SKYBLOOD

CHAPTER 12

Lyra sat at the window of her chamber, knees pulled to her chest, watching guards sweep the courtyards. A soft click sounded as the door opened. She flinched when Celene entered.

“You are awake,” Celene said gently as she stepped in. She set a tray of warm food beside Lyra. “Eat. You need your strength.”

Lyra offered a faint nod. She did not have much appetite, but she could not reject Celene’s kindness.

Celene hesitated, then added softly, “I came to check on you… and to thank you again for saving Thorian. Your arrival was timely.” Her voice dipped with genuine emotion. “If you need anything at all, or someone to talk to, I am always here for you.”

Lyra blinked, touched by the sincerity in Celene’s tone. “Thank you. That means more than you know.”

Before Celene could say more, a gentle knock sounded at the door.

“May I come in?” Liora’s familiar voice floated through.

She stepped inside, holding a vase of snow-blossoms whose petals shimmered like moonlight. Lyra’s breath eased at the sight of her.

“Liora…” Lyra breathed.

“These are for you,” Liora said, placing the delicate flowers on the bedside table. “For what you did for Thorian. I owe you more than flowers.”

Lyra swallowed hard. “I only did what I could.”

Liora sat beside her and took her hand, squeezing it warmly.

“And that ‘only’ may have saved the kingdom a future Gamma.”

Celene smiled at that, pride flickering across her expression.

Liora studied her for a moment, eyes narrowing with gentle curiosity.

“Lyra… forgive me if this is forward, but… I cannot sense your wolf. There is no scent at all. Do you—”

“Liora,” Celene cut in sharply, her voice a soft warning. “Do not pry into matters that are personal.”

Lyra lifted a hand gently. “It is all right.” She turned to Liora, her expression calm. “It is rare for women in my lineage to possess their wolf. Our healing abilities often overshadow it. I have long since accepted a life without one.”

Liora blinked, surprise widening her eyes.

“I… I cannot imagine life without mine.”

“Hush,” Celene murmured, nudging her lightly. “Healing is a strong and vital gift, one every kingdom desperately needs. She is more than whole.”

A small, grateful smile touched Lyra’s lips. “Thank you.”

For a few precious moments, wrapped in their warmth, she felt something close to belonging. But the feeling did not last long after they left. The unease from the Shadow attack lingered at the back of her mind like smoke refusing to clear… and with it, the uncertainty of what was to come.

Later That Day — The Library

By mid-afternoon, Lyra slipped away to the palace library, hoping the quiet would steady her mind. The halls were vast and silent, filled with towering shelves and the faint scent of old parchment.

She traced a hand along a row of history books when a calm voice drifted from behind her.

“You look like someone trying to outrun her own thoughts.”

Lyra turned and relaxed when she saw Anara Mirric, Delta Mirric’s wife. Anara carried herself with effortless grace, her honey-brown hair pinned in a loose twist and her gown simple but elegant. She always held an air of composed refinement—gentle but confident, the kind of woman who managed to be approachable even within palace politics. A stack of scrolls rested against her hip.

“Anara,” Lyra said, offering a respectful nod. “I hope I am not intruding on your quiet hour.”

“Not at all.” Anara smiled, setting the scrolls down on a nearby table. “I love to read, and this place gives me peace… and knowledge.” She stepped beside Lyra, her eyes kind. “How are you feeling?”

Lyra hesitated. “A little overwhelmed.”

“Understandable,” Anara said, her tone turning gentle. “Many things are happening at once, and you seem to be at the center of more than you realize.”

Lyra blinked. “I… do not think I am at the center of anything.”

“Oh, darling.” Anara smiled—a warm, knowing smile. “People like you rarely do. You are quiet. Observant. You do not push yourself into the spotlight, yet somehow everything important seems to find you.”

Lyra flushed slightly. “I do not know if that is a good thing.”

“It depends entirely on how you choose to stand,” Anara replied.

She clasped her hands loosely before her. “This kingdom has always respected strength. But what it does not always understand,” she said carefully, “is quiet strength. Subtle strength. The kind that works in shadows, stitching life back together while others brandish blades.”

Lyra listened closely.

Anara continued, “You are powerful. And people here know it—even if they do not fully understand the scope of what a High Healer can do. But power can make people wary, especially now, with the Shadow threat growing more unpredictable.”

Lyra sighed softly. “I did not come to intimidate anyone. Only to help.”

“I know,” Anara said gently. “And that is exactly what makes you valuable. But remember this—being new to Skyblood means the palace is still learning how to… interpret you.”

Lyra tilted her head. “Interpret me?”

“Yes.” Anara smiled knowingly. “My husband, the Delta, sees strength and measures it by battlefield standards. Others see your abilities and wonder what they mean for the kingdom. But I see someone who walked into an unfamiliar dominion in its most vulnerable hour because she was needed.”

She touched Lyra’s arm lightly. “Do not shrink your presence to make others comfortable. You were summoned here for a reason far greater than any of us understand yet.”

Lyra held her gaze, something steadying inside her.

“Thank you, Anara,” she said quietly. “That is… exactly what I needed to hear.”

Anara chuckled. “Good. Then my job here is done.” She stepped back, gathering her scrolls again. “And if you ever want tea, a moment of company, or simply a place where no one stares like you are about to sprout wings, my door is open.”

Lyra laughed softly. “I will remember that.”

“Please do,” Anara said warmly, then added with a wink, “Skyblood can be overwhelming, even for the powerful. Especially for the powerful.”

As she walked away, Lyra felt her shoulders loosen—a small comfort settling into her chest. In a palace where every gesture held weight, Anara’s warmth felt like an anchor.