The forest was different up here.
Colder. Quieter.
Lyra sat in the broken cabin's doorway, watching the early morning fog roll over the hills like a slow-moving beast. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, the tattered remains of her dress clinging to her skin. She hadn't slept. Not really. Every time her eyes closed, she saw Kael's face.
The blank look.
The sharpness in his voice.
> "I reject you."
The words were starting to lose their sting, but the echo remained. And yet, deeper inside her, another voice kept whispering:
> You were never meant to stay broken.
Nyra, her wolf, was different now. Stronger. Calmer. She didn't whimper anymore. She watched. She waited. As if they were both waiting for something bigger to begin.
And it did.
At sunrise.
The cabin creaked. A bird took off from the rooftop. Lyra's head snapped toward the sound of twigs cracking behind her. Instinct kicked in, her heart leaping.
Someone was approaching.
She moved silently, crouching beside the cabin wall, eyes narrowed. Her senses were sharper now—she could feel the weight of the footsteps, hear the steady breathing, smell the faint trace of—
> Rogue. But not Duskclaw. Not from any pack she recognized.
A tall figure stepped into the clearing, dressed in a dark cloak, his face shadowed by the hood. He moved with the quiet confidence of a predator, every step calculated.
Lyra didn't breathe.
The man stopped just feet from the cabin, tilted his head, and said, "You can come out. I know you're there."
She froze. Then cursed under her breath. No use hiding.
She stepped out slowly, shoulders tense, hands half-shifted with claws ready.
"You lost?" she asked coldly.
He looked up. Slowly.
And Lyra's world paused.
His eyes.
They glowed—not gold like Kael's, but a deep, piercing silver. Unnatural. Ancient.
"No," he said, voice calm. "I came looking for you."
Lyra narrowed her eyes. "Who sent you?"
He pushed back his hood. He was young—maybe a few years older than her—but his presence carried the weight of something older. His skin was a warm bronze, and his jaw was sharp, set with faint stubble. A scar traced from his left cheekbone to his neck, disappearing beneath his collar.
"No one sent me," he replied. "I followed the pull."
Lyra's claws twitched. "Pull?"
He took a careful step forward. "Your power woke something. Every rogue with a sense for the old blood felt it. The Council will hunt you now. But there are others—like me—who've been waiting for you to rise."
"Waiting?" Lyra scoffed. "I didn't ask to rise. I just want to be left alone."
The stranger studied her quietly. "They'll never leave you alone now. The Council's already moved against one of the ancient bloodlines. You're the last."
"Who are you?" she demanded, backing slightly.
He bowed his head slightly. "I'm Cassian. I was born of no pack. But my ancestors served the Moonblood family before it was wiped out."
Lyra's breath caught.
Moonblood.
That name… it was whispered in forbidden scrolls. A line said to descend directly from Selene. A family murdered centuries ago when the Council feared they'd become too powerful.
Cassian straightened, silver eyes steady. "And you, Lyra Duskbane, carry the last trace of their blood."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yes, you do," he said softly. "You felt it last night. The mark burned. Your wolf changed. The forest bent to you."
Lyra didn't answer. Her hand went to her shoulder, tracing the birthmark beneath her torn dress.
Cassian stepped closer. "You can come with me. There are others. Hidden rogue enclaves—wolves who don't bow to the Council. They've been preparing for your return."
Lyra hesitated. Everything inside her screamed not to trust him. She didn't know him. He could be lying. A trap. Another betrayal.
But… he knew things. Things only Selene had whispered. And his scent didn't trigger danger. It felt strange—almost… familiar. Safe.
"I don't trust you," she said flatly.
"Good," he replied. "You shouldn't. Trust has to be earned."
She stared at him for a moment longer.
Then nodded once. "Fine. But try anything, and I'll rip your throat out."
Cassian smirked. "Deal."
---
They traveled in silence.
Cassian moved like a shadow, weaving through the forest with silent steps. Lyra followed behind, still on edge, her senses tuned for danger. But nothing came. No patrols. No pack scent. Just trees, fog, and the wind.
As night fell, they reached a rocky cliffside. Cassian paused and tapped on a stone three times in a rhythmic pattern. A low growl rumbled beneath their feet.
Lyra backed up, but the rocks shifted. An illusion faded—revealing a narrow tunnel.
"This way," he said.
She followed, the air growing cooler and damper as they descended underground. The tunnel opened into a cavern lit by glowing mushrooms and ancient wolf runes etched into the walls. Shapes moved ahead—wolves, men, women—all rogue, all watching her with wary eyes.
But none attacked.
Cassian raised a hand. "She is under my protection."
The tension broke.
A woman stepped forward—dark-skinned with silver braids, eyes sharp as daggers. "This is her?" she asked. "She looks… small."
Lyra's jaw clenched. "Say that again."
The woman chuckled. "I like her."
Cassian smirked. "Lyra, meet Seris. She's been running this outpost longer than I've been alive."
Seris nodded. "We'll see what you're made of, heir. If the moon truly chose you… you'll survive what comes next."
---
Later that night, Lyra stood in a quiet corner of the underground sanctuary, staring at her reflection in a polished silver plate.
Her hair was wild. Her face was pale, eyes sunken. But the mark on her shoulder glowed faintly even now.
The Moon's Heir.
It sounded like a joke.
But the power inside her… it wasn't a joke.
And if the Council wanted her dead?
> Let them come.
Suddenly, she felt it—a sharp tug in her chest. A pulse. Familiar.
Her knees buckled.
A vision slammed into her mind.
Kael.
On his knees in the Duskclaw war room. Blood on his hands. Rage in his eyes.
> "Where is she? Where's Lyra?"
The vision faded.
She gasped, gripping the stone wall for balance.
Kael had felt the bond flare again. Despite the rejection. Despite everything.
But why now?
Her wolf stirred.
> He's unraveling without us.
She clenched her fists.
Good.
Let him unravel.
She had work to do.