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Chapter 4

Author: Snow
Lillian's "fragile Lunar Spirit" always had an uncanny, convenient sense of timing.

I had won the annual Great Hunt, bringing down the largest stag with a single, clean shot. Her spirit fractured, and my victory was forgotten in the panicked rush to her bedside.

I had successfully, for the first time in a generation, summoned the shimmering, ethereal Northern Lights to dance over the compound. Her spirit fractured, and my achievement was deemed a "disturbance" to the natural order.

This time, as the guard delivered his news, I felt nothing. No simmering anger, no weary frustration.

Just a cold, hard knot of certainty solidifying in the pit of my stomach. It was time.

The wind on Broken Moon Cliff was a biting, merciless whip, carrying the scent of cold stone and distant pine.

And there, perched dramatically on the very edge, was Lillian. Because of course she was. She wore a gown woven of genuine, luminescent moon-silk, which glowed with a soft, internal light, making her the undeniable, tragic center of this carefully staged tableau. In her delicately held hand, she clutched a ceremonial Moon-Silver dagger—not like a weapon, but like a fragile, tragic prop.

The perfect picture of ethereal beauty in distress.

"Father! Mother! Brothers!" Sobs wracked her slender body, each one perfectly measured and pitched to carry. "I dreamed of them again... the Blood-Claw pack... they said I'm a thief... that my very blood is dirty and stolen..." She hugged herself, trembling with a convincing vulnerability. "They said they would drag me back... to that awful, primitive place... and sell me to the mountain trolls for scraps!"

My father, the mighty Alpha, a wolf who could command thousands with a glance, looked as if he'd been physically gutted.

"Lillian, my heart, my treasure, put the blade down. Come to me. You are home. You are safe. Whatever you want, it is yours. I will pluck the moon from the sky for you!"

My mother, the Luna, wept with dramatic, loud gasps, clutching her chest.

"Lillian! My precious, precious girl! My baby! Please, come down from there! I can't breathe when you're up there!"

Seeing her audience was utterly captivated, Lillian pressed the dagger's needle-sharp tip to her own wrist. A thin, precise red line welled up immediately, a stark, vivid contrast against her pale, flawless skin.

"But... but my sister hates me..." she whimpered, her eyes darting towards me with a flash of venomous spite. "She says I stain our noble bloodline... that I'm a blight on the Silvermane legacy..." Her voice rose to a despairing, theatrical wail. "If my own sister cannot accept me... then I should just... return my spirit to the Moon and free you all from my shame!"

Her eyes, filled with manufactured tears and very real, triumphant malice, locked onto mine.

"Lyra! You actually said that to her?!" Finn's open palm cracked across my face with enough force to snap my head to the side. The sting was immediate, familiar, a brand of his affection.

He didn't wait for an answer, instead grabbing a fresh handful of my hair and dragging me forward like a sack of meat, my scalp screaming in protest.

"Lillian, don't you listen to her venom!" Finn shouted, his voice booming across the cliff face, echoing the howling wind. "You are the true heir! The light of this pack! She is the impostor! The Blood-Claw bastard we were tricked into raising!"

"Lyra is not our daughter!" my mother cried out, her voice breaking with theatrical sobs as she reached a hand toward Lillian. "Lillian, you are our only child! Our true child!"

As if on cue, Lillian's hysterical sobs quieted to a pitiful, controlled sniffle.

She looked at them, a vulnerable, rescued pup seeking comfort and reassurance.

"Lillian, sweet one, the danger is past," Ethan coaxed, stepping forward with his healer's hands outstretched, his voice soft and soothing. "Give me the dagger now. You don't need it. Let me take care of you. Let me make it better."

"AHH!"

Lillian shrieked, a piercing, glass-shattering sound that cut through the air. Her whole body convulsed in a performance of pure, unadulterated panic. Her arm, holding the dagger, jerked wildly—a movement that was too calculated, too perfectly aimed.

The Moon-Silver blade flashed, a streak of deadly light in the gloom.

White-hot, searing fire carved a path across my face. From forehead, down diagonally across my eye, to the corner of my jaw. I felt the gritty, nauseating grind of the bone beneath my cheekbone.

Blood poured instantly, a hot, thick curtain blinding my left eye and filling my mouth with the rich, metallic taste of copper.

The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, it was almost abstract. But in that moment, all I could see was the memory of my real mother, her soft, warm tongue gently licking a deep cut on my paw after a training accident.

"Hush, my brave pup," she had crooned, her love a tangible force. "Mama's here. The pain will pass. I won't let anything hurt you."

