The biting cold of the night yielded to a searing fire that seemed to course through her veins. Lyra lay on the soft moss, her body trembling, but no longer from pain; instead, it was from an overwhelming surge of new, unfamiliar energy. Her eyes were wide open, and within her mind, the reverberations of a thousand years still echoed, ancient voices that had suddenly become her own. Visions, sharp and vivid, flashed through her consciousness: tall, proud women with eyes shining like stars, wielding earth and wind; mighty wolves, larger than any known, battling shadows; mysterious runes glowing on rock faces. These were not fantasies. These were memories. Her memories.
Slowly, she raised a hand, watching as the light of the Blood Moon, still high in the sky, danced upon her skin. She had changed. Not just internally. She touched her hair – it was no longer dull strands, but shimmered like polished silver, reaching almost to her waist. Her skin, previously pale and weary, now seemed to radiate an inner glow. As she touched her face, she felt her cheekbones were sharper, her jawline more defined. Her lips, once thin and perpetually drawn in worry, were now fuller, with a natural hue of deep rose. Her body, which had always seemed too frail, had acquired subtle yet visible curves, promising the dormant strength within her.
She felt a hunger. Not merely physical, but spiritual. She craved knowledge, she yearned to understand what had become of her. Her wolf, which had been on the brink of death moments ago, now felt not just alive, but incredibly potent. It was a roar in her soul, powerful, self-assured. This was no longer a quiet shadow, but a proud, majestic predator, with dark fur and eyes blazing with a silver luminescence – a reflection of her own transformation.
Rise, the wolf roared in her mind. Its voice was deep, resonating. You are no longer weak. Never again.
Lyra rose, her movements initially uncertain, but with each passing second, they became more fluid and natural. A new strength flowed through her limbs. She gazed at the surrounding forest. The same forest that had previously witnessed her humiliation now seemed to whisper secrets to her. She extended her hand towards the nearest tree. Instinctively, she felt energy flow from within her, connecting with its roots, with the tree's very fibers. She felt its life, its desires. With a slight exert of will, young shoots began to emerge from the ground beneath her feet, rapidly growing and intertwining around the tree trunk, forming ephemeral, luminous patterns that faded as her concentration wavered.
Magic. This was true magic, primeval, inherited. All these years suppressed, hidden, and now awakened by pain and the Blood Moon.
She had to flee. Kaleb's pack hated her, and her transformation was too drastic to conceal. They would come after her. She needed to find a place where she could train, where she could comprehend what she had become. And most importantly – she needed to understand why her mind held fragments of other lives.
She remembered legends of the Old Guardian, a solitary werewolf who lived deep within the Forbidden Forest, on the fringes of all pack territories. It was said he was the last of a lineage that remembered the ancient ways. No one had ever dared to venture there, but now, with newfound courage and desperation, Lyra knew it was her only hope.
She followed her intuition, heading east, where the Blood Moon still cast its scarlet glow upon the forest. She ran faster than she ever believed possible. Her newly strengthened muscles carried her with astonishing ease, and her senses of smell and hearing were sharpened to their limits. She easily detected wild animals, avoided traps, and the distant murmurs of Kaleb's pack grew fainter.
Days and nights merged into one. Lyra subsisted on what she found in the forest, drinking water from clear streams. Her wolf instinctively guided her on how to survive. During brief rests, she attempted to control her powers. She discovered she could not only manipulate vegetation but also influence water, and even create illusions, though the latter were exhausting. The visions and memories became clearer, forming a more coherent narrative. They belonged to Aeris, a powerful Luna from an era before the packs became so divided, a Luna who possessed Primeval Magic. Lyra felt that Aeris had unfinished business, and her presence in Lyra's mind was not coincidental. It was a legacy, but also a momentous task.
After several days of arduous travel, as the sun began to set, she reached a deep valley shrouded in thick mist. The scent of antiquity hung in the air, and the trees were older and more gnarled than anywhere else. This had to be the Forbidden Forest. In the distance, she spotted a faint light.
She approached cautiously, her wolf on high alert. The light emanated from a small, primitive hut built of stone and wood, partially nestled into the mountainside. Smoke curled from its chimney, and from within came the scent of herbs and ancient parchment.
As she drew near the door, it opened with a soft creak. Standing on the threshold was a tall, lean man with long, gray hair braided into dreadlocks and eyes as old as the forest itself. His face was etched with wrinkles, but his gaze was penetrating and filled with wisdom. He wore no furs, only a simple linen tunic. This had to be the Old Guardian.
His wolf radiated no signs of threat, only curiosity. Yet Lyra felt a powerful, dormant strength within him.
"You are late, Blood Moon Luna," the Old Guardian said, his voice raspy like old bark, but gentle. There was no surprise in his words, only acceptance. "I have been waiting for you. The prophecy is unfolding."
Lyra stared at him, her mouth agape. He knew. He knew everything.
"Come in," he nodded, stepping back to make way for her. "We have much to discuss. Time is short, and the darkness grows."
The interior of the hut was simple yet filled with ancient artifacts, dried herbs, and stacks of scrolls. A fire crackled in the stone hearth in the corner. Lyra stepped inside, feeling the last of the tension leave her body. She had found refuge. She had found a guide.
"So you are Aeris," the Old Guardian said, gesturing for her to sit by the fire. Lyra felt a sudden jolt in her heart. She sat. "Your soul has finally awakened. My name is Silas, and I… I am the last guardian of forgotten knowledge."
He pointed to a stack of scrolls. "The rejection that broke you was merely a catalyst. Great powers often awaken in the crucible of despair. You are a descendant of the first Lunas, those who commanded the earth and sky, before divisions and conflicts weakened our blood."
Silas began to tell a story. A history of ancient werewolves who were almost like deities, living in harmony with nature and wielding potent magic. How their power began to wane with the rise of civilization and the increasing conflicts between pack and pack. How an ancient prophecy foretold the birth of a Blood Moon Luna, who would either unite the werewolves to face a growing darkness or lead them to complete destruction.
"The darkness is growing?" Lyra asked, her voice hoarse from disuse. "Indeed," Silas replied, his eyes darkening. "An old plague, which decimated werewolves centuries ago, is reawakening. It is rapidly gaining strength, severing packs from their power, rendering them vulnerable. It has already begun. The Gray Moon Pack is also at risk, though Kaleb is too blinded by pride to perceive it."
Lyra felt a chill. The plague. Was this why her memories were so tumultuous? Aeris had fought something similar.
"I will train you, Lyra-Aeris," Silas continued. "I will teach you to control Primeval Magic, how to harness your wolf's instinct, and how to lead. But you must be strong, not only physically but mentally. Your heart must be pure, and your will unyielding. The destiny of our entire race rests on your shoulders."
Lyra gazed into the fire. A plan was forming in her mind. A plan that was no longer just about revenge, but a mission.
I will show Kaleb what he lost. But most importantly, I will save my kind.