002: The Heir Who Lost Himself
920 Words
Lyra's POV.
I didn’t remember walking back home.
The forest zipped past in colors I didn’t care to name. My legs moved on their own. Every step felt like it was dragging me down deeper. That rejection…it was still clawing at me from the inside out. I couldn’t even breathe right. My chest felt like someone had slammed a fist through it and never pulled back.
But I didn’t cry.
Not for him.
By the time I reached the packhouse, my hands were shaking, and my feet were dragging like dead weight. I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want questions. I just wanted to disappear into my room and let it all fall apart in silence.
Then I heard it.
Voices. Yelling. Plates smashing. Something heavy hit a wall.
I stopped cold in the hallway.
No.
Not now.
I moved toward the dining hall, slow, like I already knew something was wrong but couldn’t stop myself from walking straight into it.
And then I saw it.
The whole room was chaos.
A chair lay broken in the corner, wood sticking out like snapped bones. Plates smashed on the ground, food everywhere. One of the pack warriors was slumped against the wall, barely moving.
My father stood near the head of the table, half out of his chair, his mouth hard, his eyes sharp and cold. He looked ready to rip someone’s head off. My mother…God…she was on the floor by the fireplace, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed into her hands like she couldn’t breathe.
And in the center of the storm…Rowan.
My twin brother.
He looked like something out of a nightmare.
"Rowan!" my father shouted, his voice deep, cracking with that Alpha edge.
Rowan didn’t even flinch.
His chest heaved. His shirt was half torn, claws pushing through his fingers like they didn’t belong there. Fur crawled across his arms, his face half-wolf, half-human. His eyes…yellow and wild…didn’t focus on anything. He looked lost.
Gone.
Someone tried to get close. Rowan growled low in his throat and with a single swing, sent the man flying across the room. He hit the wall hard and didn’t get back up.
“Get back! Get back!” one of the guards shouted.
“Don’t let him shift all the way!” another called. “He’s not in control!”
Three warriors moved in, trying to corner him. They didn’t even stand a chance. Rowan broke through them like they were nothing. He roared, full and deep, his voice not even human anymore.
“Rowan, no! Stop!” I screamed. My voice cracked. He didn’t hear me.
Or maybe he did. But he was already too far gone.
My father snapped his fingers, sharp. “Bring the chains.”
They came in fast. Silver.
Five men. My father too.
Rowan fought like his life depended on it. Snarling. Swinging. Tearing skin. Blood hit the floor. One of the men screamed, his arm bent the wrong way. Someone else collapsed, trying to breathe through a shattered rib.
Still, Rowan kept fighting.
They finally got him down. Face to the ground. Chains wrapped tight. He was trembling all over. Blood dripped from his nose. His mouth moved like he was trying to speak, but only sounds came out. Broken ones.
My feet were frozen. My heart felt like it wasn’t mine anymore.
“Get the healer!” my mother cried, her voice rough, full of fear. “Please, now!”
He ran in minutes later. Dropped to his knees next to Rowan. Didn’t even care about the blood. His hands moved fast, checking everything…eyes, skin, scent.
Then he pulled back.
His face turned pale. His mouth pressed into a tight line.
“This didn’t just happen,” he said quietly. “It’s been building. He’s sick. Really sick. I don’t know how no one saw it before.”
My mom gasped like someone punched her.
“We thought…” she looked at my dad, voice shaking. “We thought it was pressure. From the ceremony coming up. The training.”
My father didn’t speak. He just stood there, jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. His fists were curled at his sides.
“He’s supposed to take over in three months,” he said finally. “He’s supposed to be Alpha.”
The healer shook his head. “He can’t. Not like this. If he loses control again, someone’s gonna die. Maybe even him.”
Silence hit like a brick wall.
No one spoke. No one moved.
Rowan lay on the ground, tied up in silver chains, muttering things that didn’t make sense. His face, God, his face didn’t look like him anymore.
My father stared at him. And for the first time in my life, I saw something break in him. His shoulders dropped. Just for a second. He looked tired. Lost.
My mom sank to the floor beside Rowan. Her fingers reached for him, shaking. “My boy,” she whispered, crying all over again.
And that’s when it hit me.
Rowan wasn’t just sick.
He was broken.
And everyone saw it now.
The pack stood in the corners of the room, watching with wide eyes, quiet mouths. No one said it. But I heard it anyway.
They were afraid.
Of him.
And afraid of what came next.
My eyes met my father’s.
And I knew.
They were going to need someone to lead. Someone to hold it all together.
Someone who wasn’t broken.
And that someone… should be me.
- Writer
