Lyrae's POV
I wake up screaming.
Hands pin my shoulders down. A face hovers over me—scarred, angry, familiar.
Draven.
"Stop fighting!" he hisses. "You'll reopen your wounds!"
I'm thrashing against him without meaning to, my mind still trapped in nightmares. Fire. Explosions. My family's screams. And that golden light bursting from my hands, destroying everything.
"Lyrae!" Draven gives me a small shake. "You're safe. Breathe."
Safe? Nothing about this is safe.
I force myself to stop moving. My whole body aches like I've been hit by lightning. When I try to sit up, Draven pushes me back down.
"Don't. You've been unconscious for two days."
"Two days?" I croak. My throat feels like sandpaper.
He holds a water container to my lips. I drink greedily, not caring that it tastes like minerals and ash.
"What happened?" I ask when I can breathe again. "After I... after that power thing..."
"You destroyed half the cave." Draven sits back, his expression unreadable. "Knocked out everyone except me. I had maybe thirty seconds before they woke up, so I grabbed you and ran."
I look around. We're in a different cave now, smaller and darker. "Where are we?"
"Deep in the volcanic wastelands. Zephyr and his men are still hunting us, but I covered our tracks." He pauses. "They think you're some kind of weapon now. Word is spreading through the Ashborn forces about the Verdana girl with explosive powers."
"I'm not a weapon," I whisper. "I don't even know what I am."
"Neither do I. But that power you have?" His amber eyes bore into mine. "It's dangerous. And it makes you a target."
"Great. As if things weren't bad enough."
I try to sit up again, and this time he doesn't stop me. Every muscle screams in protest. My splinted arm throbs. But I'm alive.
"Why are you still helping me?" I ask quietly. "You could have left me in that cave. Let Zephyr take me. Gone back to your people and been a hero."
Draven is silent for a long moment. Then: "Because when you used that power, you were protecting me. Not yourself. Me. Your enemy." He runs a hand through his dark hair. "No one's ever done that before."
"Done what?"
"Put themselves in danger to save me."
The vulnerability in his voice catches me off guard. For just a second, the hard warrior mask slips, and I see the person underneath. Someone who's been alone for a very long time.
"We should go," he says, standing abruptly. The mask is back. "You've rested enough. We need to put more distance between us and Zephyr."
"Go where?"
"The border. Like I promised. I'm getting you home."
"Draven—"
"Don't." His voice is sharp. "Don't thank me. Don't ask me why. Just... let me do this one decent thing before I have to face what I've done."
He walks to the cave entrance, and I realize how much trouble he's in because of me. He saved an enemy. Fought his own people. Ran away from his clan.
He's a traitor now. Because of me.
We leave the cave and start walking. The volcanic wasteland stretches endlessly in every direction—black rock, rivers of cooled lava, steam rising from cracks in the ground. The air is thick and hot, making it hard to breathe.
I last maybe an hour before my legs give out.
"I'm sorry," I gasp, sitting down hard on a rock. "I just need a minute."
Draven kneels beside me, checking my forehead. "You're burning up. The infection is back."
"But you said I healed for two days—"
"You healed me. Not yourself. Whatever that power is, it doesn't work on you." He curses under his breath. "We need to find water and medicine. Real medicine, not cave water."
"Where are we going to find medicine out here?"
He doesn't answer. Just helps me stand and keeps us moving.
The sun beats down mercilessly. My vision starts to blur at the edges. I'm so thirsty I can't think straight.
"Draven," I whisper. "If I don't make it—"
"You're going to make it."
"But if I don't. My family. You have to tell them—"
"Tell them yourself when I get you home."
His certainty is almost funny. Almost.
We walk until the sun starts setting. That's when I smell it—water. Not the mineral-heavy volcanic springs, but actual fresh water.
"There," Draven says, pointing to a cluster of rocks ahead. "Hot spring. We'll rest there tonight."
I'm so relieved I almost cry. We make it to the rocks, and sure enough, there's a pool of water bubbling up from underground. Steam rises from the surface.
I collapse beside it, scooping water into my mouth with my good hand. It's warm but clean. The best thing I've ever tasted.
"Easy," Draven warns. "Don't drink too fast or you'll be sick."
I nod but keep drinking. When I finally stop, I notice Draven isn't drinking at all. He's standing at the edge of our little camp, staring into the growing darkness.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"We're being followed."
My blood runs cold. "Zephyr?"
"No. Something else." He draws his weapon. "Stay close to the water. Don't move."
That's when I hear it. A low, rumbling growl from the shadows.
Then another. And another.
Red eyes appear in the darkness. One pair. Two. Five. Ten.
My heart stops.
Ash-wolves.
They emerge from the shadows slowly, their bodies massive and terrifying. Their skin glows from within, cracks running through it like cooling lava. Each one is bigger than any normal wolf—some as large as horses.
And they've surrounded us completely.
"Don't run," Draven says quietly, his voice steady despite the situation. "Running triggers their hunting instinct."
"What do we do?"
"We fight."
"There are at least fifteen of them!"
