Chapter 31 – The First Flame

The moon sat heavy over the Crimson Courtyard, veiled behind drifting clouds, casting the palace in a strange, silvered hush. Every torch, every flicker of flame seemed to lean toward her, as if the fire itself waited to hear what she would say.

Lyra stood at the center of the ancient stone dais where Alphas once gave blood oaths before battle. She wore no crown. No warrior's cloak. Just a dark tunic that clung to her skin, still damp from the ceremonial rites. Her bare feet touched the cracked stone—each one etched with the names of the fallen, of those who'd once led armies and ruled over the north.

And now, she stood there, a woman rejected by her own kind. Not chosen. Not inherited. Made.

"Why is she standing there?" someone whispered.

"She's no Alpha. She's not even—"

"I heard she doesn't even have control of her wolf…"