“The Blood Memory”
1779 Words
Lyra’s feet slammed into the packed dirt of the training yard.
The morning sun beat down from above, but she barely felt its warmth. Sweat dripped down her neck. Her arms ached. Her fingers trembled on the handle of the wooden blade Dagen had forced into her grip an hour earlier.
“Again,” Dagen barked.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t argue.
She swung.
Her strike was clumsy—too wide, too slow. Dagen knocked it aside with ease, stepping into her space and slamming the hilt of his own weapon into her shoulder.
Lyra grunted and stumbled backward.
He didn’t follow. Just crossed his arms and tilted his head at her like a teacher watching a failing student.
“You’re holding back,” he said.
“I’m tired.”
“No. You’re scared.”
Lyra’s jaw clenched.
Dagen took a step forward. “Scared of your own strength. Scared of what’s inside you.”
“Wouldn’t you be?” she snapped.
“No,” came a voice behind her. “I’d be afraid of what happens when you don’t use it.”
Kael.
He stepped into the circle without warning, his coat tossed aside, sleeves rolled up. He looked like he hadn’t slept. His eyes met Dagen’s.
“She’s not learning anything if you’re pulling your hits.”
Dagen smirked. “I’m not the one holding back.”
“Then I’ll take over.”
Dagen raised an eyebrow. “She nearly tore out your throat yesterday.”
Kael’s voice dropped. “Then let’s see if she finishes the job today.”
He stepped into the circle and picked up a staff. Solid wood, worn smooth from years of use. He gave her a nod.
“Ready?”
Lyra hesitated. “You want me to fight you?”
Kael didn’t answer. He moved.
She barely dodged the first blow. His strikes were faster, tighter than Dagen’s—like a storm compacted into the shape of a man. He didn’t aim to kill, but he didn’t hold back either.
She blocked one strike.
Dodged the next.
Caught his rhythm.
Until—
Her blade skimmed his forearm.
A shallow cut. Just enough to draw blood.
He didn’t flinch.
But a drop fell—bright red—onto her skin.
The moment it touched her…
Everything changed.
The drop of blood hit her skin and spread like heat.
Not warmth—burning.
Lyra staggered backward, gripping her wrist. The mark flared gold again, then white. Her breath caught in her throat. Her vision blurred. The training yard around her—the dirt, the trees, Kael—began to tilt and stretch and fold inward like paper catching fire.
Then she wasn’t there anymore.
She stood in another place.
Another time.
The air smelled of smoke and ash.
She looked down—her hands were covered in leather gloves, slick with blood. A silver knife glinted in one of them. Her boots crunched over burned grass as she walked toward a wooden post in the center of the camp.
A man was tied to it. Bare-chested. Covered in cuts. Wolf shifter.
He was bleeding from his mouth, but his eyes still burned with defiance. He growled weakly when she approached.
Lyra didn’t want to move—but her body did.
Her hands lifted the knife.
“By order of the Moon Court,” she heard her own voice say, but colder. Harsher. “You are found guilty of violating the Sacred Divide. Your sentence is death.”
“No,” Lyra whispered—but the voice ignored her.
She was a passenger.
She knelt beside the prisoner, pressing the blade to his chest.
“No mercy for beasts,” her voice said.
Then she carved the sigil—slowly, cruelly—into the man’s skin. The mark she now wore.
The man gasped. Coughed. Choked.
His gold eyes locked on hers.
Not just gold.
Familiar.
Kael.
Lyra’s chest seized.
The vision shattered.
She was back in the yard, screaming.
Lyra’s scream tore through the training yard like a lightning strike.
She hit the ground hard, chest heaving, clawing at her own arms like she could rip the memory off her skin. Her eyes were wide, wild, not seeing the world in front of her—only the one that had just bled into her mind.
The camp froze.
Kael stood a few feet away, blood still running from his arm. His face didn’t show shock—just grim recognition.
“She’s remembering,” he said.
Dagen moved toward her, slowly, cautiously. “Should I—?”
“No,” Kael said. “Let her come back.”
Lyra’s fingers dug into the dirt.
The scent of smoke. The silver knife. That voice—her voice—still echoed in her ears. Cruel. Empty. The way she’d said “no mercy.”
She shook her head hard.
“No,” she muttered. “That’s not me. That’s not me—”
A low growl rumbled from her throat.
Then came the shift.
Fast. Violent.
Her eyes glowed gold, her canines lengthening just enough to show. Not a full transformation—just enough to scare everyone nearby. Her fingernails thickened into claws. Her back arched as her body quivered between forms.
