Ryker returned to the East Wing just as the courtyard outside began to stir with the first signs of morning activity. He couldn't sleep, and why would he? He had risked everything that had taken him years to build on a single night. Because of a single child? He had gone to meet up with Jonathan at their usual spot. It was a creaking old tarvan that seemed to be the embodiment of haunted houses. But it wasn't always like this. There was a time it was packed with people and bussling with activities and laughter. A time when both of them were still young and naive. They would sneak there just to see the drunk men.
He had found Jonathan gazing up at the start sky.
"How is she?" Jonathan had questioned on seeing him. He just sighed.
"Don't know."
They were silent for a while. They both knew what they hed done.
"I told Thax you transferred the girl to an unknown place for medication and more questioning." Jonathan elaborated, clipping the silence.
"You lied. And he believed you?" Ryker was startled.
"I didn't lie, you did take her for medication and questioning. Just that questioning doesn't mean torture in this case." He explained expertly. Ryker chuckled. What would I do without you? He wondered. He explained everything to him and they agreed to be in this together.
"You should at least,wash up and eat." Jonathan finally suggested. Ryker agreed.
Later, he navigated the tapestry and pressed the stone, the heavy door grinding open to reveal the quiet sanctuary.
The air was still thick with the scent of healing herbs, but the oppressive panic was gone. Lyra lay perfectly still on the table, covered by a thick blanket. Her face was calm in sleep, no longer contorted by pain or fury, though the new, jagged claw scar across her cheek was starkly visible.
The Healer was cleaning his tools, his movements slow and deliberate.
"Report," Ryker commanded, stepping inside and pulling the door shut behind him. His voice was low, strained with fatigue and mounting anxiety.
"Physically, she will live," Roland said, setting down a vial. "The transformation was horrific. I've reset and fused the bone damage, but I couldn't accelerate the skin healing—it's too deep, too primal. She will need more time."
Ryker nodded, bracing for the inevitable difficulty. "And the shift? What caused it to be so... destructive?"
The Healer stopped cleaning and looked directly at Ryker, his expression grim. "That brings us to a far more urgent matter, Commander. When I was performing the internal mana scan to check for organ damage, I found something. Deep in her magical core, anchoring her shifting mechanism... I found a seal."
Ryker frowned, confused. "A binding spell? To suppress her form?"
"More than suppression. This is ancient containment magic," The healer emphasized, walking to a small diagram etched on a slate. "It's a seven-point lock—a spell designed not to simply hold back a wolf, but to regulate and control the shift itself. And it is entirely too strong for a common mage to break, or even to cast and worse yet, even to detect."
Ryker crossed the room, his eyes scanning the diagram, the complexity of the runes immediately recognizable as something beyond standard military sorcery. "What does that imply?"
"It implies the person who cast this spell is a mage of truly formidable power—one who deals in secrets and ancient methods. And it implies that Lyra is no ordinary werewolf subject. She was contained because she was deemed too valuable or too dangerous to run free." Roland paused, his gaze returning to the sleeping girl.
"And there is a further complication that redefines everything. She is only eleven, Commander. I confirmed it by estimating her skeletal maturity."
The number hung in the air, heavy and shocking.
"Eleven," Ryker echoed, his voice barely a whisper. "But... the records, the old lore..."
"The old lore distinguishes between them for a reason," The healer stated quietly. "Werewolves—those turned by curse , bite or most commonly by birth—don't undergo their first transformation until at least sixteen. But Lycans, those born with the pure blood, have a younger maturation curve."
He tapped the slate diagram. "Lycans traditionally undergo their first shift on the cusp of their twelfth year. This girl, Lyra, has shifted at eleven. She's an early bloomer, Commander. She is a Lycan, not a werewolf."
Ryker felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. A Lycan. He already knew what Roland was saying but it was still quite hard to believe. Lycans weren't so many as the werewolves but they did prove to be superior to some extent.They were mythic, considered royalty among the shifting races, and their existence was an explosive political secret.
"My report," Ryker muttered, clenching his fists. "I just told the General Staff she was a simple 'Werewolf Subject' I had re-secured."
"And that lie will protect her, for now," The healer said, his eyes filled with warning. "Because if the Lord Commander knew she was a Lycan—a creature of power contained by ancient magic—they wouldn't order an interrogation. They would order dissection. The threat of discovery is immense. The one who sealed her might still be looking for her, and the seal itself is a beacon of high magic under concealment magic of higher power."
He placed a hand on the girl's forehead, checking her temperature one last time. "That ancient seal is still there, Ryker. It's too strong to remove, and it's the reason her shift was so agonizing; it fought her body's natural process. We can't break it, and until we understand it, we cannot stabilize her. We need to find the one who created it, or find an equally powerful counter-spell."
Ryker stared at Lyra, realizing the immense weight he had shouldered. She wasn't just a political problem anymore. She was a secret weapon, contained by forces he couldn't comprehend, and now tied directly to his fate.
"I need to know everything about Lycans," Ryker stated, his resolve hardening. His rudimentary grasp on Lycan existence wasn't enough. He needed to know exactly what he is dealing with."And you need to keep her stable. No matter what."
"I will," The healer confirmed. "But time is against us. Every day you fail to produce this 'secure holding cell' you claimed, the deeper we fall into treason."