Nyxara Rising
“Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”
The contractions came harder, faster, each one wringing every ounce of strength from her. Nyxara clenched her teeth, sweat plastering her hair to her brow and neck, her whole body taut with effort. The White Wolf inside her did not rage, did not fight—only kept watch, steady and protective, guiding her through the pain, a guardian spirit older than language.
And then, at last, a cry split the hush—a boy, warm and alive, tiny fists already curled in stubborn defiance. He blinked up at the world, his eyes flashing silver before closing in the safety of her arms.