The drive from East Vale to Nightclaw territory stretched long into the night. The city lights gave way to dense woods, ancient and brooding, shrouded in fog and silence. Lyra sat stiffly in the passenger seat of the sleek black car, her arms crossed, her heart pounding like a drum. Elder Caelan had not spoken much since they left. Every time she looked at him, his expression remained unreadable, as if he were guarding a thousand-year-old secret behind his golden eyes.
"You still haven't told me why I'm here," Lyra finally said, her voice low.
Caelan's gaze remained on the road. "Because there are some answers you must hear in the presence of others. Tonight is not about questions. It is about truth."
She scoffed. "Truth? You show up at midnight and drag me out of the only place I've ever known, and now I'm supposed to believe this is some kind of fairy tale rescue?"
Caelan gave the faintest hint of a smile. "Not a rescue. A return."
Before Lyra could press further, the car slowed before a towering gate forged of iron and etched with runes that shimmered faintly beneath the moonlight. As it opened, a chill ran down her spine. Something unseen stirred in the air. It was not just a home they were approaching. It was something sacred.
The estate beyond was vast and ancient, built from dark stone and surrounded by thick pine woods. Wolves in human form stood at the entrance, eyes following her every move. They bowed slightly as Caelan exited the vehicle.
"Welcome to the seat of the Nightclaw," he said.
Lyra said nothing as she followed him into the hall. Every step echoed beneath vaulted ceilings. She caught glimpses of old portraits, ancestral symbols, and flickering torches that cast long shadows.
They stopped before a set of black wooden doors, each carved with the mark of the moon. Caelan turned to her. "Beyond this point, the Elders await. There are eight of them. Speak with honesty. Hold your ground."
Her throat tightened. "And if I don't?"
"You'll be sent back," he said. "Or worse."
Before she could respond, he pushed the doors open.
The chamber inside was circular, bathed in moonlight that filtered through stained-glass windows. Eight Elders sat at a crescent-shaped table in the center. Each of them bore an air of command and mystery. Some were old, their hair silver or white, their faces deeply lined. Others appeared younger, but their eyes told of years lived in service and power.
Standing apart from the table, leaning casually against a marble pillar, was a tall young man dressed in black. His eyes were sharp as glass, cold as winter. His aura struck her instantly.
Lucien.
Caelan led her to the center of the chamber. "Elders, I present Lyra Wynne."
There was a moment of silence before Lucien pushed away from the pillar and stepped forward. "That's her?" he asked. "That's the girl you believe carries the blood of the Moon Blessed Alpha line?"
Lyra held his stare. "You must be Lucien."
He gave a tight smile. "Oh, she speaks. And knows names. How charming."
Elder Maelis, seated at the center of the table, raised a hand. Her long silver hair cascaded down like a waterfall, her eyes glowing softly with age and wisdom. "Lucien. Show respect."
Lucien did not budge. "We are to show respect to a girl dragged in from the gutter? She is not one of us."
Elder Dorian, seated to Maelis's right, leaned forward. "She has yet to be tested. Do not let arrogance cloud your judgment."
Lucien looked at him. "This is not arrogance. This is sense. She is human raised. No training. No heritage. No claim."
"And yet," Caelan interrupted, "the wards recognized her blood. She touched the gate. The sigils flared."
Lucien scoffed. "Maybe they were broken. She has no proof. Just a name and a sob story."
Lyra stepped forward, her voice steady. "I didn't ask to come here. And I certainly didn't ask for your approval."
The tension in the room thickened like fog.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "You do not belong here. That seat you now threaten? I have spent my life preparing for it. You were raised in shadows. You don't even know who you are."
"Maybe not," she said. "But I know what I'm not. I'm not a coward hiding behind status."
Gasps echoed around the chamber.
Elder Nyra, the youngest of the eight, smiled faintly. Her dark skin glowed under the light. "She speaks with fire."
"Fire burns when not handled properly," Lucien snapped.
"Enough," Elder Maelis said, her voice sharp as a blade. "We are not here to squabble like pups. Caelan, have you confirmed her mark?"
Caelan nodded. "The sigil lit when she approached the gate. Her blood stirred the old seal. It cannot be forged."
Lucien folded his arms. "Or perhaps she's cursed. That power might not be from the Moon Goddess. You said it yourself, strange things follow her."
Caelan turned to him. "What you call strange, I call potential. You are threatened not by her weakness, Lucien, but by what she might become."
Lucien stared at Lyra. "She doesn't deserve the title. She doesn't even deserve the trials."
"What trials?" Lyra asked quietly.
Elder Sorin finally spoke. His voice was like the rustle of old pages. "To claim any place within this pack, you must undergo three trials. Each designed to test your blood, your strength, and your heart. If you pass, your right is acknowledged."
"And if I fail?" she asked.
Lucien answered before anyone else. "You'll be exiled. Or worse. Just like the last one who pretended to wear the moon's blessing."
Lyra's eyes never left his. "Then I'll pass."
Lucien's lips curled in a sneer. "You'll break before the first dawn."
"We'll see," she said simply.
Maelis nodded. "Then it is settled. The first trial begins at moonrise tomorrow. Let the Goddess decide what lives in your blood."
Caelan turned to Lyra. "Come. Rest. You'll need it."
She followed him from the chamber, but her heart was still beating from the fire in Lucien's words. He wanted her gone. Erased. Disgraced.
But something deep inside her had awakened the moment she crossed the gate.
She would not be erased.
Not by Lucien.
Not by anyone.