Chapter 1

The forest hummed with secrets.

I stood at the edge of Moonstone Forest, where the trees twisted toward the sky like skeletal fingers, their ancient bark thick with the scent of damp moss and old magic. The air pulsed with something unseen, something that pressed against my skin like a memory trying to claw its way back into existence. I had lived my life in the shadows of this place, never knowing the truth that had been buried beneath its roots. I had been told I was an orphan, abandoned, unwanted. But the wind that rustled through the branches whispered a different story now. Blood calls to blood.

I felt it. A pull, like invisible threads tightening around my ribs, leading me deeper into the forest. The moon, half-hidden behind a shroud of mist, watched me like an unblinking eye. I clenched my fists, my breath curling in the cold air. Sha had warned me not to come here alone.

"There are things in these woods you don't understand, Lyra," she had said, her voice thick with something close to fear.

But I was tired of not understanding. For years, I had been running running from the hollow ache of not belonging, from the unanswered questions that gnawed at me in the dark. But no more. The truth was waiting for me.

I stepped forward, the damp earth swallowing the sound of my footsteps. The deeper I went, the heavier the air became, thick with something ancient and electric. My pulse quickened. Something was shifting beneath my skin, a sensation both foreign and familiar, as if I had been waiting my whole life for this moment. Then, I saw it.

A clearing bathed in silver light, the ground littered with scattered stones, each carved with symbols I did not recognize. In the center, half-buried in the dirt, lay something gleaming something that made my breath hitch in my throat. A pendant. I knew it before my fingers even brushed against it. I knew it the way one knows the weight of their own bones. It belonged to my mother.

The moment I touched it, the world shifted. The ground trembled beneath me, and a sharp pain lanced through my skull. A voice, soft, and desperate whispered in my mind.

"Run, Lyra. Run."

And then, the memory struck like a lightning bolt, burning itself into my bones. A scream that shattered the night. The scent of fire and something worse. The face of a man, twisted in rage, his eyes glowing like embers. And the truth slammed into me with the force of a storm. They had killed my parents. The pack. The very wolves I was destined to lead. A sound rose from my throat something between a sob and a snarl. My vision blurred, not with tears, but with something darker, something wilder. My body trembled, my heartbeat hammering against my ribs like a caged beast.

I was not powerless, I was not broken, I was the last heir of the ancient bloodline and I would make them pay. The forest whispered around me, the trees leaning closer, as if eager to hear the promise forming in my mind. Vengeance.

The pendant felt heavy in my palm, the metal cool against my fevered skin. My pulse thrummed in my ears, a wild, discordant rhythm that no longer felt like my own. I had spent years searching for pieces of myself, never realizing they had been buried in blood and betrayal. Now, I knew the truth.

My parents had not died in some nameless tragedy. They had been hunted by their own kind. By the pack I was meant to lead. A growl curled in my throat, deep and unbidden. My breath fogged in the cold air, the mist swirling like restless spirits. The world around me felt too sharp, too bright the trees loomed closer, their skeletal branches reaching, twisting. The night pulsed alive with something I could not name. I closed my fingers around the pendant, its edges biting into my skin.

Sha had always warned me against asking too many questions. "Some truths will break you, Lyra," she had murmured once, her golden eyes shadowed with something like sorrow. But I was already broken. The pieces had simply rearranged themselves into something sharper.

I turned, my boots sinking into the damp earth as I made my way back through the trees. The scent of pine and frost clung to me, but beneath it, something new stirred a scent I had never noticed before. The scent of blood, I froze. It wasn't fresh, but it was strong. Familiar, even my heart stuttered, then quickened. I followed it, my steps silent, my breath shallow. The forest seemed to darken around me, the air thick with something old and waiting. The scent led me to a fallen tree, its bark stripped and scarred. At first I saw nothing, just the hollow silence of the woods, the whisper of leaves shifting overhead.

Then, I knelt there etched into the earth like a brand was a claw mark deep Jagged and unmistakably werewolf. My stomach twisted. The scent clung to the ground, to the air, to the very bones of this place. I brushed my fingers over the gash in the dirt, my skin prickling with recognition. I knew this scent, It was my father's. A tremor passed through me, and suddenly, the image of him was there not in a memory, but in something more primal, more visceral I could almost hear his voice, feel the weight of his presence, smell the familiar warmth of him. He had been here, and he had fought. A gust of wind stirred the trees, and a new scent drifted toward me, Something colder and Harsher. A Wolfsbane, my breath caught, I scrambled back and pulse hammering. Wolfsbane was rare in these parts, its presence a clear message. A weapon meant to weaken, to kill, to end a life that was never meant to be taken.

Rage surged through me like wildfire, hot and all-consuming. They had set a trap and my father had walked into it. A roar built in my chest, rising, swelling, until it clawed its way free a sound that shattered the silence, raw and unyielding. The forest seemed to flinch. I stood, the taste of vengeance thick on my tongue. The night stretched before me, a vast and waiting thing. I would not run and I would not hide. The pack had stolen my family, my past, my name. Now, I would take everything from them.