Chapter 42

Chapter 42
Lyra’s POV

The forest was still asleep when we set out.

Mist clung to the trees, dampening the world in silver. My breath fogged in the chill air, my body tense beneath the cloak I’d thrown over my nightdress. Draven walked ahead of me, a dark figure against the pale dawn, shoulders rigid as if carrying the weight of the entire keep on his back.

I hadn’t asked to come. I had demanded it.

“You don’t belong out here,” he had growled when I first insisted, the scouts already preparing their gear. “This isn’t a stroll through the woods, Lyra. If the rogues left signs, it’s a trap.”

“Then I should see it,” I shot back, forcing my voice to stay steady. “This is about the Flameborn, isn’t it? You think Seraphina haunts me, then let me face it with my own eyes.”

He had glared at me long and hard, jaw tight, but in the end he hadn’t forbidden it. He couldn’t..not when the bond between us made my defiance hum through his blood as much as mine.

Now, hours later, his silence weighed heavier than any words.

We reached the clearing when the sun barely touched the horizon. The trees opened into a hollow of charred earth. My heart lurched. Even before I stepped closer, the air reeked of iron and ash.

The ground was blackened in spirals, blood burned into symbols I didn’t understand. Bones, wolf and human both, were arranged in a twisted circle, their whiteness sharp against the soot.

A shiver traced my spine. This wasn’t just a battle site. This was a ritual.

One of the scouts, a lean man named Corrin, muttered, “Gods above. What did they do here?”

Draven crouched, fingers brushing the dirt. His wolf’s gold flickered in his eyes, bright even in the pale morning. “Not finished,” he said, voice like stone grinding. “They meant to return.”

I swallowed hard, stepping closer despite his sharp glance. My boots crunched on ash, and suddenly I felt it..like the ground itself was alive. A low hum, faint but steady, pulsing through my soles, into my legs, my chest.

I froze.

It wasn’t just earth. It was… breathing.

Seraphina’s voice slipped through the air, faint as smoke. “Once it stirs, child… it cannot be put back to sleep.”

My knees buckled, but I caught myself, clutching my arms. “Draven,” I whispered, but my voice cracked. “Something’s here. It’s—alive.”

His head snapped toward me, sharp, wary. “What did you feel?”

Before I could answer, the forest erupted.

Figures burst from the treeline, snarling, eyes glowing red with bloodlust. Rogues.

“Ambush!” Corrin roared, already shifting, his wolf tearing from his skin.

Draven’s growl shattered the morning, deep and primal, his form exploding into black fur and golden eyes. He launched at the first rogue, claws raking, fangs tearing. The sound of bodies colliding thundered through the clearing.

I barely had time to breathe before another rogue lunged at me. Instinct flared, and fire leapt from my palms, wild and blinding. The flames slammed into the rogue, knocking him back, but they didn’t stop there—they raged outward, licking across the earth, searing too close to where Corrin fought.

“Lyra, stop!” someone shouted, but I couldn’t.

The fire wasn’t listening.

It spread in hungry waves, twisting, growing hotter, brighter. Panic surged in me, my hands shaking as the blaze devoured air and ash alike. I tried to reel it back, to close my fists and shut it down, but the flames only roared louder.

A wolf yelped—one of ours. My heart stopped.

“No—no, no!” My voice broke, horror crushing me. I couldn’t lose control, not now. Not when they already doubted me.

A massive body slammed into me, knocking me sideways. Draven. His wolf pinned me down, his golden eyes burning into mine. His weight, his presence, his bond..it cut through the chaos like a blade.

The fire stuttered, sputtered, then died. Smoke curled from my palms, leaving them blistered and raw.

I lay gasping, pinned beneath him, the world spinning.

Draven’s wolf snarled above me, then leapt away, tearing into another rogue before I could speak. I pushed up, trembling, watching the battlefield blur into chaos. Wolves clashed, snarls ripping through the clearing, blood spattering across the scorched earth.

One by one, the rogues fell. Draven was a storm among them, his jaws snapping bones, his claws dripping red. My flames still burned at the edges of the ritual site, a reminder of how close I had come to harming the very people protecting me.

When the last rogue collapsed, silence crashed down.

The air reeked of blood and smoke. My chest heaved, my hands blistered, my soul shaking from what almost happened.

A sound drew my gaze.

One rogue still lived, writhing in the ash. Blood spilled from a gash across his belly, his breath ragged. His lips twisted into a smile, crimson dripping down his chin.

“It wakes,” he croaked, eyes rolling back. “It wakes soon.”

Then he went still.

The clearing felt colder for it, though the ground still hummed faintly beneath my feet.

Draven shifted back, his body streaked with blood, chest heaving. He stalked toward me, eyes blazing, his jaw tight. He didn’t speak—not yet—but his look was enough.

I had lost control. Again.

But worse than that, the words of the dying rogue still echoed in the silence.

It wakes soon.

And this time, I didn’t think even Draven could protect us from what was coming.