Recovery
The stronghold of Isla and Draven was a sanctuary amidst the chaos. Its sturdy stone walls stood firm against the encroaching forest, a testament to the werewolves’ resilience. The group arrived at dusk, their exhaustion palpable as they passed through the gates.
Isla and Draven were waiting. Isla’s sharp silver eyes softened as she took in Lyra’s unconscious form. “Bring her inside,” she said, her voice steady despite the worry etched across her features.
Adrian carried Lyra to a spacious chamber within the stronghold, placing her gently on a bed adorned with furs. Isla knelt beside her daughter, brushing her hand across Lyra’s pale cheek. “She’s been through too much,” she murmured, her voice trembling.
Draven stood at the doorway, his towering presence commanding. His amber eyes flicked to Adrian. “What happened out there?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened. “She shattered the artifact. It was killing her. Seraphine… she escaped.”
Draven’s expression darkened, his fists clenching. “That witch will pay for what she’s done.”
Meanwhile, Eryon lingered near the window, his posture stiff and defensive. He hadn’t spoken a word since they’d arrived, his amber eyes fixed on the horizon as though expecting Seraphine to appear at any moment.
Misery leaned casually against the wall, her crimson gaze observing the tension in the room. “If we’re lucky, she’s licking her wounds. But we all know luck isn’t exactly on our side.”
Isla turned to Adrian, her tone sharp. “And you? What’s your part in this now? You’ve brought her back, but what are your intentions?”
Adrian met her gaze without flinching. “To protect her. To fight for her. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”
Isla studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly. “Good. Because if you fail her, I’ll make you regret it.”
Adrian inclined his head in acknowledgment, his resolve unwavering. “I won’t fail her.”
Hours passed, the stronghold settling into an uneasy quiet. Eryon finally broke his silence, his voice low. “I let her down.”
Isla turned to him, her expression softening. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Eryon shook his head, his amber eyes filled with guilt. “She trusted me, and I let Seraphine twist everything. I don’t know how to fix this.”
Isla stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You start by being here. By standing with her, no matter what comes next.”
As the night deepened, Lyra stirred for the first time. Her silver eyes fluttered open, her gaze unfocused. Isla leaned over her, her voice gentle. “You’re safe now, Lyra. We’ve got you.”
Lyra’s voice was barely a whisper. “Where’s… my mother?”
Isla’s heart clenched, tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m here, Lyra,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I’m your mother.”
Lyra’s gaze cleared slightly, confusion and exhaustion warring on her face. “Is it true?” she asked, her voice fragile. “All of it?”
Isla nodded, her tears falling freely. “Yes, my love. It’s true. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”
