“Is it lyrium?” Astrid echoes, still a little too thunderstruck to fit those particular pieces together. She accepts the waterskin absentmindedly and simply holds it between her hands, staring.

She’s only seen lyrium inert before, carved out of the mountain and turned into commodity for trade; a particularly weird mineral but still a mineral, at the end of the day. Not this humming pulse around them like a heartbeat, like a song. There’s a prickling unease shivering its way down her shoulderblades, telling her: They shouldn’t be here. They don’t belong here.

She finally looks at the waterskin, and takes a deep draught from it. Wiping her mouth clean and then glancing over at Hermione, she continues: “Korth devised a plan that he might never be betrayed by his own heart, by taking it out and hiding it where no soul would ever dare search for it. This feels like…”

Her voice tapers off. She doesn’t want to say it out loud.