Lyra woke to darkness so complete it felt heavy. When she looked outside, the moon was gone—not hidden by clouds, but missing from the sky entirely. The silver feather on her windowsill flickered weakly, as if afraid.

A soft knock came at her door. Rowan stood there, pale and breathless. “Lyra… the moon didn’t just vanish. It was taken.” He held out a shard of glowing white stone. “This fell from the sky. It’s a piece of the Moon Temple.”

Rowan led Lyra to the edge of the forest, where a hidden staircase spiraled downward. At the bottom lay an ancient chamber filled with carvings of wolves, stars, and a great silver moon. The carvings told a story: the moon was guarded by the Lunaris Pack, a group of spirit wolves. And now, they were missing too.

A soft growl echoed through the chamber. A wolf stepped from the shadows—its fur shimmering like constellations. It introduced itself as Solin, last of the Lunaris Pack. The others had been captured by a force called the Moonless Tide, a dark current that rose from beneath the world.

Solin led Lyra and Rowan to a hidden lake whose water was black as ink. The surface rippled, forming a doorway. “The Underdeep,” Solin said. “Where forgotten magic sinks.” Lyra took a breath and stepped through.

The Underdeep was a world of floating ruins and drifting memories. Books swam like fish. Lanterns glowed underwater without flame. Lyra found a book that whispered her name and opened itself. Inside was a prophecy: “When the moon is stolen, the Listener must restore the tide.” Lyra felt her stomach twist. She was the Listener.