Nyra couldn’t even put a name to the feeling that hit her. It didn’t show up in her brain like a normal thought you could grab and label. It crashed into her—direct, violent. And somehow, it felt familiar, the way a half-remembered dream sometimes does. King Kael Draven.
The Lycan King.
The name you’re not supposed to say out loud if you value your life.
It felt like she pulled the words out from deep inside, not learned or remembered—just… known. Buried under layers of myth and old stories, the kind you laugh off as impossible. Except, well, here he was. Kneeling. Right in front of her.
She couldn’t move—her whole body locked up. Even her breathing turned brittle, caught somewhere halfway in her chest, like even a single breath would shatter this thin layer separating her from losing
