The next morning began with tension already thick in the air more than usual. The kind that settled into bones and whispered that something was wrong before anyone said a word.
Lyra woke to sharp knocks at her door. She answered, still dressed in a plain tank top and loose pants, expecting another training session but it wasn't Alaric standing there.
It was the pack healer, Tamsin. Quiet, elderly, with eyes that saw too much and a mouth that rarely said anything unless it mattered.
"Come with me," she said. "You need to see something."
Lyra didn't ask questions. She followed.
They moved down staircases and corridors that Lyra hadn't even known existed. Tamsin's silence was louder than words. Eventually, they stepped into a narrow observation corridor above the main training grounds, an indoor, open-roof pit dug deep into the rock and dirt.
And there, below, the pack was fighting.
Not sparring. Fighting.
Young wolves and senior warriors alike were split into two groups. Shouting. Grappling. Biting. Alpha guards stood between them, trying to push them back. There were no weapons yet but the rage was unmistakable.
Lyra pressed her hand to the glass.
"What's happening?" she asked.
Tamsin's eyes never left the floor. "They're choosing sides."
A door slammed behind them.
Alaric stepped into the corridor, his expression unreadable. He barely looked at Lyra as he approached the glass and watched the chaos unfold.
"It started over you," he said simply.
Lyra's throat tightened. "Me?"
"Some believe the Bloodbond weakens me," he said. "Others say it proves I'm willing to protect anyone, even someone they consider unworthy." His voice was calm, but his jaw was clenched tight. "They're not just fighting for dominance anymore. They're fighting for identity."
Lyra turned to him. "Then stop it. Call them off."
Alaric's eyes flicked to hers hard, sharp, stormy.
"If I stop it now, I will take a side. And if I take a side, I lose the other half."
Tamsin finally spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "You've already lost them, Alpha. You just haven't chosen who you'll fight to keep."
That silenced the room.
Later that day, Lyra found herself in the common hall, sitting at a long table where several younger wolves gathered for lunch. They looked up as she approached. Most glanced away. A few held their gazes, daring her to speak.
But one young warrior named Cade nodded. Not a warm welcome, but not rejection either.
She sat beside him.
"Rough day," Lyra said quietly.
He snorted. "You could say that."
Another voice across the table muttered, "Wouldn't be this way if she wasn't here."
Lyra turned, locking eyes with the speaker. It was Corin, a stocky, broad-shouldered enforcer she'd seen training outside the past few days. His lip curled as he met her glare.
"You want to say that louder?" she asked.
"You're not one of us," Corin spat. "You're a rogue with a leash around our Alpha's throat. He used to protect us. Now he protects you."
Cade stood abruptly, his chair scraping. "That's enough."
But Corin was already standing too, nostrils flared.
"He broke a hundred years of tradition to bond with an outsider. You really think the elders won't retaliate? That other packs won't see it as weakness?"
Lyra rose, calm and sharp. "He bonded with me to keep your sorry ass alive when rogues nearly breached your border."
Corin growled low in his throat.
"I'm not afraid of you, girl."
"You should be," she said simply, then walked away.
But the damage was done.
Eyes followed her. Voices rose behind her. Another crack had formed and Lyra knew it wouldn't be the last.
That evening, Alaric summoned the pack council.
Lyra wasn't invited.
She stood in the shadows of the hallway outside the meeting chamber, listening through the thin crack in the door. Inside, voices barked and echoed.
"We told you this would happen, Alaric."
"She doesn't belong!"
"The Luna Court won't accept her if even her own pack won't!"
"Then maybe this pack needs to evolve," Alaric snapped. "We're no longer ruled by blind tradition. We need strength and she has it."
A long pause followed.
Then a quieter voice, maybe one of the elders spoke with eerie calm.
"She's dividing the hearts of your people. Wolves whisper rebellion now, Alaric. How long until they act?"
Lyra backed away, pulse pounding.
She didn't want to be the reason Ravenguard crumbled from the inside. But how could she convince them she wasn't a threat when half the pack wanted her gone and the other half saw her as a symbol of change they were too afraid to admit they needed?
That night, she walked the grounds alone.
The moon was high. Clouds passed across it, casting silver shadows on the trees.
She found Cade near the patrol barracks, sharpening his blades.
"You okay?" she asked.
He shrugged. "You get used to being hated around here. Loyalty changes like the wind."
She sat beside him, thoughtful.
"Do you think I made a mistake coming here?"
He stopped sharpening.
"No," he said. "But I think staying will break you if you don't figure out who you're fighting for."
Lyra looked down at her hands rough from training, scarred from running.
"Maybe I should fight for myself for once," she whispered.
Cade nodded. "Then do it. But remember you're not alone, even if it feels like it."
Elsewhere, deep beneath the packhouse, the locked wing remained undisturbed.
Except for one shadow that moved through it silently.
Evander.
He paused before one of the cell doors, not the same as the one Lyra had heard the whisper from. This one was darker. Older.
He unlocked it.
Inside sat a man's eyes hollow, wrists scarred from years of chains.
Evander spoke quietly.
"She's here. And she's starting to ask questions."
The prisoner smiled, slow and broken.
"Then it's beginning," he rasped. "Isn't it?"
Evander didn't answer. He just shut the door and walked away.
Above them,Ravenguard howled not in triumph, but in turmoil.
A pack once united by fear was beginning to crumble.
And Lyra stood at the center of it all.