Ryker's first priority now was confirming she was alive. An amnesia test was impossible if the subject was dead. He found a trusted mage, a slender woman named Elara, known for her swift, subtle healing—and together they descended into the dungeon.
Upon seeing the prisoner's ragged, bleeding state, Elara was a bit startled. She had seen people in bad shape but this.....this was on another level. After composing herself and assessing how much magic she needed,started forward, her hands already glowing faintly with protective, pale-green mana.
"What do you think you're doing?" Thax's voice was a deep, gravelly snarl.
"Attempting to stabilize her condition," Elara stated, her dark, serious eyes meeting his. She wore practical leather vestments over simple trousers, her silver braid lying over one shoulder. This was the reason Ryker trusted her, she always put a patient's life first, irregardless of the situation or person.
"She is a suspect. You will do no such thing."
"There won't be any evidence to test if she dies, Thax," Ryker interjected, his voice level and backed by the authority of his rank. "A dead suspect is a waste of resources."
Thax's gaze flickered between Ryker and the girl, the argument logic prevailing over his cruelty. He grudgingly allowed it.
As Elara approached the bleeding body, the blood moon outside intensified dramatically. Its deep, terrifying crimson light poured through the tiny, high window, bathing the dank stone in an unnerving, arterial glow. The girl's unfocused eyes locked onto the light. Second time. She thought, it felt like a hammer blow as she kept staring at it's crimson hue. How could she remember that?
A low, guttural growl rumbled deep in her chest, even as her gaze remained fixed on the moon. The exposed skin of her arms and neck began to darken, the pores widening visibly. Coarse, jet-black fur, thick as wire, erupted from her skin, not just growing, but tearing through her existing wounds and carving fresh, deep gashes in the process. A wave of metallic scent—blood and musk—washed over them.
Snap!
The sharp, sudden sound of bone snapping made Elara gasp and recoil a step. Silence hung, thick and terrified. Then, a sickening, rapid-fire *crack-pop-crunch* echoed off the cold walls. Her spine twisted violently, limbs elongated, and her skull seemed to reshape itself. It was an agonizing, rapid restructuring that wrenched high, desperate screams from her lips, screams that shredded the air.
"By the elements, what is happening?" Elara whispered, her glowing hands dropping uselessly.
"She's shifting?" Jonathan answered, his usual bemusement gone, replaced by a pale, clinical interest. "But it's too fast, too aggressive."
"Should we be worried?" Elara asked again, glancing at the disintegrating chains.
"She's chained. She's not going anywhere," Thax scoffed, leaning against a pillar, a wicked smirk playing on his lips.
But he was wrong. The transition was violent, uneven, and utterly unnatural. She was clearly too young, her body unprepared for this primal agony. They watched, frozen in place. It was horrific. Ryker was more frightened by it than anyone. He had realized that if she didn't survive, it would play out badly for him too.
When the transformation ceased, she was a terrifying caricature of the majestic wolf. She was a wretched, mangy beast: fur patchy and matted with blood, limbs twisted at unnatural angles, and her muzzle misshapen. This was not how a werewolf should look like,at all.She thrashed against the floor, a guttural snarl replacing the screams, her eyes burning with a blind, desperate, cornered rage.
Thax, arrogant and foolish, strode toward the beast.
"Even if you're a werewolf, you'll still die in my hands," he taunted, drawing his blade.
He was so wrong.
With a primal, shattering howl, a strength that defied her broken body flooded her system. The heavy iron chains securing her snapped instantly, stone links shattering under the sudden, explosive force. She launched herself, a desperate, broken missile, and attacked Thax. He fought back, his blade flashing and raking a deep, bloody gash across her grotesque muzzle.
The pain and the scent of her own fresh blood triggered blind flight. She slammed into the far dungeon wall, her shoulder connecting with the masonry and splintering the heavy, reinforced stone effortlessly. It was an escape route.
She fled, her broken legs pumping in a staggering gait, leaving a high-pitched howl and a wake of chaos and panic in the upper levels of the keep. Jonathan, Ryker, and Elara sprinted after her through the giant hole she had just made on the wall.
"Where in the world is she going?" Ryker shouted to Jonathan over the din of alarmed guards. He looked at her dragging, broken tail and the blood-soaked fur that marked her trail.
"The barrier… the place we found her. She's running home."
Ryker's heart pounded with dread. Her escape meant his death.
They were forced to stop short when they reached the outer courtyard. Royal guards had surrounded her in a perfect semi-circle, a forest of cold steel pointed at the monstrous, whimpering creature.
"Try talking to her," Ryker advised Jonathan, his eyes calculating the risk.
"Why me?"
"You were with her longer. She trusted you," Ryker snapped, irritation overriding his usual calm.
Jonathan sighed, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. "I'm sorry about what happened. I promise it won't happen again," he began, his voice soft but not convincing.
The words only fed her fury. She threw back her head and unleashed another deafening howl, a sound of agony and ultimate betrayal. The guards closed ranks, prepared to end the life of the dangerous beast.
Ryker acted. He unsheathed his sword and roared, demanding the guards fall back. They obeyed the Commander's command instantly.
The moment she saw him approach, she became a frenzy of teeth and claws. Ryker kept his grey eyes calm and steady, focusing solely on the creature. Slowly, deliberately, he let his heavy, two-handed weapon drop into the dust.
"See, I don't want to hurt you."
The quiet, unshakable certainty in his voice pierced through the veil of her feral rage. She stilled, staring at him, the desperate, flickering blue of her eyes trying to focus on his face. He took a single, slow step forward, but a jittery guard shouted a nervous warning. The noise startled her, and she lunged—her claws accidentally tearing a ragged wound across Ryker's exposed forearm.
She tried to bolt again, confusion and pain overwhelming her, but Ryker took the ultimate risk.
"Lyra!" he called out, his voice loud and clear.
She froze mid-step, her ruined body trembling. Even though her mind had scattered thoughts everywhere in this state, she had still heard him. Does know me?
As if reading her mind, he answered the unspoken question. "I know you. I can take you home, Lyra."
She faced him, her bloody teeth bared in suspicion. Must be lying. They all lie.
"I won't let anyone harm you again." He held her gaze, then turned to the assembled guards, his voice ringing with absolute authority. "Drop your swords. Now." The steel clattered on the stone. They then took slow calculated steps back.
"No one is going to hurt you ever again. I promise."
She didn't want to believe him, but his voice was impossibly warm, his eyes clear and devoid of deceit. The promise, backed by the sudden obedience of the guards, broke her will. She moved forward cautiously until her muzzle gently brushed his extended, wounded hand. His warmth was a sudden, overwhelming comfort in her agony.
The tension drained from her massive body. She sank to her knees, then collapsed onto the ground, resting her aching head against the ground.Minutes later, the agonizing, slow reversal began. He lay her head on his lap, trying to calm her down. Maybe even ease the process.
Her fur receded, her bones cracked back into place, and the monstrosity melted away, leaving the young woman trembling and naked.
Ryker quickly pulled off his heavy black cloak and wrapped it tightly around her small, shaking body. Scooping her up, he held her close against his chest.
"Who... who you?" she whispered, her voice a reedy thread, as she clung tightly to his shirt.
"I'm Ryker," he answered softly, his eyes scanning the courtyard, daring anyone to approach.
As she finally drifted into exhausted unconsciousness, a small, grateful smirk touched her lips. She remembered Jonathan's offhand comment back in the cell. He really did come to save her.