River’s Lost Flame

Lycan King’s pov 

I jolted upright in bed, chest heaving, sweat beading on my brow. The same dream had haunted me for eighteen years: my daughter’s face, her tiny hand slipping from mine. The accident that stole her left me powerless, a king reduced to tears, and I couldn't do anything but weep day after day. 

Perhaps, I have been a little pressured lately, because the dreams had intensified, dragging up memories I’d buried: the river’s rush, the forest’s, a distant wail of grief. I couldn’t shake them. I climbed out of bed, steeling myself. I needed a walk to the forest, the place where my daughter went missing, where her absence still felt raw. For years, I’d visited that cursed spot, chasing her warmth, clinging to a hope long faded. It was my ritual, my way to feel my baby's warmth as though she were there with me when the weight of ruling grew too heavy.

Today felt different. My heart raced, a restless throb pulsing through me. Unease gripped me, unusual for a Lycan King. As I strode through the forest, the air felt wrong, charged with something I couldn’t name. Small animals darted past, colliding with my legs, foolish creatures that should’ve fled at the sight of me. Instead, they scurried in a frenzy, circling back toward the river. This wasn’t normal. I followed. This was my territory. Nothing moved here without my say.

Pushing through dense bushes, a sharp Lavender scent hit me. My blood froze. Only Lycans carried that scent, a gift from the Moon Goddess, marking my bloodline. No wolf, no matter how strong, could mimic it. Eighteen years ago, my daughter, our only child, disappeared, leaving my wife and me broken. We had searched endlessly, each day met with despair. Could this be her?

My head spun, thoughts racing faster than after a long night of drinking. The Lavender trail pulled me to the riverbank. A beast loomed there, fangs bared, ready to lunge at a figure in the water. I didn’t think, just acted, kicking the creature aside. It yelped, tail tucked, and fled into the forest.

I dropped to my knees beside the girl in the water. Her face was pale, almost translucent; her breathing was so faint that it barely stirred the air. Her lips were pressed tight, eyes closed, yet something about her felt achingly familiar. My heart slammed against my ribs, breath catching. If my daughter were alive, she’d be this age, seventeen, maybe eighteen. The Lavender scent, weak but undeniable, clung to her.

“Please, Moon Goddess,” I whispered, scooping her into my arms. “Don’t let me find her just to lose her again.” Her body was cold, limp, but I ran, legs burning, toward the pack’s stronghold. I hadn’t felt this drained since the war that nearly broke us, but I pushed harder, her weight a fragile hope in my arms.

The royal doctor met me at the gates, eyes wide as I thrust the girl toward her. “Save her,” I rasped, hands shaking. Servants stared, shock etched on their faces, as if their king had lost his mind. Maybe I had.

“Your Highness, you need rest,” a servant urged, guiding me to change out of my soaked clothes. I barely heard them, my gaze locked on the girl as the doctor carried her away.

“Go inform the queen now… No! Don’t tell her yet,” let's keep it low until I’m sure who the girl is. I won’t break her heart again.” My wife had never recovered from our daughter’s loss, her tears staining her pillow every night. I couldn’t raise her hopes only to crush them again.

The doctor hesitated, glancing at the girl. “Your Highness, I mean no disrespect, but she appeared out of nowhere. Could she be—”

I cut her off. “Look at her. The scent, the face… even if looks could be mimicked, the scent couldn't. The Moon Goddess marked our bloodline with Lavender. No one else carries it.” Her features mirrored those my wife, delicate yet strong and unmistakable features. I knew it in my bones: this was our daughter.

Eighteen years ago, an accident took her from us. My wife wept over her portrait day in, day out, and I carried the guilt of failing to protect her. I’d been a king, a warrior, but not a father who could save his only child. Now, here she was, a miracle delivered by the Moon Goddess herself—a second chance.

“Your Highness,” the doctor called, "you may need to be intellectually prepared.” “She's not out of danger. She fell from a great height, which has caused—” The Royal doctor’s words abruptly ended the pleasant illusion. 

My heart lurched, the joy snuffed out. I’d been so caught up in hope that I’d ignored her condition that she hadn’t fully awakened but was still battling the claws of death. “Do whatever it takes,” I begged, my voice cracking. “Name your price, but save her.”

In that moment, I wasn’t the Lycan King, ruler of a mighty pack. I was just a broken-hearted father, pleading for his child. The doctor nodded and ushered me out. “She needs rest, and so do you. We’ll do everything we can to save her.”    

I lingered, reluctant to leave. My hands still trembled, the memory of her faint pulse haunting me. I’d carried her once as a baby, her tiny fingers curled around mine. Now, she was a stranger, yet every bit my daughter. I couldn’t lose her again.

Days crawled by, each hour testing my patience. I paced the halls, avoiding my wife’s questioning gaze. I hadn’t told her, couldn’t bear to until I knew the girl would live. Her heart couldn’t take another loss. Neither could mine.

Finally, the doctor appeared, her face weary but lit with a small smile. “She’s stable, Your Highness. Out of danger, for now. But her recovery will take time; she fell from a very high place, and her body’s weak.”

Relief flooded me, my knees nearly buckling. “She’s alive,” I whispered, more to myself than her. “Thank you.” I turned to leave, then paused. “Keep her safe, please. I’ll tell the queen when she’s stronger.”

For the first time in years, I felt hopeful. My daughter, our daughter, was back. I’d failed her once, but never again. The Moon Goddess had given me a second chance to make it right, to be the father she deserved. I wouldn’t waste it.