LYRA POV
The screaming started before I reached the edge of the forest.
My basket of healing herbs slipped from my fingers, scattering across the dirt path. I knew that sound—terror, raw and desperate. It came from Ashveil, my village. My home.
I ran.
The tree line broke open, and my world shattered.
Flames devoured Old Miller's barn, painting the night sky orange and red. Shadows moved through the smoke—too tall, too fast, too wrong to be human. Beast soldiers. Their animal forms flickered in the firelight: wolves with silver fur, standing on two legs like men, dragging my neighbors from their homes in chains.
"No," I whispered, frozen at the forest's edge. "No, no, no."
A woman's cry cut through the chaos. Mrs. Chen, the baker who always snuck me extra bread. A wolf beastman yanked her by her hair, throwing her into a wagon already packed with crying villagers. Children. Elders. People I'd known my entire life.
This couldn't be happening. Ashveil was too small, too far from the capital. We followed every rule. We paid our taxes. We never caused trouble.
Why were they here?
My legs finally moved. I had to find Papa—Torin, my adoptive father. He'd know what to do. He always knew what to do.
I stayed low, using the smoke as cover, darting between houses. The heat from the fires made my eyes water. Or maybe those were tears. I couldn't tell anymore.
"Please!" a man begged nearby. "We've done nothing wrong!"
A beast soldier's laugh answered him—cruel and cold. "Orders are orders, human. Your village harbored rebel sympathizers. Now you all pay."
Rebel sympathizers? We didn't even have strangers visit Ashveil. We were farmers and healers and craftsmen. Simple people living simple lives.
This was wrong. All wrong.
I found Papa near the village square, surrounded by three wolf beastmen. Blood ran down his face from a cut above his eye, but he held a pitchfork like a sword, standing between the soldiers and a group of children huddled behind him.
"Run!" he shouted at the kids. "Now!"
"Papa!" I screamed before I could stop myself.
His head snapped toward me, eyes wide with horror. "Lyra, no! Stay back!"
But I was already running to him, my hidden knife—the one he'd taught me to carry—clutched in my shaking hand.
One of the wolf beasts moved faster than my eyes could follow. His massive paw swung out, hitting Papa's chest with a sickening crack. Papa flew backward, crashing into the dirt.
"NO!"
I lunged at the beast, my knife aiming for anything I could reach. He caught my wrist easily, squeezing until my bones ground together. The knife fell. His yellow eyes gleamed with amusement.
"A fighter," he growled. "The auction house will like you."
"Let her go!" Papa coughed, struggling to rise. Blood bubbled at his lips. Something inside him was broken. Badly broken.
The beast dropped me carelessly. I crawled to Papa, my hands hovering over his chest, not knowing how to help. I was a healer's apprentice, but this—this was beyond herbs and bandages.
"Papa, please," I sobbed. "Don't—"
"Lyra." His hand found mine, grip surprisingly strong. His grey eyes—so like mine—focused on my face with fierce intensity. "Listen. Listen carefully."
"Save your strength—"
"No time." He coughed again, red staining his teeth. "You're not... you're not really my daughter."
The words made no sense. The world was already ending; now it was turning inside out.
"What?"
"Your real mother... her name was Elira Thorne." His voice grew weaker. "The grey-eyed woman. Find her in the capital. She'll... she'll tell you everything."
"I don't understand—"
"You are more than you know, little one." His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away tears. "So much more. Find the grey-eyed woman. Find out... who you really are."
"Papa, please—"
His hand went limp in mine.
"Papa?" I shook him gently. Then harder. "Papa!"
But his chest didn't rise. His eyes stared at nothing.
He was gone.
A wail tore from my throat, raw and animal. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.
Strong hands grabbed me from behind, yanking me away from Papa's body. I thrashed and screamed and fought, but it was useless. The beast soldiers were too strong, too many.
"Feisty one," one of them said, forcing cold iron shackles around my wrists. "She'll fetch a good price."
"Check her eyes," another commanded.
One of them grabbed my chin, forcing my face up toward the firelight. He went very still.
"Grey eyes," he breathed. "Silver-grey. When was the last time we saw those?"
"Doesn't matter," the first one snapped. "Chain her with the others. The capital auctions are next week."
They threw me into the wagon with the rest of my village. I landed hard, my shoulder hitting wood. Someone—I think it was Mrs. Chen—pulled me close, but I barely felt it.
Papa was dead.
My village was burning.
And I wasn't even really his daughter.
Who was Elira Thorne? Why did Papa lie to me my entire life? What did he mean when he said I was "more"?
The wagon lurched forward, carrying us away from the only home I'd ever known. I twisted around for one last look at Ashveil, at Papa's body lying still in the dirt.
That's when I saw him.
Standing at the edge of the village, watching the destruction with an expression I couldn't read, was a beast unlike any I'd ever seen. Massive, dressed in black armor, with eyes that glowed like molten gold in the darkness.
Even from this distance, even through my tears and grief, I felt his gaze lock onto mine.
And something impossible happened.
A pull. A tug. Like a rope made of lightning connected my chest to his.
Then the wagon turned a corner, and he vanished from sight.
But that feeling—that impossible, terrifying connection—
It didn't go away.