Chapter4 ThreeMoves
1419 Words
Chapter 4 — Three Moves
The hunt lasted four days.
Four long days where the Alpha estate felt strangely hollow.
Without the strongest hunters, the place lost its usual noise. No heavy boots crossing the stone floors at dawn. No loud arguments over meat portions. No laughter that echoed down the halls after nightfall.
Everything felt…muted.
Servants still moved through the corridors, of course. They always did. But they walked quicker, spoke softer, and kept their heads lower.
Even the wind sounded louder against the walls.
Lyra noticed it most at night.
Her small room sat above the storage wing, tucked away where no one had reason to visit. When the estate quieted down, the building creaked like an old ship drifting on dark water.
Sometimes she sat by the narrow window and watched the forest move under the moonlight.
The warmth in her chest had not gone away.
It had settled into something steady now.
It wasn’t painful.
Nor was it frightening.
Just…there.
Like a quiet presence she couldn't quite explain.
Something that woke when she moved.
Something that seemed to listen.
During those four days, Lyra kept to the same routine she always had.
Stay quiet.
Stay out of the way.
Make sure no one had a reason to remember she existed.
It wasn't difficult.
Most of the pack had already forgotten her years ago.
But when the servants finished their evening chores and the halls finally emptied, Lyra would slip outside through the back door near the kitchens.
The forest behind the estate was thick and quiet.
She knew the paths well enough to walk them even in the dark.
There was a clearing not too far from the house.
Hidden between tall pines and tangled ferns.
It wasn't much, just a patch of soft dirt where the trees opened enough for moonlight to reach the ground.
But it was hers.
No one else came there.
That was where she practiced.
Tonight was no different.
Lyra stood barefoot in the cool dirt, a long wooden stick gripped tightly in her hands.
It wasn't a sword.
She had never been allowed to hold one.
But she had watched the warriors train for years. From windows. From doorways. From corners where people assumed she wasn't paying attention.
She had watched their feet.
Their shoulders.
The way they shifted weight before striking.
The way they moved.
And when no one was watching…
She practiced.
Lyra adjusted her stance.
Left foot forward.
Right foot slightly behind.
The stick lifted slowly.
She exhaled.
Then moved.
The wood sliced through the air in a smooth arc.
Step.
Turn.
Strike.
Again.
The motion wasn't perfect. But it was familiar.
Something about it made the strange warmth inside her chest stir quietly.
Like it approved.
Lyra moved again.
The stick cut through the air with a sharper sound this time. Her breathing settled into rhythm.
Step.
Turn.
Strike.
Again. Again. Again.
She lost track of time like that.
Lost inside the movement.
The collar around her neck felt heavier when she practiced. It always did.
Sometimes the iron pressed against her skin like a reminder.
Other times it burned faintly.
Tonight it simply felt…tight.
Lyra swung the stick again.
Her foot slid slightly across the dirt.
She corrected the balance.
Then—
Someone clapped slowly behind her.
“Well.”
Lyra froze.
The sound was casual.
Amused.
She turned slowly.
Kael leaned against one of the trees at the edge of the clearing.
His dark hunting cloak hung loosely around his shoulders, still dusted from travel. His arms were folded, and the faint curve of a smirk sat on his lips.
He had clearly been standing there for a while.
Watching.
Lyra lowered the stick slightly.
Her stomach tightened.
“You’re back.”
Kael pushed himself off the tree.
“Missed me?”
Lyra didn't answer.
He walked toward her slowly, boots crunching softly over fallen leaves.
“You weren’t in the house,” he said.
“Mother assumed you were hiding somewhere like usual.”
His gaze dropped to the stick in her hands.
Then lifted again.
“But I thought…” he said lightly.
“…why waste a perfectly good opportunity?”
Lyra's grip tightened.
“I was just practicing.”
Kael looked at the stick.
Then at her.
Then he laughed.
Not loudly.
Just enough to make the sound sting.
“Practicing,” he repeated.
“With a stick.”
Lyra didn't say anything.
Kael began circling her slowly.
Like he was inspecting something mildly interesting.
“You really are strange,” he said.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the iron collar around her neck.
“That thing should remind you of your place.”
Lyra forced herself to meet his gaze.
“I know my place.”
“Oh?” Kael stopped in front of her.
His expression sharpened.
“Do you?”
He reached for the sword at his hip.
The blade slid free with a quiet metallic whisper.
Moonlight caught the steel.
“Prove it.”
Lyra blinked.
“What?”
“Let's spar.”
She stared at the weapon.
“I don't want to fight you.”
Kael rolled his shoulders casually.
“Of course you don't.”
“You'd lose.”
Lyra looked down at the stick.
Then back at him.
Her heart started beating faster.
Not entirely from fear.
“You said prove it,” she murmured.
Kael smiled wider.
“Exactly.”
He raised the sword.
“Come on then.”
Lyra hesitated. But it was only for a moment.
Then Kael moved.
The sword swung toward her shoulder, fast and clean.
Lyra stepped aside instinctively.
The stick lifted.
Wood struck steel with a sharp c***k.
Kael blinked.
He hadn't expected that.
His sword came around again, lower this time.
Lyra pivoted.
Her body moved before her thoughts caught up.
The collar burned suddenly against her skin.
But her hands didn't stop.
The stick snapped down against his wrist.
The impact made Kael's grip falter.
His eyes widened slightly.
Lyra twisted the stick without thinking.
Three quick movements.
Strike.
Hook.
Pull.
The sword flew from Kael's hand.
It landed several feet away in the dirt with a dull thud.
The clearing went quiet.
Lyra froze.
Kael stared at his empty hand.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Three moves.
That was all it had taken.
Slowly, Kael looked up.
His expression had changed.
“What…”
His voice came out quiet. Dangerously quiet.
Lyra immediately lowered the stick.
“I’m sorry.”
The words came out automatically.
Kael stared at her.
“You disarmed me.”
“It was an accident.”
His chest rose and fell once.
“You think anyone would believe that?”
Lyra shook her head quickly.
“No, I—”
Kael moved suddenly.
His fist drove straight into her stomach.
The impact knocked the breath from her lungs instantly.
Lyra gasped as pain exploded through her body.
Her knees hit the dirt.
The stick slipped from her hands.
She curled forward instinctively, trying to breathe.
Kael stood over her, breathing harder now.
“You listen carefully,” he said.
Lyra couldn't answer.
Her lungs struggled to pull air back in.
“If anyone hears about this,” Kael continued, his voice low and sharp, “I'll tell them you attacked me.”
He nudged the fallen stick away with his boot.
“And who do you think they'll believe?”
Lyra stayed silent.
Still hunched over.
Kael retrieved his sword and slid it back into its sheath.
Then he crouched slightly, leaning closer to her.
“You're nothing, Lyra.”
His finger tapped the iron collar lightly.
“Don't ever forget why you wear that.”
He stood again.
Leaves crunched under his boots as he turned and walked away.
The forest swallowed the sound of his steps.
Lyra stayed where she was for a long time.
Kneeling in the dirt.
Her stomach throbbed where the punch had landed.
Each breath came slow and careful.
Eventually the pain eased enough for her to straighten.
She pushed herself slowly to her feet.
The clearing had gone quiet again.
Like nothing had happened.
The stick lay a few feet away.
Lyra walked over and picked it up. Her hands trembled slightly.
She stared at the wood for a moment. Then adjusted her grip.
Her feet shifted into position again.
Left forward.
Right back.
She lifted the stick.
And began the motion again.
Step.
Turn.
Strike.
Slow.
Careful.
But steady.
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