The outside air hit Lysandra like a slap.
Cold.
Real.
Alive.
Nothing like the moonlit voids and sacred chambers she had just walked through.
For the first time since the prophecy shattered, she stood under an ordinary sky—
one that wasn't judging her,
wasn't testing her,
wasn't deciding her fate.
Just… the sky of Luneville.
But the world no longer felt ordinary.
Her senses exploded open.
Every scent sharpened.
Every sound layered.
Her wolf pressed right beneath her skin—
alert, restless, smelling everything at once.
She inhaled deeply.
Fresh earth.
Wet leaves.
Faraway chimney smoke.
And then—
Evander.
Warm.
Familiar.
Human.
Home.
His scent grounded her instantly.
"You okay?" he asked softly, trying to catch her eyes.
Lysandra nodded… too quickly.
"Fine."
She wasn't fine.
Not even close.
The Shadow Heir stepped to her other side.
A faint ripple of shadow coiled around him, brushing the grass.
"You're lying," he said, not unkindly.
His voice was sharper than Evander's, but steadier too.
He tilted his head, studying her face.
"Your pupils are blown. Your wolf is pressing the surface."
Evander frowned.
"Is that bad?"
"Yes," the Heir replied bluntly.
"No," Lysandra said at the exact same time.
They stared at each other.
Evander let out a breath.
"This is going to be… interesting."
Lysandra managed a weak smile.
Just a few minutes outside the temple,
and her bonds were already pulling different instincts out of her.
Evander's presence calmed her.
The Heir's presence sharpened her.
And her wolf wasn't sure which one to follow.
The path down the temple mountain twisted into the forests that bordered Luneville.
Normally, she walked this path in silence.
But today—
everything smelled too strong.
Everything sounded too loud.
Every heartbeat she sensed within a mile made her wolf bristle.
The Heir noticed immediately.
He slowed down, falling into step beside her.
"You're hearing what we hear now," he murmured.
Lysandra swallowed.
Children laughing in a distant yard.
A woman chopping vegetables inside a home.
A dog barking three streets away.
A deer stepping between trees.
Every sound pressed into her skull.
Evander moved closer, instinctively protective.
"If it's too much—tell me. I'll help."
Her heart softened.
But the Heir's voice slid in like a sharper blade.
"If you overcompensate," he told Evander,
"you'll smother the wolf."
"I'm trying to help," Evander said tightly.
"And I'm trying to keep her alive," the Heir retorted.
Lysandra rubbed her temples.
"Both of you… stop."
Silence.
They listened.
They obeyed.
She hated how much that thrilled her.
The First Trial Begins: Luneville
As the trees thinned and the town's lanterns came into view,
Lysandra tensed.
Luneville looked exactly as she left it—
quiet streets glowing with warm light,
flower boxes under windows,
the distant chime of the clocktower.
But nothing about it felt the same.
Because now she carried the moon.
The shadow.
Two bonds.
A prophecy rewritten.
Evander touched her wrist gently.
"You don't have to go into town right now.
We can wait.
Make a plan."
The Heir crossed his arms.
"If she waits, her wolf grows restless.
Control weakens."
Evander shot him a glare.
"You set even one foot in my town and everyone is going to panic."
The Heir smirked.
"Your town?"
"It's where I grew up," Evander muttered.
"And where she will be tested," the Heir said.
Evander opened his mouth to argue—
but Lysandra stepped forward.
"No more fighting."
Her voice was quiet.
Firm.
They both went silent instantly.
Her wolf lifted its head, proud.
They listen.
Both of them.
But Luneville wouldn't be so easy.
Lysandra hesitated at the town's edge.
"What if… I can't control it?" she whispered.
Evander shook his head.
"You will."
The Heir stepped closer.
"If you lose control, I'll hold your wolf back."
Evander tensed instantly.
"She doesn't need you to—"
"I need both of you," Lysandra interrupted softly.
Their words died.
