Chapter 32 Blood In The Snow
The first screams came with the dawn.
A rider staggered through Noctara’s gates, his horse foaming at the mouth, his armor scorched black. He collapsed in the courtyard, blood steaming on the stones, his voice a rasp.
“They came at night… the villages… all burned.”
The fortress stirred like a struck hive. Soldiers rushed to lift the rider, healers swarmed, captains demanded answers. Cassien strode into the chaos, his cloak trailing like shadow, his voice sharp as steel.
“Where?”
The rider coughed blood, his eyes glassy. “North… the river towns. Damon’s wolves… Lucien… they didn’t spare anyone.”
Then his head fell back, and he was gone.
Silence followed, heavy as a grave.
The council gathered in the war room. Maps lay spread across the table, fresh markers stabbing into the northern villages.
“Three settlements,” a captain reported, his voice hollow. “All gone. We found nothing but ash.”
Lyra stood stiff, her claws digging into her palms. She had known it would come. The villages had resisted Maeron’s whispers, and now they had paid the price.
Cassien’s red eyes burned over the map. “They seek to starve us. Burn the villages, and they burn our supplies, our allies, our hope.”
Ral’s voice broke through, low and furious. “Then we can’t keep hiding behind the wall. We need to hit back.”
Some captains murmured agreement, others muttered dissent.
Lyra’s claws scraped the table. “He’s right. If we let this stand, more will fall. More will turn to Maeron.”
Cassien’s gaze flicked to her, hard as stone. “And if we leave the walls, we walk into their jaws.”
Her voice rose, sharp. “We’re already in their jaws! They’re bleeding us without lifting a claw against the fortress!”
The chamber erupted in shouts. Cassien’s fist slammed down, silencing them. His gaze swept the council, his voice thunder. “No one leaves Noctara without my order. The villages are lost. We will not risk the fortress for ash.”
Lyra’s chest burned. She wanted to scream, to claw the maps into ribbons. Instead, she stormed from the chamber, her wolf snarling in her blood.
That night, she couldn’t sleep. The screams of the villagers echoed in her head, mingling with Lucien’s laughter.
Ral found her at the breach, her claws flexing against stone. “You’re thinking of leaving again,” he said softly.
Her jaw tightened. “If I’d gone sooner—”
“You’d be dead,” Ral cut in. “You can’t save everyone, Lyra.”
Her throat burned. “Then what am I supposed to do? Watch while Cassien lets them burn?”
Ral’s gaze lingered, heavy with something unspoken. “Sometimes survival is all we can do.”
She shook her head fiercely. “No. Survival without fighting isn’t living. It’s waiting to die.”
The silence between them was heavy as snow.
The next raid came two nights later.
This time, the wolves struck close too close. Smoke rose on the horizon, the faint glow of fire bleeding against the stars.
Lyra saw it from the battlements. Villages no more than a half-day’s ride away.
The soldiers on watch shifted uneasily. Some looked to Cassien, who stood rigid, his face carved from stone. Others looked to Lyra, their eyes pleading.
Her claws curled. She knew what they wanted.
Cassien’s voice rang out, flat and final. “We hold the walls.”
And Lyra knew she couldn’t obey.
She rode before dawn.
Ral was at her side again, silent but steady. Neither spoke as they galloped across the snow, the smoke growing thicker, the smell of burning flesh choking the air.
When they reached the village, it was already too late.
The houses were ash, their timbers blackened skeletons against the snow. Bodies lay scattered, frozen mid-flight. Children curled against doorframes, elders sprawled in the dirt, their throats torn.
Lyra staggered from her horse, her claws trembling, bile burning her throat. She had seen death before. But never like this. Never so deliberate.
Ral’s voice was raw. “This wasn’t a raid. It was a message.”
A howl split the silence.
Wolves poured from the treeline, their eyes glowing, their fur slick with blood. At their head was Damon, massive, snarling, his green eyes blazing with fury.
And beside him, Lucien walked, his black blade gleaming, his smile cruel.
The battle was chaos.
Lyra’s spear flashed, her claws ripping through fur and flesh. Ral fought at her side, his sword singing, his breath ragged. Wolves swarmed them, snapping, lunging, endless.
Lucien circled the edges, his gaze fixed on Lyra. “Look at them,” he taunted, his voice carrying through the carnage. “All this death, and still Cassien hides behind his stones. Tell me, little wolf, how many corpses until you admit he’s a coward?”
Her chest heaved, rage burning hot. She tore through another wolf, blood spraying, her voice raw. “Shut your mouth!”
Lucien laughed, his blade flashing as he cut down a villager who still clung to life. “You see? He hides, and you run to me. Always to me.”
She lunged, her spear clashing against his poisoned blade. Sparks flew, steel shrieked. His smile never faltered.
“You’ll never save them, Lyra. But you can save yourself. All you have to do… is stop fighting me.”
She shoved him back, her fangs bared. “Never.”
Their blades clashed again, fire against poison.
The battle stretched long into the night. When the wolves finally withdrew, the village was nothing but ruins. Lyra and Ral stood in the ashes, their bodies trembling, their weapons slick with blood.
Ral’s voice was hoarse. “We can’t keep doing this, Lyra. We can’t fight them alone.”
Her chest ached. She looked at the corpses around her, at the blood soaking into snow.
She whispered, her voice broken. “Then what choice do we have?”
When they returned to Noctara, Cassien was waiting in the courtyard. His face was fury contained, his red eyes blazing.
“You disobeyed me again,” he said, his voice low, trembling with restrained rage.
Lyra met his gaze, her own eyes burning. “And if I hadn’t, there’d be no one left to bury.”
The silence was heavy, sharp as a blade. Around them, soldiers watched, their faces tight, their faith stretched thin.
Cassien’s voice was a growl. “One more step like this, Lyra, and you will not see the outside of these walls again.”
Her claws flexed, her throat tight. She wanted to scream. But the sight of the ashes still burned in her eyes, and the weight of the chains around her heart kept her silent.
Far in the forest, Maeron knelt before Damon’s fire, his voice sharp. “She disobeys him again. The fortress fractures.”
Lucien’s smile curved, his eyes glowing red. “Good. Let her fight him. The more she resists, the closer she comes to me.”
Damon growled, his fangs bared. “Then we keep burning. We keep bleeding them until all that’s left is ash.”
Lucien lifted his poisoned blade, its edge glinting. “And when the ashes settle, she’ll kneel.”