My forehead struck stone.
Blood dripped down my face.
Again.And again.
Only then did Lyra burst into delighted laughter.
“So you really care about this bastard,” she said gleefully.
“Good.Then I’ll let him meet you.Face to face.”
She turned,picked up a heavy silver blade from a table nearby.
My body went cold.
She walked back toward me slowly.Like death itself.
“Don’t…” I whispered, shaking.“Please…”
Before I could finish,she kicked me flat onto my back.
The cold stone slammed my spine.
Then—Agony.
White-hot.
Something tore through me.
My vision shattered.
In the haze,I saw her leaning over me…
I saw her hands…And then…
She lifted something small.
Something red.Something still.
“Oh?” she laughed.“It’s a boy.”
Silence crushed me.
Then her voice again, thick with mockery:
“Too bad,he’s already dead.”
My screams never came out,my lungs refused.
The world tilted away.
Around us, cheers erupted.
“Good riddance to a mongrel!”
“Just looking at him, you can tell his father was filth!”
“Lady Lyra truly purged the pack!”
Applause,praise,fawning voices.Like a celebration built on my corpse.
Lyra examined my dead child with satisfaction,like admiring a trophy.
Her smile was slow… twisted… pleased.