Part One: The King's Warning
Location: Eldmaar — The Stonewild Throne, long before Lys arrived at the academy.
Lys stood before the beast-king, her father.
Seven feet tall in human form, but even then, his shadow bent like a creature. His voice was thunder wrapped in fangs.
"You feel it, don't you?" he growled. "The pull. The urge. The flame in your blood that won't stay still."
She didn't answer.
He stepped closer, placing a clawed hand on her shoulder. His golden eyes narrowed, sharp with old wisdom.
"When a Lykaari finds the one who stirs their core, we don't choose—we claim. But that doesn't make it love, girl."
"It's power," he said. "Raw. Feral. And if you let it control you, you'll destroy the very thing you're drawn to."
Lys met his gaze, fierce and unblinking.
"What if I don't want to destroy him?"
"Then you must become stronger than the bond. Or he'll never see you—only the beast."
He turned away, his voice lower now.
"You're still young, Lys. But one day… your fire will find its match. And when it does, you'll either mate… or maim."
Now.
Lys sat in a high window ledge of Ashenwell's central tower, watching Grim and Sparks through narrowed eyes.
The way Sparks floated beside him.
The way he listened when she spoke.
The way he smiled.
It wasn't fair.
That flame wasn't even real.
It wasn't born. It was made. Fabricated from essence. A creature of light and voice, not blood and instinct.
Sparks was wrong for him.
Lys's fingers twitched. Her pupils narrowed to slits. Somewhere inside her chest, something started pacing. Hungry.
"He needs someone who understands the burn."
"Someone who bleeds when he breaks."
"Someone real."
Her lips curled into a smile that held no warmth.
"She's not going to last."