The sun crested the horizon over the Kingdom of Veyra, casting warm golden light across the castle's training grounds. Twelve-year-old Alexander stood at the edge of the field, his dark hair tousled by the breeze. In his hands, he gripped a wooden practice sword, his posture steady and eyes sharp. Though still a child, his presence was that of someone far older—calm, watchful, determined.
He was the son of Commander Darius, the respected head of the King's Guard. Unlike other boys who played in the streets or lounged in the meadows, Alexander spent his days buried in battle manuscripts or drenched in sweat on the training field. He was as hungry for knowledge as he was for strength.
"Again!" barked the instructor.
Without hesitation, Alexander launched into the familiar sequence. Each swing and step flowed with precision. He wasn't the strongest, but he was certainly the sharpest—his strikes calculated, efficient. Watching from the shade of a nearby tree was a silver-furred wolf with a scar across one leg. A year ago, Alexander had found the wolf bleeding in the woods. He had taken him in, treated the wound, and named him Fenrir. Since then, they had been inseparable.
After training ended, Alexander didn't return directly to the castle. Instead, he made his way beyond the outer gardens, past the edge of the inner city, to a forgotten part of the grounds where an old, abandoned building stood. Its roof sagged and ivy grew wild on its crumbling stone walls.
Curious, he climbed the creaking stairs to the attic. Sunlight streamed through the broken windowpanes, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. In the far corner sat a girl, startled by his arrival.
"Who are you?" Alexander asked, narrowing his eyes.
She stood quickly, her stance defensive. "Who are you? You don't own this place."
Alexander raised an eyebrow. "I never said I did."
After a moment of tense silence, both relaxed.
"I'm Alexander," he said.
"Lyra," she replied.
They sat and spent the afternoon talking. She was sharp-tongued and clever, matching his curiosity with her own guarded wit. Alexander found her intriguing—different from the other kids he'd met.
As the sun began to dip, he gave a sharp whistle. Within moments, Fenrir trotted up the stairs.
Lyra's eyes widened. "Is that a wolf?"
Alexander grinned. "Yeah. He's my friend."
Lyra stared in awe. "You've got some strange secrets, Alexander."
He chuckled. "You have no idea."