My legs gave way. I crashed to the hard, unyielding ground. The world narrowed to a slit of blurry vision and overwhelming, soul-crushing agony.

"It was an accident! I couldn't control it!" Lillian wailed, her voice the very picture of horrified remorse. Then, with a final, graceful sigh, she went perfectly, elegantly limp, fainting directly into Ethan's waiting, eager arms.

Chaos erupted. Everyone—my parents, my brothers—rushed to her side, a flurry of concerned voices, frantic touches, and soothing words.

Not a single one of them looked back at me. Bleeding. Blinded. Abandoned on the cold, unfeeling stone.

"Mama..." I whispered, the word meant for a world away, my breath forming a small, ghostly cloud in the frigid air.

Tears I could no longer hold back mixed with the blood, the salt searing into the open wound like acid. I shook, but not from the cold that surrounded me. I shook from the final, absolute severing of a hope I never realized I'd still clung to.

Using the rough rock wall for support, I pushed myself up, one trembling hand clamped tightly over the ruin of my face. The coppery smell of my own blood filled my nostrils. I had to move. Now.

The Elder Whisper screamed in my skull, no longer a voice but a tidal wave of pure, undiluted, panicked urgency.

"WARNING! THE SHADOW-WARG STIRS! THE ANCIENT SEALS ARE FAILING! ITS PRISON WILL BREACH IN LESS THAN THIRTY MINUTES! IT WILL DEVOUR THE PACK! EVERYONE! GO TO THE CORE OF THE DARKNESS MAW! NOW!"
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  • The Banishment of Lyra   Chapter 9

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  • The Banishment of Lyra   Chapter 8

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  • The Banishment of Lyra   Chapter 7

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  • The Banishment of Lyra   Chapter 6

    The descent into the Darkness Maw felt like stepping into the throat of a dying world. The air grew thick and cold, tasting of wet stone and things long forgotten. The familiar silver light from above faded, replaced by a sickly, greenish glow from fungi that clung to the cliffs like scabs. It was quiet, but not silent—a low, constant hum vibrated up through the soles of my feet, a feeling of ancient, waking hunger that made my teeth ache."Hurry, Child." The Elder Whisper's voice was thin, stretched taut with a fear I'd never felt from it before. "The bindings cannot hold much longer. Every moment we delay brings the abyss closer to swallowing all."My face was a raw, screaming agony. Every jarring step sent fresh fire lancing through the wound Lillian had so precisely inflicted. I could feel the rough texture of torn flesh, the stark outline of cheekbone beneath. My left eye was a swollen, painful ruin. But I kept moving, one foot dragging in front of the other, pulled by the Whis

  • The Banishment of Lyra   Chapter 5

    I stumbled away from the cliff, my hand a poor shield against the bleeding wound. No one noticed me leave. They were all clustered around Lillian, their coos of comfort a stark contrast to the agony roaring in my head."Run!" The Whisper's voice was a frantic drumbeat in my mind. "To the core! There is no time!"Each step was a fresh wave of nausea. The world tilted, the path blurring before my one good eye. I fell more than once, scraping my knees and palms on the sharp rocks. But I kept moving, driven by a purpose they could never understand.Behind me, I could hear the distant, panicked shouts as the Whisper's warning finally reached the others. But it was too late for them to stop me. Too late for anything but the ritual.I reached the mouth of the Darkness Maw. The mist was thicker now, colder, carrying the stench of the waking beast below. The ground trembled slightly.This was it. The point of no return.I took one last, staggering look back at the Silvermane compound, its gleam

  • The Banishment of Lyra   Chapter 4

    Lillian's "fragile Lunar Spirit" always had an uncanny, convenient sense of timing.I had won the annual Great Hunt, bringing down the largest stag with a single, clean shot. Her spirit fractured, and my victory was forgotten in the panicked rush to her bedside.I had successfully, for the first time in a generation, summoned the shimmering, ethereal Northern Lights to dance over the compound. Her spirit fractured, and my achievement was deemed a "disturbance" to the natural order.This time, as the guard delivered his news, I felt nothing. No simmering anger, no weary frustration. Just a cold, hard knot of certainty solidifying in the pit of my stomach. It was time.The wind on Broken Moon Cliff was a biting, merciless whip, carrying the scent of cold stone and distant pine. And there, perched dramatically on the very edge, was Lillian. Because of course she was. She wore a gown woven of genuine, luminescent moon-silk, which glowed with a soft, internal light, making her the undenia

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