Silver And Salt
1202 Words
Next day in school, the lunch bell rang, the school courtyard buzzed with life, students flooded the green grassy lawn, some gathered in noisy groups, some played at the park while others scattered off to their quiet corners. Lyra stood near the edge of the trees that bordered the school grounds, the wind gently playing with her dark curls. She’d barely touched her food. Something felt… off. Really off.
“Hey,” a voice said behind her.
She turned to see Rhett Vale, leaning casually against a tree with that half-smile that felt so unreadable.
“Mind if we sit together?” Marek’s voice followed afterwards. The werewolf boy gave a more open smile, his eyes scanning her face a little too closely.
She nodded slowly with hesitation, unsure why the hairs on her neck flared up.
“Would you like to play a little game? We’re obviously all bored” Marek said sharply with a stern smile.
Lyra just nodded nonchalantly while eating her food.
The two boys exchanged a look before Marek pulled something out of his pocket. A small silver ring and a tiny pouch of what looked like salt.
“We were talking,” Rhett began, sitting down, “and we realized you’re…sort of special.”
Lyra blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t mind him, he just feels like talking” Marek added quickly. “It’s just that we’ve seen people… change. Around this age. Sometimes certain traits show up and… we were curious.”
“Curious enough to bring jewelry and salt?” she raised an eyebrow while looking at both of them.
“Just a trick,” Rhett said smoothly, offering her the silver ring. “Humor us. Try it on.”
She hesitated, then slid the ring onto her finger.
A jolt of heat shot up her arm. Her breath seized for some seconds. It wasn’t painful, but it felt… wrong. Like her body rejected it.
Before she could say a word, Marek opened the pouch and let a pinch of salt sprinkle onto her hand. The moment it touched her skin, a faint flare ran up her arm.
Their eyes and mouths widened.
Lyra yanked the ring off. “What the hell was that?”
The faint hiss of the silver cooling against Lyra’s skin still lingered in the air. Marek stared at her hand
“That’s… not possible,” Marek muttered, eyes darting between her and the glowing traces the salt had left in the air. “Nobody reacts to both. Nobody”
“Unless,” Rhett interrupted smoothly, his tone deceptively calm, “there is something more.”
Lyra blinked at him, unsettled by the way he was watching her, not like she was a freak
Her pulse quickened. “More? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Rhett’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. “Just that you’re not exactly ordinary, Blue Eyes.” His voice was casual, but his gaze was too steady, too sharp like a piercing needle, like he was reading every flicker of confusion on her face.
“A test,” Marek said gently. “One for supernaturals.”
Her head spun. “You think I’m…”
“We don’t think,” Rhett said, stepping closer. “We know.”
We didn’t know why we became drawn to you suddenly, tho we have been seeing you before in school, you just seem to radiate an energy only we feel.
Marek interrupted “ that’s why we had to do this trick rather I’d say a test on you to know what exactly you really are”.
“So what am I?” Lyra asked.
“Let’s have a proper start and reintroduce ourselves”, Rhett said. “Rhett vale and I’m a vampire” he smiled while extending his arm to shake her hands.
She was so intrigued yet confused, before she could shake his hands Marek stepped in, “ a werewolve I am,” he said jokingly,
“Marek, Marek Thorne”.
She smiled and said “ I am Lyra Caelum, still figuring out what exactly I am”.
I’ve been developing these changes since my 17th birthday.
“We’ll help you figure out what exactly you are, okay?”Rhett said.
That night, Lyra stood in her bedroom, staring at her reflection. Her skin was pale, but not sickly. Her eyes glowed faintly blue when the moonlight hit them. And the scar—jagged, old—was tingling again, right on her left shoulder. Her mind kept running around these two words “Two Breeds”, she kept asking herself what are these two breeds.
She turned sharply at a knock.
It was Marianne, holding a cup of tea. “You Couldn’t sleep?”
Lyra shook her head.
The older woman entered, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Is it the dreams again?”
Lyra sat opposite her, eyes wide and unsure.
“I think I’m going crazy,” she said.
Marianne’s smile faded. “Talk to me my love.”
Lyra hesitated. Then she pulled up the hem of her hoodie to reveal the odd birthmark only it had changed. It now shimmered faintly in the light, shaped like the number 17, pulsing almost like it was alive.
“And sometimes… I see things.
Lyra looked at her, tears brimming. “Not just dreams. Visions, I think. Flashes. That tree… the one in the fields. A battlefield. A woman with fire in her eyes. And I smell things others don’t. Hear stuff no one else reacts to. And today…..” Her voice cracked. “Rhett and Marek did something. A test. My skin burned from silver. And the salt….”
I keep seeing it. And a man… watching me.”
Marianne froze.
“Something’s changing in me. I can feel it, Mom,” Lyra whispered. “I wore silver today, and it burned. Someone poured salt on me, and my skin glowed.” She kept on talking nonstop.
She looked up at her foster mother, eyes filled with fear.
“I’m not normal. Am I?”
Marianne reached across the table, placing her hand gently over Lyra’s. “No, baby. You’re not.”
“Calm down darlingg” Marianne said.
Marianne reached across the table, placing her hand gently over Lyra’s. “No, baby. You’re not.”
The silence hung heavy between them.
“But neither am I,” Marianne whispered, her eyes dimmed always with something ancient. “And that doesn’t make you broken. It just means you are different, you are unique, okay?”
Silence…..
Marianne’s voice trembled. “You were always different, sweetheart. But I thought I had more time before you noticed.”
Lyra’s heart thudded. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… I think you were meant for something more than this town. More than just school and quiet fields.”
Before Lyra could reply, something moved outside the window. She rushed to it.
No one.
But in the distance between the trees at the edge of the fields someone stood watching. Cloaked. Still. Then gone.
She clutched her necklace and looked around keenly.
Someone knew. Someone had been watching her……
- Writer
