Where the Mist Meets the Mountain

Previously

…“The eagle,” Lyra said, her voice fading as I stepped away. “Always follow the eagle.” I nodded, though she was already turning back into the warmth of her cabin. The mist seemed to thicken around me, but it no longer felt menacing. It felt… watchful. Protective. I tightened my grip on the wooden box, the weight of my father’s legacy settling upon my shoulders. The path ahead was uncertain, shrouded in mist and shadowed by danger, but for the first time since I’d lost everything, I felt a flicker of purpose. I would follow the eagle, and I would uncover the truth. Whatever it took.