The Dream of My Lycan

The Discussion

(Alpha Mack's POV)

By the time the sun cleared the trees, I had Brin and his son sitting across from my desk. Brin looked like he hadn’t slept at all. Ryan looked worse. The bruise on Brin’s jaw from Garik’s strike was already yellowing. Ryan’s hands were clenched so tightly on his knees I wondered if his nails might draw blood. I kept my voice even. “Ryan, when did you get your Lycan?” Ryan swallowed hard. “Two nights ago…the night of the ceremony. I wasn’t at the ceremony; I was at the lake. I didn’t want the crowds.” I nodded. “Go on.” “I was sitting there when I…heard someone. A voice. In my head. Not mine.”

Brin stiffened. “A voice? Ryan, you never—” I lifted a hand. “Later, Brin. Let him speak.” Ryan continued, eyes fixed on his hands. “He said his name. That was the first thing. ‘I’m your Lycan. My name is Soul.’” Brin’s breath hitched, shock written all over him. “Did you see him?” I asked. “In your mind?” Ryan nodded. “Yes, Alpha. Huge. Jet black fur. My eyes, but sharper. He told me to look at the moon and—” He swallowed. “—and then I shifted. I didn’t even mean to. It just…happened.” “At the lake,” I clarified. “Alone. No one else around.” “Yes.” That tracked. Lycans preferred isolation for their first emergence. The instinct was ancient and predictable. “And in the two days since?” “He mostly watches from the back of my mind,” Ryan said. “But yesterday was the first time he did something on his own.” “When Garik hit your father,” I said. Ryan flinched. “Yes, Alpha. Soul moved before I even understood what was happening. One moment I was standing there — the next, my hand was on Garik’s wrist and I couldn’t let go.”

Brin spoke softly, “He saved me. But…I didn’t even know he was there until I saw those eyes.” I leaned back, letting the weight of this settle. “So,” I said, recapping, “two nights ago your Lycan awakens at the lake, gives you his name, anchors fully. Yesterday he asserts control in defense of your father. Correct?” Ryan nodded miserably. Brin looked sick.

“Listen carefully,” I said. “A Lycan is not a simple wolf spirit. They are older. Stronger. Instinct-driven. When they awaken, they do three things: they speak their name, they test their host, and they defend what the host cares about without hesitation.” Ryan’s knuckles whitened further. “This isn’t punishment,” I said. “You didn’t ask for this. But an untrained Lycan inside pack territory is dangerous whether the host means harm or not.” Brin whispered, “What do we do?” “Now?” I answered. “He trains.” Ryan looked up sharply. “Trains?” “You will need control. Discipline. Combat readiness. A Lycan makes you stronger than most. But untrained strength is a threat — even to the people you care about.” Brin stared. “A warrior? Ryan has never—” “He will,” I said. “There is no other path that keeps him and the pack safe.” Ryan’s voice cracked. “Who is going to train me?” “That decision is mine,” I said firmly. “No Elders. No suggestions. I will choose an instructor when I know who can handle a Lycan without fear or stupidity.” Ryan nodded weakly. I opened my mouth to continue— Footsteps pounded down the hall. “Father!” And the door was thrown open.

(Rayla's POV)

I didn’t want to be here. Mayra had been pacing in my head for two days — restless, agitated, something between frustration and anticipation — and this morning she’d become relentless. Go to your father’s office. “No.” Now. “I don’t care what’s happening in there.” You should. “I don’t.” Rayla. Her voice hit a tone that always made my bones tighten. Before I realized it, I was striding down the hall. I reached the door, intending to knock— Mayra shoved. The door slammed open. Three startled faces snapped toward me. Father. Brin. Ryan — pale, exhausted, shaken.

Father frowned. “Rayla. This is a private meeting.” I crossed my arms tightly. “Tell that to Mayra. She’s the one dragging me around.” Brin blinked at hearing a Lycan’s name said out loud — something usually kept private. Father sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Of course she wants to be here. Fine. Stand quietly. Do not interrupt.” I took a step inside but stayed by the wall. Mayra was at the very front of my mind, prowling, her attention locked directly on Ryan — or, more accurately, on Soul. There, she murmured. “No,” I hissed silently. “Do not start.” He is awake. “So?” We feel him. “No, we don’t.” Rayla… I shoved her presence back. Father continued, explaining Lycan behavior Ryan had clearly never been taught — awakening, naming, instinctual defense. “You need warrior training,” Father said. “There is no alternative. You and Soul must learn control.” Ryan looked nauseous. Brin looked heartbroken.

Father added, “The instructor will be chosen by me alone.” Good. Because if anyone dared to look my direction, I was leaving the room. Mayra growled softly inside me. Him… “Shut up,” I snapped internally. You cannot avoid this. “I will.” Father shot me a look. “Rayla. Out.” Gladly. I stepped out, closing the door behind me, leaning against the wall. “What is wrong with you?” I hissed at Mayra. Her answer came soft and certain: Two nights ago, everything changed. I pushed away before she could elaborate.

(Ryan's POV)

If panic had claws, it would’ve wrapped around my spine. Soul was awake and alert beneath my thoughts, pacing like a caged animal. When Rayla walked in, everything intensified. Her presence. Her scent. The sudden flare of Mayra’s energy. There she is, Soul murmured, voice low. “Not now,” I snapped silently. “Don’t you dare.” She remembers us. “No, she doesn’t. She barely looked at me.” Her Lycan remembers. “That doesn’t mean anything.” It means everything. I shoved him back. Alpha Mack’s voice cut through the tension. “You will begin warrior training soon. Not today — but soon. Until then, no shifting. No calling to Soul. No provoking fights.” “Yes, Alpha,” I whispered.

Brin put a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll get through this, son.” I wasn’t convinced. As we walked away from the Alpha’s office, Soul’s voice curled through my head again. She came. For a reason. “Mayra dragged her,” I argued. She still came. “That doesn’t make this destiny.” It does. My heart stuttered. Because the worst part? A tiny piece of me believed him.