Epilog
Ashmoor was quiet again.
Not in the way it used to be—stiff, ceremonial, guarded. But in a way that felt alive. Soft. Whole.
There were no more whispering nobles. No more sealed council meetings. No more crows waiting at the gate.
Only sunlight.
Only wind.
Only the sound of laughter echoing through the garden.
Lyra was barefoot, as always.
She chased butterflies through the tall wildflowers at the edge of the castle grounds, her dress stained with grass and joy, her hair in two messy braids Evanna had tied that morning. She was taller now, more graceful, but still wild around the edges.
“Careful near the creek!” Evanna called from her chair beneath the willow.
“I’m not afraid of the creek!” Lyra yelled back. “It’s afraid of me!”
Rylan chuckled from where he stood nearby, arms crossed, heart too full to speak.
“She’s you,” he whispered.
Evanna smiled. “She’s herself. That’s the miracle.”
Later that evening, they walked together through the old orchard. It had once been used to impress visiting royals — now it was Lyra’s favorite place to be no one but herself.
She paused beneath the largest tree. Her tree. The one with twisted roots and pale blossoms that only bloomed under moonlight.
Evanna had once buried the ribbon from the night Lyra was conceived at its base — the only piece of that night she ever kept.
Lyra didn’t know that.
But she knelt there every time they visited, pressing her palms to the earth and whispering to it like a friend.
Rylan watched her now, quiet.
“She’s the future,” he said.
“No,” Evanna said, lacing her fingers through his.
“She’s the healing.”
And in the distance, beyond the mountains, beyond the borders, beyond even what the Seer once dreamed...
The world changed slowly.
Not through war.
Not through crowns.
But through a girl with moonlight in her bones—
—and a family who chose love, over and over again.