The Lycan Slave Princess

CHAPTER 7: Fire Beast

BLOODMOON PACK

The Pack is the head district, far larger and more powerful than the Crystalmoon Pack. A stone wall surrounded its entire perimeter with a big gate. Beyond the towering walls lay a dense forest, and beyond it stretched the sea, its waves crashing against the distant shore.

Seven-year-old Prince Ragnar tossed restlessly on his bed, his small body trapped. He stood alone in a glowing forest.

The trees glowed with silver light, their leaves glinting like blades beneath darkness. A cold mist curled around his feet, creeping up slowly on his body. “Ragnar…” The voice echoed softly. The voice came from everywhere.

Ragnar's chest tightened as he turned in a slow circle, trying to find who called him. “Ragnar…” This time, it was louder and closer.

The light around him pulsed and began to grow brighter, almost blinding. The mist thickened, rising to his knees, then higher, wrapping around him. “I… I don’t want to go,” he whispered, fear shaking his voice.

The voice called again, this time stronger and deeper. “Ragnar.” The mist surged forward suddenly, rushing towards him to grab him.

“No!” he screamed. His eyes snapped open.

The chamber doors burst open instantly as guards rushed inside, and they drew their weapons ready to strike.

“My Prince!” one shouted, scanning the room.

Prince Ragnar sat upright on the bed, breathing hard, his small hands gripping the sheets tightly. His eyes darted around the chamber, panic slowly fading. “I… I’m fine,” he said, his voice soft but still unsteady.

The guards exchanged glances before lowering their weapons. “My Prince, we heard you scream,” one said carefully.

Ragnar took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “It was just a dream.”

Relief showed on their faces. “Would you like anything, my Prince?” another asked.

Ragnar nodded slightly. “Water.”

One of them stepped forward, pouring water into a cup and handing it to him. Ragnar drank slowly, the coolness helping him steady his racing heart. When he finished, he handed the cup back. “You may go.”

The guards bowed their heads. “As you command, my Prince.” They exited the chamber, the doors closing behind them.

A moment later, his personal guard Kaelion, who was sixteen years old, opened the chamber door, closing it behind him. “Good morning, my Prince.”

“Good morning,” Ragnar replied.

He walked to the side and began arranging Ragnar’s training clothes on the bed. “Did the dream return, my Prince?” Kaelion asked after a moment.

Ragnar hesitated, then nodded. “It felt closer and real this time,” he said quietly.

Kaelion’s expression tightened slightly, but he said nothing more. He stepped back as Ragnar slipped off the bed and headed into the bathing chamber.

Moments later, the prince emerged from the bathing chamber as he dressed in his training clothes, his movements small but disciplined, already.

Kaelion turned to the window before turning his gaze to him. “Your parents are waiting in the throne hall.”

Ragnar adjusted his sleeve and lifted his chin. “Okay,” he replied. Together, they stepped out of the chamber.

The corridors stretched wide with polished stone floors, while deep red banners bearing the pack’s crest hung along the walls. Armoured guards stood at every interval.

Soon, they reached the throne hall.

The huge double door opened slowly, revealing a vast space. Towering pillars rose high into the ceiling, while rich drapes decorated the hall.

At the far end, above the dais sat Alpha Thorne and Luna Melisara. She gazed at her son's coming figure.

Prince Ragnar stepped forward beside Kaelion. When he reached the front of the throne, he bowed his head slightly. “Greetings, Father. Greetings, Mother.”

Alpha Thorne watched him. “You are late.”

Ragnar straightened instantly. “I apologise, Father.”

Then the Alpha gave a slow nod. “See that it does not happen again.”

“Yes, Father.”

Kaelion stepped forward. “It is time for his training, my Alpha,” he said.

Alpha Thorne waved once. “Go.”

Ragnar bowed again before turning. Kaelion fell into step beside him as they exited the throne hall.

They walked through the wide corridors.

“Good morning, my Prince.” A maid bowed deeply.

Ragnar nodded.

“My Prince.” Another greeted.

Ragnar held his gaze forward and said, “Being a Prince is tiring, must they greet?”

Kaelion glanced at him quietly. “That’s because you are the Prince.”

Soon, they reached the training grounds. The field was vast. Warriors were already in pairs as their swords rang against shields and each other.

Kaelion led Ragnar to an open space. “Today,” he said, handing him a wooden training sword, “we focus on control.”

Ragnar gripped the sword with both hands. “Stance,” Kaelion instructed.

Ragnar positioned his feet as he balanced himself.

Kaelion moved around him, correcting his posture and guiding the swing. “Strength without control is useless,” he said. “Again.”

Ragnar swung.

“Too fast,” Kaelion corrected. “Feel it and flow with it.”

Ragnar slowed.

Kaelion nodded slightly. “Good. Again. Strike. Pause. Adjust. Repeat.”

Sweat formed on Ragnar’s brow. His arms ached, but he did not stop.

