Chapter 7

Chapter Seven: The War That Brews

The air in Moonshadow had changed.

It wasn't just the colder winds or the increasing patrols — it was the sense of motion, of pressure, like the sky itself was bracing for something vast. For days, Lyra could feel the tremor beneath the calm. The forest was quieter. Birds flew in tighter, more panicked flocks. Even the trees, once her silent friends, now whispered more urgently through their rustling leaves.

War was coming. And it had her name scrawled across its heart.

Inside the Moonshadow stronghold, the war council was gathering.

Lyra stood at the long stone table surrounded by warriors, scouts, and advisors — Elara at her side, her presence like a blade sheathed in velvet. Riven stood across from her, newly dressed in Moonshadow armor, its sleek design tailored for his stealth-driven strengths.

Before them, a map stretched across the table — one marked with enemy movements, supply routes, and ancient boundary lines.

“Bloodfang isn’t just growing darker,” Riven said. “They’re changing tactics. This isn’t about control anymore. It’s about extermination.”

He pointed to a small circle etched in red ink. “Here. A satellite village on the outskirts of the Eclipse Glen. Three days ago, they razed it to the ground. No warning. No survivors.”

A murmur swept the room.

“They’ve never attacked the fringe settlements like that,” murmured General Arik, Elara’s second-in-command. “They’ve always used leverage, not slaughter.”

“Celeste is trying to bait us,” Elara said coldly. “She knows Lyra’s alive. And now she wants her to act recklessly.”

Lyra clenched her fists. “She’s killing innocent people.”

“And you’ll stop her,” Elara said, looking directly into Lyra’s eyes. “But not by playing her game.”

Riven leaned over the table again. “There’s more. Bloodfang is testing weapons — ones infused with dark binding magic. They’ve started working with rogue witches.”

Another wave of murmurs. One scout — a woman with burn scars on her neck — spoke up.

“Witchcraft and werewolf blood don’t mix. That kind of power is unstable.”

Riven gave her a grim look. “That’s the point. They don’t care. They’re building chaos.”

Lyra looked between them all and then back to the map.

“We need to hit them first. But not where they expect.”

Elara raised a brow. “You have a place in mind?”

“Yes.” Lyra’s voice was firm. “The Hollow Mines.”

A long silence stretched.

“The mines are cursed,” Arik said at last. “No one’s been down there in over ten years. Not since the collapse.”

Lyra nodded. “Exactly. No one watches them. But they connect underground to the south corridor that leads into Bloodfang territory. It’s how the original Moonshadow refugees escaped their first purge.”

Riven looked impressed. “You remembered that from the archives?”

“I lived that history,” Lyra said. “And I remember every injustice.”

Elara stepped forward. “A stealth unit could go through the mines. But only if we have someone who knows how to navigate them.”

“I do,” Lyra said. “And I’m not asking. I’m going.”

Luna stared at her for a long, unreadable moment.

Then she nodded.

“Three warriors. Riven. You. And one scout of your choice.”

Lyra exhaled slowly. “When do we leave?”

Elara’s lips thinned. “Tonight.”

---

That evening, Lyra walked through the training field one last time. Warriors nodded as she passed. Some bowed. All of them knew what she had become. None of them knew what she would become next.

She found herself drawn to the lake at the edge of the territory. The moon shimmered on its surface, pale and ethereal.

Riven joined her, quiet.

“You good?” he asked softly.

“No,” she said. “But I’m ready.”

They stood in silence.

“I don’t remember her,” Lyra admitted after a while. “Our mother. I remember her voice, sometimes. The way she smelled. But her face… it fades.”

“I saw her more in dreams than in life,” Riven said. “But I think she’d be proud of you.”

Lyra glanced at him. “Of us.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Us.”

The bond between them was still fragile, unfamiliar — but something about it made her feel steadier. Not so alone. Not so cold.

A rustle in the trees interrupted their silence. A figure emerged — lean, tall, silver-haired.

“Scout Nyra,” Lyra greeted.

Nyra bowed. “I’m honored you chose me.”

“You know the mines?”

“My parents died there. I grew up studying them. I know every crack in the walls.”

Lyra nodded. “Then let’s get moving.”

---

The Hollow Mines lay at the edge of the northern cliffs, swallowed by thorns and rockfall. The entrance was narrow, half-collapsed, and reeked of damp earth and rust.

