Years passed, like fallen leaves in the wind—soft at first, then scattered beyond recall.
I was now around five. My thoughts had become sharper, more focused, though I still found myself trapped in the body of a child. My once-wobbly legs now sprinted across fields and forests. My tongue, which used to barely form words, now argued with Akira like it was second nature.
Akira had grown too. Smug bastard. He was taller by a hair—literally one damn strand, but he wouldn't shut up about it. We'd spar with wooden sticks, train under Father's watchful eyes, and argue about everything from sword forms to who Mother liked more. (She said both. I knew it was me.)
Still, something had changed in him over the years. Something subtle. He was still playful, still my brother, but there were moments—flashes—where his eyes grew quiet. Calculating. Cold.
But I pushed those thoughts away. He was my brother. My only one.
Our days were simple. Train in the morning, eat until we couldn't move, nap, and then get our asses handed to us again by Father. That man might've retired, but his fists still whispered of war.
Mother taught us reading, writing, and magic. I was average. Akira was better. I hated that.
It wasn't until the end of our fifth summer that the storm named Lyra crashed into our lives.
We'd wandered into the nearby village after Father sent us to deliver some horseshoes. The chief's daughter had just returned from some kind of hunt. People whispered that she took down a horned boar solo.
That's when we saw her. She was our age, maybe a bit younger, with sharp crimson eyes, wild silver hair tied in a messy braid, and furry wolf ears twitching atop her head. Her clothes were torn at the knees, her face smudged with dirt, and she had the cockiest grin I'd ever seen.
She looked like she'd punch a dragon in the face just to see what would happen.
And she walked straight up to us and said:
> "You two look weak. Wanna fight?"
I blinked. Akira blinked. I said the most intelligent thing I could think of.
> "Huh?"
She jabbed a thumb at her chest. "Name's Lyra Fenwynn. I'm the next chief of this dump, and I don't hang out with wimps."
Akira, ever the polite one, stepped forward. "We're not looking for trouble."
Lyra squinted at him, then at me. "You especially. You look like a stick."
"…I am a stick," I muttered. "But I'm a sharp one."
She grinned. "You've got a mouth. I like that."
Then she punched me.
Square in the chest.
I flew back, hit the dirt, and tasted half the village road.
That was how we became friends.
Not through long conversations or heartwarming moments.
No.
Through violence.
That same day, she challenged Akira and lost. He was faster, calmer, and actually knew how to fight. She didn't care. She just laughed and demanded a rematch. Every. Damn. Day.
The three of us started training together. Lyra never backed down. She was hot-headed, loud, and wild. But she had a fierce determination that burned brighter than both of us. She was strong because she had to be. The beastkin tribe respected strength—and she wanted to be more than just the chief's daughter. She wanted to be better than anyone who came before.
Despite her rough edges, she had a loyalty that went beyond words. When a couple of older village boys mocked my height, she bit one of them. Literally. I still remember their screams. I think I fell in love a little that day.
She started eating dinner with us. Mother liked her, even if she scowled during magic lessons. Father? He grunted once and gave her a wooden sword. That meant he approved.
Soon, we were a trio. Me, Akira, and Lyra.
One late evening, the three of us sat by the river, feet dipped in the cool water, the sky painted in orange and crimson.
Lyra was tossing pebbles. "You know… one day, I'm gonna beat you both. In magic, swordplay, everything."
Akira leaned back on his elbows. "Dream big."
She tossed a rock at his head. He dodged.
I stretched, arms behind my head. "We'll see. I'll be the strongest."
She snorted. "You? You're a beanpole."
"Better than being a stray dog."
Her ears perked up, then twitched. "Say that again."
"I said—"
She tackled me into the river.
Akira didn't help. He just watched and laughed while I got half-drowned by a feral wolf girl.
That night, soaked and shivering, I looked up at the stars with a stupid grin on my face.
This was happiness.
Real happiness.