Chapter Eight

The moment their hands met, the world vanished.

Lyra didn’t fall—but she felt herself pulled into something deeper than magic, deeper than memory. She stood in a space made of moonlight and shadow, her bare feet on smooth stone, her skin humming with energy. Across from her, Kaelen stood shirtless, golden tattoos pulsing across his chest like living flame.

They weren’t in the fortress anymore.

They were inside the bond.

The sacred, ancient space where souls either merged—or shattered.

“I didn’t know it would be like this,” Lyra whispered.

Kaelen reached for her hand and held on to it tightly. “No one ever does.”

Their fingers laced together. The magic responded immediately, silver and gold threads rose from their skin, wrapping them in light and streaks.

Suddenly, visions exploded before their eyes

They were not dreams. They were memories. Not only hers.

She saw Kaelen as a boy, standing over his parents’ bodies, soaked in blood, screaming for a wolf that wouldn’t come.

Her heart broke for him immediately.

She saw herself, tiny and cold, locked in the storage cellar of her foster pack, the night her wolf tried to rise—and was choked back down.

She saw their fates, it was mirrored and entwined.

The bond wasn't just about love. It was about truth. All of it.

Lyra stumbled back. “You… killed them?”

Kaelen’s jaw clenched. “I thought I had. I lost control.”

“You didn’t.” Her voice wavered. “I saw it. A warlock. He cursed your wolf.”

Kaelen’s eyes widened with shock . “I never knew…”

And then, she saw more.

She saw a child, born under a blood moon. Silver-eyed. Marked by prophecy.

A warlock standing in the shadows—Dren—chanting over an altar soaked in her blood.

Lyra gasped. “He tried to break me even before I was born.”

Kaelen reached for her and held on to her tightly. “And he failed.”

The light between them surged.

The bond flared and grew stronger with each passing second.

And in that space, their wolves rose.

Lyra's was silver-fire, sleek and feral, eyes burning with resolve. Kaelen’s was a shadow-beast, It was massive and scarred, but no longer shaking with madness. They circled each other once and then bowed to each other.

The bond was sealed.

And when Lyra opened her eyes again, they were no longer in the spirit realm.

They were standing before the Vireyan Accord.

Elder Ysara stepped forward, her eyes were glowing.

“The bond is true,” she declared. “And it has revealed what we feared.”

Kaelen’s arm tensed protectively around Lyra. “What did you see?”

Ysara turned to the other Elders. “The bloodline has awakened. The curse is near its end.”

Lyra stepped forward. “Then help us end it.”

An ancient Elder with blind eyes leaned forward. “And if the curse requires blood? If it demands sacrifice?”

Lyra didn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll bleed. But not alone.”

Kaelen’s voice was steel. “Not ever again.”

They were ready to protect each other no matter what.

---

They were granted temporary sanctuary within the Accord’s stronghold—known as The Echo Hold, it was a massive fortress that was carved into the bones of the cliffs, its halls were lit by moon-crystals and burning herbs that kept the air charged with energy.

While Kaelen met with the warriors and mages of the Accord, Lyra was summoned to the Hall of Sight, where Elder Ysara waited beside a bowl of moonwater.

“You’ve passed the bond,” she said. “But the curse... that’s another matter.”

Lyra sat, her hands trembling slightly. “Tell me what you saw.”

Ysara’s face was grave. “The curse is a living force. It binds the bloodlines of the First Circle and twists the mate bond into madness. It began with betrayal—when your ancestor, High Wolf Elana, sacrificed her fated mate to gain the Moon Goddess’s favor in war.”

Lyra felt a chill run down her spine. “And I carry her blood.”

“You carry her final descendant’s magic. The last of the moon-marked. That’s why Dren marked you. He thought he could use your blood to finish what Elana started.”

Lyra’s voice was ice. “He was wrong.”

Ysara nodded. “But to break the curse, you must do more than survive him. You must return to the place of origin—the Rift of Echoes—and unbind the soul tether that feeds the curse.”

Kaelen entered just then, his expression was grim. “I know where it is.”

Ysara raised a brow. “Few do.”

Kaelen’s voice was hollow. “It’s in the heart of Nightshade.”

Silence fell.

Lyra looked between them. “Then that’s where we go.”

Ysara studied her. “It is a suicide mission.”

“Maybe,” Lyra said, standing. “But I was born into a death sentence. I’d rather fight it than wear it.”

Ysara bowed her head. “Then the Accord will lend what strength we can. You’ll have warriors. Spells. Weapons all carved from the bones of the First Pack.”

Kaelen moved beside Lyra. “And what of the prophecy?”

Ysara hesitated. “There are two endings, child. One where you break the curse and one where you become it.”

Lyra met her gaze without flinching. “Then I’ll rewrite the entire prophecy.”

---

That night, Lyra stood on the balcony overlooking the cliffs, the wind tugging at her hair and the moonlight bathing her in silver.

Kaelen joined her, he was very silent.

“I saw you,” she said quietly. “Not the alpha. Not the legend. Just… you.”

He didn’t smile. But his hand found hers.

“I saw you too,” he said. “And for the first time… I believe we might survive this.”

She turned. “Even if the curse fights back?”

Kaelen nodded. “Then we fight harder.”

Their bond pulsed between them, it was solid and steady.

And somewhere deep in the shadows of Nightshade, Dren felt it.

And he began to prepare.

Because now he knew:

The girl he tried to break… was coming to end him.