Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX : 

THE FIRST DEATH

Lyra woke up cold.

Not regular cold. 

Not the kind of cold that came from winter weather or a lack of blankets. The kind of cold that came from lying on frozen ground with no pack bond to keep you warm.

 The kind of cold that sank into bones and stayed there.

 The kind of cold that could kill. 

She opened her eyes slowly.

 Everything hurt. 

Her head pounded. 

Her chest ached like someone had carved out her heart with a dull knife. 

Her whole body felt wrong. 

Empty. Dry. 

Trees above her. Bare branches reaching into a grey sky. The smell of unfamiliar territory. 

Damp earth and rotting leaves. 

No scent of pack. 

No scent of home.

She was in the rogue lands.

They'd dumped her here like garbage. Taken everything, her pack bond, her belongings, her dignity, her identity and thrown her away like trash.

Lyra tried to sit up. 

Pain shot through every part of her body. 

The bond severing had been violent. 

Traumatic.

 It felt like someone had reached inside her chest and ripped out part of her soul.

Because that's exactly what they'd done.

Without a pack bond, she was vulnerable. 

Weak. Powerless. 

 Just another rogue wolf that any pack could kill on sight. 

That any rogue could attack without consequences.

 That the world could swallow up without anyone caring or noticing.

Lyra forced herself to stand. 

Her legs shook. Her vision blurred. 

Black spots danced at the edges. But she stayed upright through sheer stubbornness. 

Through pure rage, that filled her chest. 

She couldn't die here. 

She wouldn't.

She had to move. Had to find shelter. Had to survive. In the rogue territories, staying in one place meant death. 

Rogues were territorial.

 Dangerous. They'd kill for her boots.

 For her clothes. For nothing at all except the pleasure of it.

Lyra stumbled through the forest, not knowing where she was going. Not caring. 

Every step hurt deep into her bones. 

Her body was still recovering from the bond severing. Her heart was still bleeding from the betrayal.

Marcus had replaced her. He has planned it all along. Isla had betrayed her. 

Her best friend had stolen her life. 

Her mother had chosen someone else's children over her own daughter. 

Sera had framed her. 

Elder Theron had sentenced her.

And Lyra had no idea why.

She hadn't poisoned those children. 

She'd never even seen them before that day. 

Someone had planted that vial in her bag. 

Someone had put her fingerprints on it. 

Someone had framed her.

But who? And why? What had she done to deserve this?

Lyra's foot caught on a root, while she was lost in thought. 

She fell hard, scraping her palms on rough bark. 

For a moment, she just lay there, too tired to get up. 

Too hurt to care.

Maybe she should just stay here.

 Let the cold take her. 

Let wild animals find her. 

Let death come quickly. It would be easier than facing whatever came next. 

Easier than surviving in territory that killed exiles.

 Easier than living with the pain of betrayal.

"Get up."

Lyra's head jerked up. 

A woman stood a few feet away, watching her. 

She was older, maybe forty, with scars covering her face and arms. 

Deep scars. Old scars. 

The kind that came from surviving things that should have killed you. Her clothes were rough and patched. 

Her eyes were hard.

"I said get up," the woman repeated. 

Her voice was rough. Harsh. "Unless you want to die here. Your choice. I won't judge either way."

"Who are you?" Lyra's voice came out as a croak.

 Raw, broken, tired. 

"Someone who knows what it's like to be thrown away." The woman crossed her arms. 

Her stance was casual but her eyes were alert. 

Watchful.

 "Name's Raven. You're in the rogue territories now, girl. This is where packs dump wolves they don't want anymore. Traitors. Criminals. Inconvenient truths. Wolves who asked too many questions or threatened the wrong people."

"I didn't do what they said I did," Lyra whispered. 

The words came out automatically. 

A plea. 

A defense no one had wanted to hear.

"Doesn't matter." Raven's expression didn't change.

 Didn't soften with sympathy or harden with judgment.

 "Guilty or innocent, you're here now. And out here, nobody cares about your past. Nobody cares about your story. Nobody cares if you were treated unfairly. They threw you away like garbage. Now you either learn to thrive in the dump, or you become part of it. Rot into the ground and feed the worms."

Lyra wanted to argue. Wanted to explain everything that had happened. Wanted to make someone, anyone, understand that she was innocent.

 That she'd been framed. 

That she'd given everything to her pack and been betrayed.

But something in Raven's eyes stopped her. 

This woman had heard every sob story. 

Every protest of innocence. Every tale of betrayal and injustice. 

And she clearly didn't care. In the rogue territories, your past didn't matter. 

Only survival mattered most. 

Lyra pushed herself up. Her body screamed in protest. Her muscles shook. Her head spun. But she ignored it all.

"Good," Raven said. There was approval in her voice now.

 Just a hint. 

"First lesson. Out here, nobody cares about who you were. Nobody cares about your accomplishments or your failures. They threw you away like garbage. Now you either learn to thrive in the dump, or you become part of it. So what's it going to be, girl? You going to lie down and die? Or you going to stand up and fight?"

Lyra looked at the older woman. At her scars. At her hard eyes. At the strength in her stance despite years of surviving in territory that killed most exiles within weeks.

"Fight," Lyra said. Her voice was still broken but there was steel underneath. "I'm going to fight."

Raven smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. It was the smile of a predator recognizing another predator.

"Then follow me," Raven said. "And try not to die in the next five minutes. I hate wasting effort on corpses."

Lyra followed Raven through the forest. She had no other choice. No other hope. No other option except death.

And she wasn't ready to die yet.

Not

when the people who'd betrayed her were still alive. Still happy. Still celebrating their stolen life.

No. Lyra wasn't ready to die.

She was ready to survive.

And someday, somehow, she would make them all see the truth.