Lyra’s Desperation
The clearing was a tempest of chaos, a deadly symphony of blood and steel clashing against primal fury. In his towering wolf form, Eryon was a whirlwind of violence, his claws tearing through the King’s knights with savage precision. Armor crumpled like paper beneath his strikes, leaving shattered bodies in his wake. But for every knight he felled, another stepped forward, their discipline unbroken, their resolve unwavering under the King’s command.
The King himself loomed like a shadow of menace on the battlefield’s edge, a predator biding its time. His crimson eyes tracked Eryon’s every movement, calculating and patient. His sleek blade, dark and dripping with blood, hung by his side, poised like a serpent ready to strike.
Lyra stood on the periphery, clutching the artifact so tightly her knuckles whitened. The jagged crystal in her hands pulsed violently, its erratic energy burning her palms. The whispers that once beckoned softly were now a deafening roar, commands battering her mind with relentless urgency. Her wolf thrashed within her, wild and restless, clawing for release, urging her to unleash the artifact’s destructive power.
“Stay focused, Lyra!” Seraphine’s voice sliced through the chaos like a whip. Amidst the fray, she stood as a bastion of silver light, her magic blazing as she struck down advancing knights with ruthless efficiency. “If you lose control, we lose everything!”
Lyra tried to steady her breathing, her silver eyes darting across the battlefield. She caught a glimpse of Adrian, standing just beyond the fighting. His blade was drawn but unmoving, his crimson eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch. The battle raged around him, but he remained still, a man frozen between worlds.
Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, time seemed to slow. In Adrian’s gaze, Lyra thought she saw hesitation—no, something deeper. Guilt. Regret.
Doubt coiled around her like a noose. Had Adrian betrayed them? Her thoughts spiraled as questions tore at her resolve. Was his loyalty to the King stronger than whatever fragile connection they had built?
The artifact’s energy surged, searing her palms with its wild power. Lyra gasped, stumbling as its glow intensified, a beacon of chaos threatening to consume her. Her heart pounded in time with the artifact’s relentless pulsing, the whispers growing louder, their demands unbearable.
“I can’t hold it!” she cried, her voice breaking under the strain.
“You have to!” Seraphine barked, her tone a razor’s edge of urgency. With a fierce sweep of her hand, she unleashed another wave of silver magic, cutting through the knights pressing toward Lyra. “Don’t let it slip! You’re stronger than this!”
But Lyra’s grip faltered as the King stepped forward, his presence suffocating. His crimson eyes gleamed with predatory delight, and a cruel smile curved his bloodstained lips. His movements were deliberate, confident—those of someone who already saw victory within his grasp.
The King’s blade dripped with blood—Eryon’s blood—and the sight sent a fresh wave of terror through Lyra. Her brother was still fighting, his wolf staggering but unrelenting. Yet the King’s confidence was unshaken, his every step a silent proclamation that this battle was his.
The artifact pulsed again, the light so bright it illuminated the entire clearing, casting long shadows that seemed to writhe with the weight of the power emanating from her hands. Lyra’s wolf howled within her, caught between terror and rage. Her silver eyes darted between the King, Adrian, and Eryon.
Adrian took a step forward, his blade lowering slightly, his expression tightening. For a moment, Lyra saw the conflict in his eyes. He wasn’t here for the King—not entirely. He was here for her.
The King’s smile widened as he raised his blade, pointing it at Lyra with deliberate menace. “It’s over,” he said, his voice cutting through the chaos. It was low, steady, and filled with chilling certainty. “Surrender the artifact, child, and I might spare what’s left of your pathetic family.”
The words sent a surge of fury through Lyra, her wolf snapping against her control. She felt the artifact’s power swelling, a tidal wave of destruction that begged to be released.
But her gaze lingered on Adrian. His hesitation was palpable, his stance uncertain. In his eyes, she saw not an enemy, but a question—a silent plea.
Would she trust him?
The battlefield roared around her, the answer waiting in her trembling hands.