She stepped forward.
And the town swallowed her whole.
The People's Fear
The first person who saw her was Mrs. Halloway—
a woman who always bought moonblossoms from her shop.
At first her face lit up.
"Lysandra! You're—"
Then she stiffened.
Her nostrils flared.
Humans couldn't smell wolves the way wolves did—
but they sensed wrongness.
Danger.
And Lysandra's wolf was very, very close to the surface.
The woman took a tiny step back.
"Are you… all right, dear?"
Lysandra forced a smile.
"Yes. Just a bit tired."
The woman's eyes flicked to the two men flanking her.
Evander she recognized.
The Heir—
with violet eyes, cold aura, shadows licking his boots—
She stumbled back.
"Who… who is that?"
Evander moved forward quickly.
"He's a… a traveler. With Lysandra. Nothing to worry about."
The Heir smirked, amused at the word "traveler."
Mrs. Halloway nodded stiffly and hurried away.
Evander winced.
"That… wasn't great."
Lysandra's wolf pressed against her ribs.
She fears us.
All of them will.
The Heir walked past them both.
"Your first task," he murmured,
"is not to let fear provoke your wolf."
Lysandra took a shaky breath.
Easier said than done.
Her wolf hated fear.
It took fear as hostility.
As threat.
As challenge.
They walked deeper into town.
People stepped aside.
Whispered.
"Is that Lysandra?"
"She looks… different."
"Who's that man with her?"
"Both of them look dangerous…"
"Something's wrong—"
Her breath quickened.
Her wolf growled.
She clenched her fists.
Evander leaned close.
"Hey. Look at me."
She did.
His eyes softened.
"Breathe. I'm here."
The Heir stepped to her other side.
"So am I."
Her wolf calmed by a fraction.
But not enough.
A group of children ran out of nowhere—
laughing, chasing each other.
One of them—small, maybe six—
ran right into Lysandra's legs.
"Oof!"
The boy giggled—
then froze when he looked up at her.
His eyes widened.
His lip trembled.
And Lysandra felt it:
fear.
Pure.
Innocent.
Fear of her.
Her wolf roared inside her—
anger flooding her veins.
Not at the child.
At the fear.
At being seen as danger.
Her nails sharpened.
Her vision flickered silver.
Evander grabbed her hand.
"Lysandra—hey—hey—look at me—"
The Heir stepped behind her, grip on her shoulder tight.
"Control your wolf."
But the boy backed away, crying:
"Mama! Mama!"
Lysandra's breath hitched violently.
Her wolf slammed against her chest.
NO.
NO.
WE DIDN'T HURT HIM.
WHY IS HE AFRAID?
WHY—
Her knees buckled.
Evander caught her.
The Heir grabbed her other arm.
People stared.
Whispered louder.
Backed away.
Lysandra squeezed her eyes shut.
"I can't," she whispered.
"I can't be here. I'm scaring them.
I'm losing control—"
Evander's hand cupped her cheek.
"Lysandra.
Breathe.
You're okay."
The Heir leaned close to her ear.
"Listen to your heart. Not their fear."
Her wolf slowly, slowly softened.
Her breathing steadied.
The child was taken away by his mother,
still staring at her over his shoulder.
Lysandra's heart broke.
"I don't belong here anymore," she whispered.
Evander pressed his forehead to hers.
"You belong anywhere you choose."
The Heir placed a hand over her racing heart.
"And you chose both worlds."
Her wolf lifted its head—
pained, scared, but stronger.
Lysandra swallowed.
"We need to go," she whispered.
Evander nodded.
"We'll take you home."
The Heir tilted his head.
"Which one?"
Lysandra looked between them—
her bonds pulling different emotions from each side—
and whispered:
"My shop."
Her sanctuary.
Her beginning.
The place where everything changed.
Evander took her hand.
The Heir fell into step beside her.
And together,
they walked toward Floraison de Minuit,
to face what came next.