His three disciples awaited there: two ambitious beast-kin warriors and one cunning fox-shifter strategist. Their shock was palpable when their creator placed the trembling human child on his throne and spoke words that would reshape destiny.
The God named her Lira. He declared her his daughter—not by blood, but by choice—and the mountain itself seemed to bow in acknowledgment.
The early years tested everyone. Lira was impossibly fragile among immortals—she shivered in cold that didn't touch beast-kin, required cooked food when they thrived on raw meat, and grew ill from minor wounds that would barely scratch divine hide. The disciples whispered she wouldn't survive a season. Yet the God poured his love into her relentlessly, wrapping her in furs woven from phoenix down, teaching her to read the language of stars, showing her how creation bent to intention rather than force.