Nyra led the way, torch in hand, her movements quick but sure.

For hours they crawled, climbed, and slid down jagged slopes. The tunnels narrowed, then widened into ancient corridors lined with old mining gear and spiderwebs.

Lyra kept her senses sharp — not just for danger, but for echoes. She could feel something pulsing in the rock. The past. The pain. The blood that had been spilled here.

They made camp in one of the broader chambers, resting against the cold stone. Nyra kept watch while Riven leaned against a support beam, chewing dried meat.

Lyra sat with her legs pulled up to her chest.

“How far are we from the south corridor?” she asked.

Nyra glanced at a carved symbol on the wall. “Maybe a day, if we push hard.”

Riven wiped his blade clean. “We’ll push.”

Then something shifted.

A distant rumble.

Nyra turned sharply. “Did you feel that?”

Before Lyra could answer, the wall behind them groaned — and shattered.

A monstrous wolf exploded through the stone.

But it wasn't a regular wolf. It was a thing.

Twice the size of any werewolf. Eyes glowing red. Mouth dripping black ichor. Chains dragged behind it, melted into its flesh.

Nyra screamed.

Riven sprang up, blades drawn.

“*What the hell is that?*” Lyra shouted.

“A berserker,” Riven snarled. “Celeste’s pet.”

The creature lunged.

Lyra dove to the side, rolling hard across the gravel. Riven slashed at its side, but the blade barely left a scratch. Nyra threw a dagger, but it bounced off the beast’s hide like it was made of steel.

The berserker let out a bone-shaking howl — and leapt.

It pinned Riven, claws digging into his armor. He shouted in pain.

Lyra’s vision narrowed. Her wolf howled inside her.

She shifted.

Not half — full.

Her silver wolf burst forth, light against shadow, and she lunged with all her weight.

The berserker snarled, turning its bulk toward her. Their bodies collided, metal and magic against blood and moonlight.

Lyra bit deep — into the thing’s neck, where the metal fused into its skin.

It screamed.

Riven struggled up, blood on his jaw, and stabbed one of its back legs. Nyra ran forward and tossed a vial — it cracked open on the monster’s flank, searing the flesh with fire.

The creature roared and spun toward Nyra.

Lyra saw the blow coming too late.

The monster’s claw caught Nyra in the chest — and hurled her across the chamber.

She slammed into a rock wall and crumpled.

“Nyra!” Lyra screamed.

But then the beast turned back to her — stumbling, bleeding, but still upright.

And it spoke.

In a voice that was not its own.

“Come home, little girl,” it rasped, lips unmoving, eyes flashing red. “Come to your grave.”

Then it turned and ran — back into the tunnels, vanishing into darkness as if it had never been there.

Lyra shifted back, panting. “Riven—”

He was already by Nyra’s side. “She’s alive. Barely. We need to get her out of here.”

Lyra knelt, cradling Nyra’s limp form. Her pulse was weak, her breathing thin.

“We’re close,” Nyra whispered, blood on her lips. “The corridor… another mile…”

“Don’t speak,” Lyra said. “You’ll be okay.”

But Nyra shook her head. “I’ve seen that creature before. In my dreams. It was bound in chains, but the chains were voices. Old, whispering voices. It’s not just a pet.”

Lyra frowned. “What is it then?”

Nyra's eyes fluttered. “It’s a host.”

Then she passed out.

Riven cursed under his breath. “We have to go. Now.”

They hoisted Nyra between them and pressed forward, deeper into the mine. The air grew colder. The walls were dampened with something darker than water.

And then they saw it.

Light.

Moonlight pouring through a crack ahead.

The south corridor.

Freedom.

Lyra almost cried with relief—until a howl rang out behind them.

Dozens of them.

The tunnel behind them exploded with sound.

Shadows moved.

And from the darkness, red eyes appeared — dozens.

Riven spun, sword raised. “We’re not alone.”

Lyra took position, shielding Nyra.

The shadows stepped forward.

Not berserkers.

No

t Bloodfang warriors.

But wolves.

Strange, silent wolves with eyes of ice.

And leading them—

Celeste.

Standing tall, untouched, beautiful in a way only poison could be.

“Well,” she said, her voice smooth. “You took the long way home.”