chapter 186 The Life of a Four-Year-Old (Part 1)
chapter 186 The Life of a Four-Year-Old (Part 1)
Kieran's POV
My name is Kieran.
I have been sick and weak since I was small. Nobody knew what was wrong with me. I didn't know either.
I could sense people walking around, but I couldn't move. Even breathing was difficult. I didn't like it.
Before I turned three, only one older woman would visit me sometimes. She would sit by my side and cry silently, saying Lyra's name over and over.
Who was Lyra?
The woman's tears would drip onto my blankets, and I wanted to tell her not to cry, but my voice wouldn't work. My body wouldn't work. I was trapped inside myself, watching the world through eyes that barely stayed open.
The medical equipment around my bed made constant beeping sounds. Sometimes nurses would come to check the machines, but they never looked at me for very long. I guess there wasn't much to see—just a small, broken pup who couldn't even lift her head.
I learned to count time by the woman's visits. She came every few days, always carrying the same sadness, always whispering that same name. Lyra. The name became familiar, like a lullaby I couldn't quite understand.
-
Then I met Lyra.
They moved me from one place to another very far away.
When the woman called Lyra first saw me, she cried.
I didn't want her to cry. I wanted her to be happy.
She was so gentle. She washed my body carefully, her hands warm and steady as she cleaned each part of me. She changed my bandages with practiced precision, never causing unnecessary pain. She sang lullabies to me in a voice that was soft as velvet, telling me stories about brave little wolves who overcame impossible odds.
"Hush now, little star bright,
Close your eyes and rest tonight,
Mother Moon will guard your dreams,
Nothing's ever as it seems.
When the morning light appears,
I'll be here to dry your tears,
Strong and safe, you'll grow each day,
Love will guide you on your way."
She would sing this lullaby every night before the lights went out. Her voice would wrap around me like a blanket, making me feel less alone in the darkness.
She would describe what other children my age were doing. Going to kindergarten with bright backpacks full of crayons and snacks. Making crafts with construction paper and glue that got stuck to their fingers. Playing at playgrounds, climbing monkey bars and going down slides that made their stomachs flip with excitement. Causing mischief at home, tracking mud through the house and hiding cookies under their beds.
I wished I could do those things too. I wished I could run and play and make her laugh instead of making her worry.
She said she was my mama.
My mama was beautiful. She had the prettiest black hair that caught the light like silk, and the kindest dark eyes I had ever seen. Her hands were always warm, and she smelled like vanilla and medicinal herbs.
She made me feel like maybe I was worth something, even though I couldn't do anything.
-
Lyra mama came to see me often. Sometimes she seemed happy. Sometimes she was very sad.
People said she loved someone named Dorian, but Dorian had hurt her heart. I hated Dorian for making mama sad.
I hated myself more for not being able to lift my hand to wipe away her tears.
"You're getting stronger every day," she would whisper, stroking my hair. "I can feel it. Your wolf spirit is fighting so hard."
Every small thing felt like a victory to her. A night without nightmares that left me whimpering. A moment when my eyes tracked her movement across the room.
But then one day, another little girl came to visit. She had silver-white hair and amber eyes, nothing like mama's dark features, but her facial bones looked similar to mama's. I suddenly realized something that made my chest feel tight.
Mama said she was also her daughter.
Her name was Elena.
I remembered all the things mama had described about three-year-old children's lives. Those weren't general descriptions, they were Elena's actual life.
Elena was cute, mischievous, and lively. She bounced on her toes as she talked, her hands gesturing wildly as she described her day. She had scrapes on her knees from climbing trees, paint under her fingernails from art projects, and chocolate stains on her shirt from treats she'd convinced someone to give her.
Very lovable.
Not like me. I could only lie in bed and couldn't say a single word.
The nurses whispered when they thought I couldn't hear them. "Now that she has the healthy one, she won't need to spend so much time with this one," they said. "All werewolves prefer strong pups. It's just nature."
I was terrified that mama would abandon me.
-
One night, masked people took me away.But I wasn't scared. I only wondered if Lyra mama would come looking for me.
Soon after, I saw Lyra again. She had come to the Northern Territory for me.
When I saw her face appear in the doorway of my new room, hope bloomed in my chest. She had traveled so far, risked so much, all for me. That made me so happy. She loved me.
After we got to the Northern Territory, it was like the beginning again. Just me and mama together. No Elena to share her attention and no nurses whispering about how pathetic I was.
This new room was different from the clinical hospital environment.Eric had provided comfortable furniture and even some toys, though I still couldn't play with them.
Lyra mama visited me every day, treating my condition with renewed determination. She brought me little gifts, soft blankets and music boxes and picture books with bright illustrations. She told me about the world outside, describing the Northern Territory's vast wilderness, the way snow looked falling through moonlight, the sound of pack howls echoing across valleys.
For the first time in my life, I felt like I was the most important thing in someone's world.
One day, I discovered I could make sounds. It started as just a whisper of breath, barely audible. But gradually, I found I could shape that breath into something resembling words.
My first words went to Lyra, hoping for her surprised and delighted reaction.
"Mama," I whispered.
Her face lit up like I had given her the most precious gift in the world. She was indeed very happy and kept praising me for being amazing.
She cried happy tears and hugged me so gently. But I didn't feel fragile in her arms. I felt strong.
"My beautiful girl," she sobbed against my hair. "I knew you could do it. I always knew you were in there, fighting."
Gradually, I became stronger and could even move my joints. But my body was also changing in other ways. I began craving blood.
When Lyra mama accidentally cut her finger on a piece of broken glass while cleaning my room, the scent of her blood hit me like lightning.
I actually wanted to bite through her throat. The urge was so strong it scared me.