The twilight sky began to dim as the sun disappeared completely behind the canopy of towering trees in the forest. The birdsong overhead gradually faded, replaced by the rustle of Lyra's hurried footsteps through the underbrush and fallen leaves.
“What do I do?” Lyra panted in panic. She rummaged through piles of twigs and leaves, sweeping her hands across the ground. “My locket is gone,” she said, her voice filled with worry.
“This is terrible! What if it's really gone?”
Hearing that, Draven, who had been watching from a distance, immediately approached her.
“What? Your locket?” he asked quickly, instinctively joining the search. His hands began parting the surrounding bushes as his eyes carefully scanned the ground. “What does it look like?”
“It's an old locket. Oval-shaped, with a small picture of me and my father inside,” Lyra answered softly, as if precious memories were woven into her words.
“An oval locket?” Draven repeated.
Draven quickly glanced at Lyra, who continued digging through the leaves, her movements growing more frantic. “Where did that locket go?” he muttered, almost as if blaming himself for not helping sooner.
A few steps from Lyra, Draven suddenly spotted something glinting behind the roots of a large tree. He crouched down, touched it, and… sure enough. It was an old locket, dusty but still intact.
*Is this what she's looking for?* Draven wondered.
Draven froze for a moment. His hand tightened around the locket before his eyes returned to Lyra, who was still searching, unaware that the object she cherished had already been found.
Draven gazed at the small photograph inside the locket. Little Lyra smiled innocently in her father's arms.
Driven by an impulse he couldn't explain, Draven slowly slipped the locket into his coat pocket. His face remained expressionless, but something stirred in his eyes.
“Still haven't found it,” he said flatly, pretending to keep searching.
The forest became a silent witness to the small secret that had just begun to grow between them.
“Go home! It's already night. We'll look for it again tomorrow morning,” Draven advised.
“No! I have to find it right now.” Lyra stood her ground. She wouldn't give up until she found the precious keepsake her father had left behind.
“I said, go home!” Draven ordered. His voice sounded like a shout, frightening her.
With no choice, Lyra obeyed Draven's command. She walked home with dragging footsteps.
“Tomorrow, you're allowed to join the training with the rest of the pack. I've given you permission,” Draven said.
Lyra stopped for a moment, then slowly nodded.
The next morning, Lyra attended training. After receiving permission from Alpha Draven, she would carry out her routine in Ravencall, even though many eyes watched her with disdain.
A female warrior named Isha deliberately approached Lyra and became her sparring opponent.
“Rogues are supposed to be thrown out, but you're being protected here instead. How lucky for a rogue like you to join us,” Isha taunted, openly insulting Lyra.
Lyra remained silent. She had to control her emotions while she was in the training arena. She couldn't let her opponent provoke her, much less lose her temper in front of the entire pack.
Cyrus, the Beta, was still watching her from a distance. He would report Lyra's every move in the training arena to Draven.
“Why aren't you fighting back, rogue?” Isha deliberately baited Lyra.
“What for? Are you trying to show off or test my patience?” Lyra shot back.
“You're so arrogant!” Isha was the one who lost her temper. She attacked Lyra first, making the fight grow increasingly fierce.
Their footsteps pounded against the ground, the wooden weapons clanging as they collided in the center of the training arena. Lyra's breath came fast, her eyes tracking Isha's movements as they flashed past—swift, agile, and precise. She had to concentrate on observing every move her opponent made.
The sparring began calmly, but turned vicious when Isha changed her fighting style. Her movements suddenly resembled the shadow of a ruthless, oppressive past. Like someone Lyra had once known: Nessa.
Lyra's body went rigid. “Stay focused! Don't let her beat me!”
Isha attacked again. This time, her strike became a straight thrust toward Lyra's chest—the signature fighting style of Nessa, the Nightfall warrior who had once shattered Lyra's confidence. Lyra's breath caught instantly.
Her legs stopped moving. Her vision suddenly blurred. For one brief moment, her world collapsed.
Lyra fell to the ground, sending dust billowing into the air. She clutched her chest, not from physical pain, but from an old wound that had suddenly split open. Her body began to tremble.
Those voices came again, whispering loudly in Lyra's head, sharp as daggers piercing her heart.
“You're nobody.”
“You're nothing but a traitor's daughter.”
“Even your own father is ashamed to admit you're his daughter.”
Nessa's voice. A voice from the past. A voice Lyra wanted to bury deep, but that always returned whenever the wound hadn't truly healed.
“Lyra?” Isha approached, but Lyra shrank away, terror filling her eyes.
“Don't! Don't come near me!” Lyra whispered faintly, speaking more to the image of Nessa dancing through her mind than to Isha standing before her.
Lyra's body froze on the ground. Her eyes filled with tears. This wasn't merely a sparring match—it was more like an internal war, and she felt that she had already lost that day.
Panic seized her. Her breath caught in her throat. The voices from the past still echoed in Lyra's head as her body trembled on the ground. Yet something inside her began to rise, like a crack of light piercing the dark walls of trauma she had buried for so long.
“Isha, don't!” Lyra whispered in warning, but unfortunately, it seemed to be too late.
Isha attacked again without mercy, acting on reflex and failing to realize that Lyra was in an unstable state.
Suddenly…
The wind began swirling wildly around Lyra. Silvery light ignited in her eyes. A biting chill suddenly pierced the air, freezing the entire arena into silence.
Without being touched, Isha's body was violently hurled backward, slamming into the ground with an invisible force. The earth around Lyra cracked slightly, as if it had been repelled by something unseen.
Dust began to rise and scatter. The faint shadow of the moon appeared behind Lyra's back, as though bringing night to life in the middle of the day.
Everyone fell silent, staring at the extraordinary phenomenon.
The training forces froze in place. Even Cyrus, who had never flinched while fighting demons, immediately took a step back, his wary gaze fixed on Lyra.
“What did I just do?” Lyra's voice was barely audible. Her eyes still shimmered silver, as if her soul had been touched by something that did not belong to her.
“What kind of power is this?” Lyra stared in shock at the unexpected power she had been given.
Maela stood in the back row, trembling as she held her breath. She murmured softly, fear filling her voice.
“That isn't ordinary magic. That's Moonborn spiritual energy,” Maela concluded based on her vision.
Everyone turned toward Maela. Her words sounded like a curse. They believed Maela could see a person's past and future.
Draven had just arrived at the edge of the arena, and his eyes widened in shock. He gripped his jacket pocket more tightly. Inside, Lyra's locket trembled faintly, radiating the same light. Silvery. Strange, and almost as if it were alive.
From the shadows of the trees, someone watched with a cold smile.