The forest never slept. Even in stillness, it pulsed with ancient energy—wild, restless, and eternal. Trees stood like silent sentinels, their canopies clawing at the sky, veiling the stars. The moon hovered like a silver eye above the world, watching. Waiting.And beneath it all, Lyra Blackthorn ran. Her breath fanned in soft clouds, chest heaving as she darted between trees. Her black cloak billowed behind her, mist curling at the hem. Moss and roots kissed her bare feet, but she didn’t flinch. She wasn’t afraid of thorns. She had grown among them.This part of the woods had long been forbidden by her pack—neutral ground between rival territories. A place soaked in the blood of a forgotten war. But tonight, something called to her from the silence. Something more primal than instinct. Something older than the moon itself. A scent.Not human. Not fully wolf.It was smoke and spice. Power and ruin.She stopped near a ridge overlooking the valley below. The river shimmered like molten
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