“Pain is part of strength,” Kaelion said. “Endure it.”

Ragnar tightened his grip and continued.

***

It was already in the evening in the pack. In Priestess Nyxara's cottage deep inside the forest, in her arms, she held a newborn baby. “Take care of her,” she instructed a nearby nanny. “I have a trip to make.”

The nanny nodded, gently cradling the infant.

Nyxara turned, her black hooded gown flowing around her as she stepped out of her cottage holding her staff and climbed onto her horse.

She rode off, the hooves of her horse striking the path. The journey was long, winding into a deep forest. Hours passed and finally, the horse stopped, stamping its hooves and refusing to go further. Nyxara dismounted, tying the reins to a nearby tree.

She continued on foot, her black cloak brushing the forest floor. She reached an open space. At its centre, a cave loomed, the entrance blocked by a massive stone.

Priestess Nyxara stepped forward and raised her staff. "Veylathar noctis… Umbra flecta… Arcanum revelare!"

The ground trembled slightly. Heavy winds blew across the trees. Slowly, with a deep grinding sound, the huge stone rolled aside, revealing the dark entrance of the cave.

She looked around and picked up dry wood with a flick of her staff. She ignited a small stick in her palm with a blue-tinted flame. The light flickered, casting eerie shadows across her hooded face.

Taking the glowing stick, she stepped into the cave.

The cave opened into a vast chamber. In the centre lay the Fire Beast. It slept, coiled in eternal flame.

Its body writhed beneath fire that burned without consuming. Horns curved backwards, blackened, and jagged. Its eyes flickered.

But the beast was bound. Arcs of deep blue magic coiled around its limbs. Runes glowed beneath it, carved into the stone floor.

Nyxara stepped forward, her hood falling back, revealing her eyes. She raised her staff. "Ignis aeternum… Vinculum ruptus… Lux fulgura… Exuro libera!"

Lightning crackled from her staff, weaving through the cavern air. It struck the glowing runes of the seal, arcs of white-blue fire leaping across the floor. The cavern trembled as the stone walls shivered. Sparks and dust fell from the ceiling.

The Fire Beast roared, a sound that shook the cave, rattling Nyxara’s cloak and echoing through the deepest corners of the cavern. Its eyes blazed. It rose slowly, wings unfurling with a hiss. The magical bindings shattered.

The Fire Beast stood free. Nyxara smiled, her laughter echoing alongside the roar of the Fire Beast.

Smoke poured from its nostrils with every heavy breath, curling into the cavern air. Its massive body shook.

Nyxara stepped closer, her cloak billowing. “You are free,” she said. “But I did not release you without purpose. I have a deal for you.”

The Beast looked at her, eyes narrowing, a low rumble vibrating from its chest. Smoke poured from its snout as it shifted, claws scraping the cavern floor. “And what is this deal?”

“You will terrorise the Bloodmoon Pack,” Nyxara said. “Strike fear into their hearts. Then, I will be the only one they will look to for a solution.”

The Beast tilted its head, flames flickering along its jagged horns. “And what do I get in return?” it asked.

Nyxara’s lips curved into a smile. “Human sacrifice,” she replied. “I know it has been ages since you last tasted it. I will provide it.”

The Fire Beast’s body quivered for a moment. Then, with a rumbling growl that shook the walls, it lowered its massive head and exhaled a column of smoke and fire. “We have a deal then.”

Nyxara nodded, laughter echoing through the cave.

***

That night, the pack slept peacefully.

The sky above was dark and silent… until the Fire Beast soared through the sky, its massive wings trailing flames behind it, lighting the night sky.

Then, with a thud, its enormous body crashed into the open grounds of the pack close to the tavern. The impact sent sparks and dust into the air, and the ground shook violently.

Guards stationed nearby froze. Their weapons shook in their hands.

From the dim light of the street, a drunkard staggered out of the tavern. “Hah… hah… wha… what in the gods’ fire is that?” he slurred, kicking at a loose stone. “I… I knew I shouldn’t have had that last mead… gods above, it’s… it’s alive!”

The Fire Beast’s gaze flickered, landing on the stumbling man.

Time seemed to slow. The guards’ breaths caught in their throats as the creature’s claws reached down, seizing the drunkard in one massive hand.

“No! No! Let me go! Somebody help me!” the man screamed as his eyes instantly cleared.

In an instant, the Fire Beast lifted him high into the night sky while the guards looked up in fear. A roar shook the ground, echoing across the pack, and the drunkard’s cries were gone. Then silence returned.

***

CRYSTALMOON PACK

Freya started her morning duties in the kitchen as sunlight spilt through the windows. She arranged the ingredients on the counter she needed to use.

Neriah walked in and leaned against the doorway, arms crossed as she watched Freya. “So… I’ve been meaning to ask,” she began, “where did you sleep the last two nights? Your bed was empty.”