Duel of the Broken Bond

Dagon's next move unspooled in front of her like a thread of light.

From the crowd, a murmur rose, low, hopeless.

"She's dead," someone whispered.

But before the fear could take root, Dagon's balance shifted.

Too much weight on his left foot.

There.

An opening.

Lyra dipped low, twisting on her heel.

Her leg swept out—clean, precise.

Dagon's feet left the ground.

He hit the earth with a grunt, but she was already moving.

She launched into the air, hand pulled back. It shimmered silver, the mark on her wrist blazing.

"End it," she hissed.

Her punch came down like a falling star.

CRACK!

Her fist slammed into Dagon's chest, echoing across the platform like thunderclap against cliff.

Dagon's muzzle snapped sideways, fangs glinting red in torchlight as he flew. His massive frame crashed into the arena's far wall. The wood splintered.

He slid to the ground, and didn't rise.

[Victory Achieved: Flawless Duel]

New Passive Skill Unlocked – Intimidation Aura (Level 1):

Nearby enemies suffer -10% Willpower in combat.

Silence, not a breath stirred. Even the torches seemed to freeze mid-flicker.

Mouths hung open. Eyes wide, as if the whole pack had forgotten how to breathe.

The System's notification flickered: [Bloodline Acknowledged]. The last to earn that title had been the Moon Goddess's mortal lover, slain by his own brother.

Then, a roar exploded from the crowd. Cheers. Cries. Stomping paws and howls that shook the trees. Chaos, worship, awe.

Lyra stood in the center of the ring, bleeding, glowing, unmoved.

She turned to face Kael still watching, jaw clenched so tightly it could've cracked stone.

"Well?" she said.

His lips curled, the veins in his neck throbbing against his collar

"You've made your point."

She nodded.

"I told you Dagon was weak," Selena sneered, fingers digging into her own arms. "She got lucky."

And then, without a single bow or farewell, she walked past him.

Selena's eyes looked at her like gazing at a tattered animal.

She didn't ask permission.

She didn't wait to be named.

She just walked straight through the parted crowd, who stepped back not in fear, but in something closer to reverence.

As if something holy had passed among them.

The echoes of Lyra's victory still haunted the square.

Dust lingered in the air, disturbed only by the faint breeze that swept through the blood-scented silence.

Dagon had been carried off unconscious, his pride broken more than bone.

The pack murmured in clusters, voices hushed but persistent.

"She beat him."

"An omega? No longer."

"Did you see her eyes? That glow wasn't just the system..."

The Elders gathered at the edge of the arena, robes swaying like whispers. Their faces were carved from skepticism and fear.

Selena, Kael's mate, stood in the shadows behind him, her expression a storm barely contained.

Her grip on Kael's arm was a vice. Her nails dug into his skin, blood rising beneath the surface.

"She's gaining more than power," she hissed. "She's gaining belief."

Kael said nothing.

But his silence was not surrender.

A young omega shrank back as Lyra passed, not from fear, but because her knees locked under some primal weight she couldn't name.

The moon rose high, casting silver light across Lyra's chamber floor like flowing silk.

She lay on her side, still bruised from the fight, but sleep came quickly, unnaturally so.

A chime rang, not through her ears but between her ribs, vibrating in the hollow where her heartbeat should echo.

[System Alert]

Lunar Archive Unlocked

Hidden Memory Stream Initiated...

Darkness dissolved.

And suddenly, she was standing barefoot in a dreamscape of silver mist.

The ground below shimmered like glass, reflecting stars she couldn't see above.

It chilled her bare feet, the cold seeping up through her bones in a way that felt... familiar.

Her dream-body stood whole, no bruises, no bandages, just the silver mark pulsing like a second heartbeat at her wrist.

The air was still. Cold. Sacred.

Whispers danced around her in spiraling currents.

"We warned them..."

"The Luna cannot be denied."

"Marked at birth—if they reject her again, she'll ascend."

The voices came from everywhere and nowhere, old and layered, some kind, some bitter, some burning with wrath.

Shapes moved within the mist, cloaked figures of light and shadow.

She couldn't make out their faces, only the faint glimmer of ancient insignias glowing over their hearts. One bore a familiar crescent sigil.

And then the mist parted.

There she stood.

A woman crowned in moonstone, hair the color of ink in starlight, with Lyra's eyes but deeper, older.

Her gaze was full of sorrow and strength.

Beneath her hand lay a scroll, sealed in wax and blood.

"My daughter... you were never meant to beg for power."

The mist swirled faster.

Lyra's real-world fingers clawed at her bedding, her physical form reacting to the dream-storm.

Light cracked the dreamscape. Wind screamed through unseen canyons. The memory was pulling itself apart.

"They will come for you now. But so will we."

Lyra jolted upright.

Her breath tore from her lungs like she'd been drowning.

Sweat clung to her skin, soaking the bedding, her hair plastered to her neck in tangled waves.

The image of the woman's face, the eyes, too ancient to be hers, still seared behind her eyelids, vivid as flame.

It hadn't faded. It wouldn't fade.

Her hand flew to her wrist.

The mark there, once dormant, was pulsing. Not just light. A heartbeat. Her own, yet not.

It pulsed hotter where her fingers brushed it, as if answering a call she couldn't yet hear.

She wasn't alone.

The room, stone-walled and dim, shifted in the edges of her senses. The air pressed heavy, humming with presence.

In the corner, silent as a shadow stitched to the wall, Ciran stood.

Arms crossed. One boot resting against the stone. His silver eyes unreadable, pale as ghostfire.

"You saw it," he said.

A statement, not a question. As if the vision had echoed into him, too.

Lyra didn't ask how he knew. She couldn't speak, not yet. The weight of the dream still dragged at her ribs.

Ciran pushed off the wall and moved closer, slow, steady. His voice was low, roughened by knowing.

"The Unseen Council," he murmured. "It's real. And you... you're their Luna. Reborn."

The words struck her like cold steel to the spine.

Her breath slowed. Her body still trembled, but her core, that burning center forged in ruin and blood, held steady.

The fear curled back into the fire.

Lyra's hands curled into fists over her knees. She met his gaze.

"Then it's time I find them."

Silence.

Beyond the window, the torchlight flared, just once, as if something had passed before it.

Then Ciran moved towards it, the one slit of the room that peered out into the night.

The world beyond was black and burning, a torch flickering in the far tower, casting Kael's silhouette like a demon carved from flame.

He didn't look at her as he spoke again.

"Be careful, Lyra."

A warning, soft as a prayer.

"If they're watching you..."

He tilted his head toward the light beyond.

"...so is Kael."