers lacing together perfectly. For a moment, it felt like the world disappeared, leaving just the two of them in their own perfect, glowing bubble.

The officiant’s calm, clear voice filled the air. “Do you, Liora, take Finnian, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to love and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

Liora’s voice was clear and joyful. “I do.”

“And do you, Finnian,” the officiant continued, turning to him, “take Liora, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to love and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as you both shall live?”

Finnian’s response was firm, filled with emotion. “I do.”

“Then, by the power vested in me,” the officiant declared with a smile, “you may kiss the bride.”

They leaned in, sharing a deep, tender kiss—sealing their vows, a promise of their future together. Applause rippled through the guests, growing into a wave of celebration. After a moment, still holding hands, Liora turned, her eyes sparkling with delight. With a joyful laugh, she tossed her bouquet over her shoulder.

Instinctively, I reached up, my fingers closing around the cascade of flowers.

Liora caught my eye and gave me a beaming, smile.

Just then, I felt Adrix lean close, his breath warm against my ear. “Good thing we’re getting married next month,” he whispered, his voice rich with affection. “I can’t wait to make you my wife, Lyra.”

His words sent a happy shiver down my spine, a sweet echo of the vows we would soon make. I squeezed his hand, my heart overflowing. Our wedding, our own sunlit day, felt wonderfully close. Looking out at the joyful faces all around us – Liora and Finnian bathed in the golden afternoon light, Noctis sharing a laugh with a fellow knight, the kingdom’s people mingling in celebration – I saw more than just a wedding. I saw the future we had all bled for, now unfolding in countless moments of happiness, big and small. The path ahead, for us and for the entire kingdom, stretched out clear and bright, a story of peace and shared tomorrows just waiting to be lived.

A Note from the Author

Dear Reader,

Thank you for embarking on the shadowed path with Lyra. Bringing her story to life has been an incredible journey, and knowing you were there for the final page turn means more than words can express. I hope you found as much adventure and wonder within these pages as I did in writing them.

This story might not exist without the unwavering encouragement of my best friend, who first nudged me to put pen to paper. To them, and to you, I am eternally grateful.

A Glimpse of What’s to Come

The world of The Shadowed Path of Lyra is far from fully explored. The next chapter in this realm will be seen through the eyes of a new protagonist, one whose story intertwines with Lyra’s in ways you can’t imagine. Their journey will cast Lyra’s own in a startling new light. Prepare to question everything you think you knew.

Join the Journey

Your support is the magic that fuels this world. To stay connected and be the first to hear updates, receive exclusive content, and join a vibrant community of fellow adventurers, I invite you to our Discord server. It’s the perfect place to share theories, connect with other readers, and so much more.

I can’t wait to see you there.

https://discord.gg/FGHQTYu8yM

Sneak Peak: Thalia’s Ashen Fate

The sun vanished at midday, not eclipsed, but swallowed whole by a predatory darkness. Moments later, a chorus of unearthly shrieks erupted, a sound that tore through stone and steel as if they were parchment, vibrating bone-deep, a promise of madness. Acrid smoke, seared my lungs, each breath a rasping agony. Through my window, the courtyard was a canvas of slaughter: bodies lay strewn like broken dolls, a gruesome testament to a battle fought and lost in moments.

Suddenly, the heavy oak of my chamber door splintered inwards. Two of my father’s knights, their armor a ruin of dents and crimson stains, filled the doorway. Their brutal entrance snapped my gaze from the massacre below. They advanced, their movements devoid of ceremony, only grim, terrifying haste.

“How… how can I serve you?” I stammered, my voice a thready whisper ill-suited to the chaos. Defenders. They should be out there, protecting the people, not accosting me, a frantic alarm blared in my mind.

Without a word, one seized my wrists. His mailed gauntlet was an iron vise, crushing bone against bone.

“Let me go!” I cried, the demand hollowed out by a fear that had leached all strength from my limbs.

They offered no reply, their silence more menacing than any threat. Their grip tightened, and they began to drag me from my room. The palace halls were a ruin. Tapestries, once vibrant with history, hung in scorched, skeletal tatters. Walls were not merely shattered but bore deep, vicious gouges, as if clawed by some colossal beast. Lifeless knights, men whose names I knew, whose laughter I remembered, slumped in grotesque heaps, their lifeblood a glistening, obscene stain on the once-gleaming marble.

What is happening? The question hammered against the inside of my mind, a desperate drumbeat against the symphony of distant screams and the crash of collapsing masonry. “Unhand me!” I shrieked, my voice cracking, raw.

“Silence, girl!” one of them snarled, his breath, rank and hot, ghosting against my ear. “The King commands your presence, Princess.”

The King? A glacial dread seeped into my bones. Father? But why now? He discarded me years ago, a forgotten relic of a daughter.

My frantic thoughts were severed as they shoved me, hard. My body slammed against the unyielding stone of the throne room floor. Searing, pain shot through my knees; a raw cry tore from my throat. I tried to scramble up, to regain some dignity, but a brutally heavy hand slammed me back down. My knees screamed in protest.

“Please,” I choked, biting my lip so hard that the metallic tang of blood filled my mouth. Desperate to hold back tears of agony and humiliation, I pleaded, “Let me go.”

“Oh, Thalia,” a voice drawled from the shadows cloaking the dais, deep and chillingly familiar. “Why do you insist on struggling?”

My father’s voice. A shiver, colder than any winter wind, traced its icy path down my spine. He was not a man to be trifled with; his displeasure was a harbinger of ruin.

My body began to tremble uncontrollably, the air catching in my throat as if physically blocked by an unseen hand. I gasped, each breath a desperate, shallow flutter. “I… I’m sorry, Father,” I managed, the words ragged shards.

“Sorry?” His voice, a low purr laced with contempt, sent fresh waves of cold, numbing terror through me. “You are always sorry, Thalia. Look at me.”