Lyra

Lyra stood atop an old broadcast tower, high above Nexaris. Wind tore at her blood-soaked bandages, her eyes glowing like twin suns. Pink and blue—past and future. She had seen enough. Lost enough. Now the city would see what it had buried. With help from the survivors, she prepared a signal. Not an attack. Not a virus. But truth. Lyra connected to the old network, placed her hands on the console—and opened her gift. Memories poured out. Images of experiments, children in cages, Kael’s death, the boy with the scars. The city saw it. Every screen. Every terminal. Unfiltered. Brutal. Human. People froze. Soldiers hesitated. Some cried. Others screamed. But no one could look away. Lyra collapsed, her body overloaded, her nerves aflame. But she smiled. Because she had spoken. Not with words. But with memory. And Nexaris listened.