Cold.Not the sterile, artificial chill of a hospital room, not the faint hum of a fan. No — this cold bit deep into her bones, sharp and raw, carrying the scent of wet earth, moss, and the wild pulse of a forest untouched by humans.
Lyra's eyes snapped open.
Above her, the towering canopy shimmered with veins of silver, as if the leaves themselves had been stitched with starlight. Fog curled low around the roots, writhing like restless serpents. Somewhere far off, the roar of beasts echoed, tangled with the piercing shrill of wings cutting through the air.
This wasn't Earth.
Lyra's chest rose and fell in shallow, frantic gasps. "Where… am I?" Her voice trembled, swallowed instantly by the thick forest.
No answer. Only the whisper of leaves, the distant growl of unseen creatures.
A voice — deep, resonant, impossibly old — stirred in her memory:
"Humanity failed. You alone remain. Prove they can rise again."
A sharp snap of a branch behind her made her spin around. Pairs of glowing eyes reflected the dim light, predators circling silently, calculating, waiting.
Panic clawed at her chest. She scrambled backward, fingers tangling in thick moss-covered roots, heart hammering like a drum.
Then he appeared.
A massive figure burst from the shadows, landing with the quiet assurance of a predator — yet upright, humanoid. His fur was black as midnight, muscles rippling beneath it, claws glinting like polished obsidian. And his eyes… amber, intelligent, piercing.
He growled, a sound that rolled through the trees and shattered the tension. The predators froze, then scattered into the underbrush with snarls and crashing limbs.
He moved slowly toward her, nostrils flaring, observing her as if he could smell every thought racing through her mind. "Human?" His voice was low, rough, carrying both curiosity and caution.
Lyra's voice trembled. "I… I don't know. Please… don't hurt me."
His ears flicked at the fear in her tone. Slowly, deliberately, he retracted his claws and lowered his head — a gesture of respect she didn't understand, but felt in her bones.
"I am Ravian, of the Lunewolf Pack," he said. His gaze held hers, unwavering. "And I… will protect you."
Lyra blinked, struggling to catch her breath. "Protect me? Why?"
A howl split the night, closer this time. The forest seemed to tense, waiting.
Ravian's amber eyes hardened. Without another word, he seized her hand, surprisingly gentle despite his size, and pulled her into motion. They darted over twisted roots and under low-hanging branches.
"Nightshade Clan," he growled, voice tight. "They track us. We must move."
The wind whipped past her face, carrying the scents of the forest — of danger, earth, and life itself.
"You're the first woman here in generations," he said between leaps, muscles coiling with effortless power. "Every clan will try to claim you. Some to protect… others to control."
Fear gripped her chest, but so did something else: defiance. Her hands clenched into fists. "I won't let them control me."
Ravian's eyes softened ever so slightly. "Good," he murmured. "Survive with me, Lyra. And I swear… no beast will ever take you against your will."
Suddenly, a shadow lunged from the trees — a grotesque, twisted beast with claws that could shred bone and fangs glinting under the moonlight.
Ravian roared, leapt forward, and met it head-on, claws flashing, a blur of muscle and precision. The forest floor shook with the impact. Blood touched the moss and leaves. Lyra's breath caught in her throat.
She didn't know him. She barely understood this world.
Yet in that moment, with his fierce presence between her and the darkness, she felt it — a fragile, undeniable thread of trust.
For the first time since waking in Lycanthara, she wasn't completely alone.