"I know."
The pack leader steps forward. It's the biggest one, with scars covering its face and one eye missing. When it opens its mouth, I see teeth like daggers, glowing red from internal heat.
It's sizing us up. Deciding if we're worth the effort.
Please don't attack, I pray silently. Please just go away.
The wolf's remaining eye locks onto me. Something flashes in its gaze—recognition? Hunger?
It takes another step forward.
Draven moves in front of me, his weapon raised. "When I say run, you run for those rocks over there. There's a crevice you can hide in."
"I'm not leaving you!"
"You don't have a choice. I can hold them off long enough for you to—"
The pack leader lunges.
Everything happens at once. Draven meets the wolf head-on, his blade flashing. Two more wolves attack from the sides. Draven fights like a demon, but he's outnumbered.
A wolf breaks through his defense, heading straight for me.
I scramble backward, pulling out my small knife. The blade looks ridiculous compared to the monster bearing down on me.
The wolf leaps.
I close my eyes and thrust the knife upward—
Heat explodes from my hands.
Not the golden explosion from before. This is different. Focused. The heat shoots from my palms like arrows, slamming into the wolf mid-leap. The creature yelps and crashes to the ground, smoke rising from its chest.
I stare at my hands in shock. They're glowing again, but this time with red light. Fire light.
The pack freezes. Every wolf stops attacking and stares at me.
The pack leader growls, but it sounds different now. Not aggressive. Almost... confused?
"Lyrae," Draven breathes from where he's fighting off two wolves. "What did you just do?"
"I don't know!"
The pack leader approaches slowly. Its nose twitches, sniffing the air around me. When it gets close enough to touch, I press my back against the rocks, sure I'm about to die.
But the wolf doesn't attack.
Instead, it lowers its massive head and... whines?
"Impossible," Draven whispers.
The other wolves are backing away now, their red eyes fixed on me with what looks like fear. Or respect?
The pack leader nudges my hand with its nose. The touch burns—not painfully, but warm. Like touching a heated stone.
My glowing hand moves on its own, pressing against the wolf's head.
Images flood my mind.
I see the pack's memories. Their homeland destroyed by war. Their young killed. Their territory poisoned. They're not mindless monsters. They're refugees, just like me.
Just like the Ashborn. Just like everyone caught in this endless war.
"You're hurt," I whisper to the pack leader, seeing a deep wound on its flank. Something festering with infection.
Without thinking, I place both hands on the wound. Green light joins the red. The healing power flows out of me, mixing with whatever fire magic I just discovered.
The wound closes. The wolf's breathing eases.
When I pull my hands back, the entire pack is watching me with those glowing red eyes.
The pack leader makes a sound—part growl, part something else. Then, slowly, it lowers itself to the ground in front of me.
The other wolves do the same.
They're bowing. To me.
"This isn't possible," Draven says again. His weapon hangs forgotten at his side. "Ash-wolves don't bow to anyone. They can't be tamed. They can't be—"
A horn sounds in the distance.
All of us—humans and wolves—freeze.
That horn. I know that sound. It's Ashborn. A hunting party.
And they're close.
"They tracked us," Draven says grimly. "We need to move. Now."
But before either of us can act, the pack leader stands. It looks at me, then at the direction of the horn. Then back at me.
It makes a decision.
The massive wolf moves beside me and lowers its body, like it's... offering me a ride?
"No way," I breathe. "There's no way I'm—"
The horn sounds again. Closer now. Much closer.
Draven grabs my good arm. "Get on the wolf."
"Are you insane?"
"They're offering help!" His amber eyes are wild. "I don't know why, I don't understand it, but if we don't move right now, we're both dead!"
Another wolf lowers itself beside Draven.
We stare at each other for one frozen moment. Then we both make the same crazy decision.
I climb onto the pack leader's back. Draven mounts the wolf beside me.
The moment we're secured, the pack takes off running.
We fly across the volcanic wasteland faster than any horse could move. The wolves know these lands, leaping over lava rivers and navigating narrow paths with impossible grace.
Behind us, I hear shouting. See torches in the distance.
The hunting party has spotted us.
"There!" someone yells. "The traitor Draven—he's riding with the wolves!"
"And the Verdana girl! War Chief Mordain wants her alive!"
Arrows start flying. One passes so close to my head I feel the wind.
The pack leader snarls and runs faster. The other wolves form a protective circle around me and Draven, shielding us with their own bodies.
We race through the night, death chasing us on every side.
And in my mind, one question burns brighter than anything else:
What am I?
Not Verdana. Not normal. Something else entirely.
Something that can command fire and heal wounds. Something that ash-wolves recognize and bow to.
Something that both sides of this war will kill to possess.
We're still running when I see it ahead—a massive wall of volcanic rock stretching across the horizon. The border between Ashborn and Verdana territory.
"We're almost there!" Draven shouts over the wind.
But as we get closer, I see figures standing on top of the wall. Dozens of them. Hundreds.
Verdana soldiers. My people.
They're not celebrating our arrival.
They're raising their weapons.
At us.