“Lyra,” Kael said, stepping forward.
She snapped her head toward him, snarling. For a split second, her eyes held no recognition—just fear and rage.
Then she saw herself.
A glimmer on a pool of spilled water nearby showed her reflection.
Part woman. Part wolf.
Eyes blazing. Face twisted in confusion and horror.
She backed away from it like it might bite her.
“I’m not her,” she whispered, shaking. “I’m not her—”
Her knees buckled.
Rhea came rushing in from the edge of the yard. She caught Lyra just before she hit the dirt again, wrapping her in a blanket, holding her like a child.
Lyra didn’t fight.
She just curled up and whispered the same thing again and again.
“I’m not her… I’m not her… I’m not…”
Kael stood at a distance, unmoving, watching the truth begin to bloom in her bones.
Lyra sat alone on the back steps of the healer’s lodge, knees drawn up, blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders.
Rhea had given her tea, but she hadn’t touched it. Her skin was still buzzing from the shift, her heart still racing from what she’d seen. It hadn’t been a dream.
It had been real.
She hadn’t imagined the silver blade in her hand… or the blood on her gloves… or the way Kael’s younger face looked right before—
She shuddered.
The door creaked behind her.
“I thought I might find you here,” Selene said, stepping outside.
Lyra didn’t turn. “Go away.”
“I would,” Selene said. “But you’re dangerous. And I like keeping an eye on things that might explode.”
Lyra squeezed the blanket tighter.
Selene walked around and stood in front of her, arms crossed, hip tilted like she owned the ground beneath them. “You remembered something, didn’t you?”
Lyra didn’t answer.
Selene crouched, her tone softening—but not kindly. “Let me help. Was it a fight? A kill? Were you holding a blade? Were wolves screaming?”
Lyra looked up at her, eyes rimmed red. “You think this is funny?”
“No,” Selene said. “I think it’s tragic.”
She leaned in closer.
“Because I was there.”
Lyra blinked.
Selene’s smile faded. “I saw you. Years ago. Before you died. Before Kael killed you. You came into our land with your little hunter team. And you didn’t just fight. You enjoyed it.”
“That wasn’t me,” Lyra said, but her voice cracked.
“No?” Selene whispered. “Then explain why you carved the Blackthorn mark into Kael’s baby brother before you slit his throat.”
Lyra froze.
Selene straightened, her expression hollow.
“Do you really think Kael marked you out of protection?” she asked. “That maybe he feels something for you? Maybe he’ll forgive you?”
She leaned down one last time.
“You murdered his family. And now you sleep under his roof.”
Then she walked away, leaving the door open behind her.
Lyra sat there, silent, the blanket still wrapped around her—but feeling colder than ever.
The forest was quiet, but Lyra’s heart wasn’t.
She ran.
Barefoot. No coat. No light. The woods swallowed her like they’d been waiting. Branches scraped her arms. Roots clawed her ankles. None of it mattered.
She had to get away.
From Selene.
From the pack.
From Kael.
From herself.
The wind whispered through the trees like a voice she almost recognized. The moon had begun to rise, fat and low in the sky, casting silver through the branches like cold fire. Her breath came in ragged gasps, white and fast in the cold night air.
She didn’t know how long she ran before she collapsed near the edge of a ravine, one hand gripping a tree, the other pressing to her ribs.
The memory still clung to her skin. His blood. That name—Asha.
What if Selene was right?
What if Kael marked her not to protect her…
…but to watch her?
“Running won’t change what you saw.”
She spun around.
Kael stood just beyond the tree line, as if he’d been walking behind her the entire time. He wasn’t out of breath. He hadn’t shouted after her. He didn’t need to.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Lyra said.
“You don’t have to talk,” Kael said quietly. “But you need to listen.”
She backed away a step. “Stay away from me.”
“I can’t.”
“You should.” Her voice cracked. “I saw it. I saw everything. I was a monster. I am a monster.”
“No,” Kael said. “You were a weapon.”
“That’s worse.”
She turned away.
But Kael didn’t come closer.
He just said, “You remember what you did. Good. Now we can finally stop pretending.”
Her shoulders tightened.
“I’m not her,” she said.
“No,” he agreed. “Not yet.”
She looked over her shoulder at him—tired, angry, hurt.
He met her eyes with a calm that was almost cruel.
“So run if you need to,” he said. “But I’ll be right behind you.”
Then he sat down against a tree.
And waited.
- Writer
