Chapter 8: Secrets in the Old Library
571 Words
Three days after the whipping, Lyra’s back was a canvas of angry, raised scabs. Thanks to Nyx, she hadn't died of silver poisoning, but the healing process had to be slowed down manually so the pack wouldn't notice. She walked with a deliberate limp, pretending to be utterly broken.
They thought they had tamed her. They were wrong.
Tonight, she had a mission. Clara’s accusations of "dark magic" had sparked something in Lyra. She remembered the voices from the night of the m******e—the mentions of Elder Magnus. She needed answers.
While the pack slept off a heavy hunting night, Lyra slipped into the forbidden underbelly of the old packhouse—the ruined library that had survived the fire ten years ago. It was a place rumored to be haunted, left untouched by Alpha Damien's cowardly wolves.
Dust filled the air as she pushed open the heavy oak doors. Holding a small candle, she scanned the shelves of decaying scrolls and ancient texts.
"Where are you?" she muttered.
To the left. Beneath the floorboards of the north corner, Nyx’s voice guided her, humming with a strange familiarity. I can smell the old ink and blood.
Lyra moved swiftly, prying up a loose floorboard. Beneath it lay a heavy leather-bound journal, sealed with a lock bearing the crest of the High Elders. She smashed the lock with a stone and opened the brittle pages.
It wasn't a pack history. It was a record of prophecies.
Her eyes scanned the faded script, widening as she read:
"When the blood of the Nightbane spills upon the ashes of the crescent, the Moon Daughter shall awaken. Bearing the soul of the First Wolf, Nyx, she shall possess the silver fire. To break the throne of the five Alphas, she must reject the bond of the golden-eyed king, for his hands are stained with the blood of her origin..."
Lyra’s breath hitched. The Moon Daughter?
"Nyx... what is this?" Lyra whispered, her hands shaking. "The First Wolf? The silver fire?"
Before Nyx could answer, a shadow stretched across the library floor.
"It's a beautiful story, isn't it?"
Lyra spun around, dropping the candle. The flame flickered wildly, illuminating a tall, imposing man standing by the broken stained-glass window. He wore a dark, armored coat, and his presence was so suffocatingly powerful that Lyra’s instinct told her to run, to flee, to hide.
Yet, Nyx didn't growl. Nyx was dead silent, observing.
The man stepped out of the shadows. He had sharp, aristocratic features, pale skin, and eyes that seemed to absorb the light.
"Who are you?" Lyra demanded, slipping a hidden silver dagger into her hand.
"A friend to those who seek ruin," the stranger said, a faint, dangerous smile playing on his lips. "You are looking in the wrong place for your answers, Lyra Nightbane. Elder Magnus does not leave his secrets in a dusty room."
"How do you know my name? How did you get past the patrols?"
The man chuckled, a sound like grinding stones. "Patrols? To a god, the walls of ants are nonexistent. Sleep well, little wolf. Your time in this cage is coming to an end."
Before Lyra could lung, the man dissolved into a mist of shadows, leaving behind the faint scent of winter and ozone.
- Writer
