Chapter 3
Lyra's pov
The scent hit me before my eyes even opened.
Not bleach. Not hospital air. Nothing sterile or familiar.
I blinked up at a wooden ceiling, not concrete. The walls looked carved by hand, not built by machines.
The bed beneath me was too warm, too soft to be a cell. And somewhere outside, wolves howled.
“She’s awake,” a woman’s voice said — calm, steady, not unkind.
I tried to push myself up, but pain spiked behind my eyes. I groaned and dropped back onto the mattress.
“Easy,” the voice said again, and a cool hand pressed gently to my shoulder. “Don’t sit up too fast. Your energy’s still unstable.”
My eyes focused on her …It was Mira. The healer.
“You’re not in a cell anymore,” she added, almost amused. “So you can stop looking like a cornered cat.”
“Where…?” My voice was rough.
“You passed out in the Alpha’s hall. He brought you here.”
“Why?” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “Pretty sure he hates me.”
Mira’s lips twitched. “Trust and interest aren’t the same thing.”
I sat up slower this time, hugging my knees. “So what? He thinks I’m her? This Seraphina?”
She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she gently took my arm and pushed up my sleeve. The faint crescent mark burned softly under the firelight, like someone had drawn moonlight under my skin.
“That mark,” Mira said quietly. “It only ever appeared on the Luna. And it was supposed to die with her.”
“Well, it didn’t.” My laugh came out shaky. “So now what?”
Before she could answer, the door swung open.
A boy walked in — seventeen, maybe eighteen. Tall, wiry, bruises peeking out of his hoodie sleeves, hair falling into stormy eyes that screamed attitude.
“This her?” he said flatly. “The ghost Luna?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Elias,” Mira said sharply.
“I’m not a ghost,” I shot back.
He crossed his arms, looking me over like I was dirt on his boots. “You sure look like one. You don’t belong here.”
“Oh, trust me,” I said, “I didn’t exactly book this trip.”
Mira stepped in between us, her voice calm but firm. “Elias is one of the youngest omegas in the pack. He’s… cautious.”
“I’m not cautious,” Elias muttered. “I’m realistic.”
“And rude,” I added.
His smirk was quick and irritating. “Says the girl who smells like a dead Luna.”
I was on my feet before I realized it. “Say that again.”
“Elias,” Mira said, warning sharp now.
He shrugged, muttered something about “rogue energy” and “stupid risk,” then left, slamming the door behind him.
I sat back down, pulse still pounding. Mira just shook her head like this was normal.
⸻
That evening, she led me out of the room, through a maze of earthy tunnels and stone stairs that twisted up the hillside. The whole place felt old, wild, alive. Like the forest itself had grown walls and windows.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To him,” Mira said simply.
Of course. Him.
Draven Solas.
We stopped at two tall wooden doors carved with runes I couldn’t read. Mira knocked once, then left me there.
The door creaked open.
I stepped inside and froze.
The room wasn’t what I expected. Not a throne room. Not cold and intimidating. It was large and firelit, lined with books and maps, weapons gleaming on one wall. It felt… personal. Not welcoming, exactly, but lived-in.
Draven stood near the hearth, arms folded behind his back, staring into the flames.
“I was starting to think you liked locking me up,” I said, folding my arms.
His head turned slightly. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”
“Physically.”
His eyes, sharp, unreadable — flicked to my forearm. “That mark appeared the night you arrived?”
“Apparently.” I shoved my sleeve up, showing it to him. “Didn’t even know it was there until Mira pointed it out.”
He stepped closer, gaze fixed on it. “It’s identical.”
“Great. I’m a walking copy-paste of your dead mate. Feeling real special right now.”
Something passed through his face, quick, painful, gone before I could pin it down.
“You smell like her. You move like her. Your energy pulls at mine.”
“And yet,” I said, forcing a bitter laugh, “I’m not her.”
His eyes sharpened. “Aren’t you?”
“I’m Lyra,” I shot back. “I don’t remember anything about being someone else. I’m not some magical reincarnation.”
“You don’t remember,” he repeated, softer.
“Isn’t that what I just said?”
Another step closer. Too close. I could feel his presence like static in the air.
“But your wolf reacts to me,” he murmured.
“I don’t have a wolf.”
“You don’t think you do.”
I swallowed hard. “You’re insane.”
His hand lifted, slow, deliberate .. and brushed a strand of hair from my face. I should’ve pulled back. I didn’t.
The touch sent a shiver down my spine. Not cold but familiar. Like my body remembered something my mind didn’t.
“You may not remember me,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “but my soul remembers you.”
I froze. My heart hammered so loud it drowned out everything else. His lips hovered a breath away, like he didn’t care anymore if I was Seraphina or Lyra or… both.
And then —
A hard knock shattered the air.
Draven’s jaw clenched. He didn’t move away. For one second, I swore he considered ignoring it.
“Come in,” he growled.
A guard slipped in, nervous. “Alpha. The Elders summoned a meeting. Urgent.”
Draven’s eyes darkened. “Of course they did.”
The guard glanced at me.. quick, uneasy, then left.
I exhaled slowly, realizing I’d been holding my breath. “What the hell just happened?”
Draven didn’t answer. He crossed to his desk, picked up a small leather-bound book, and held it out to me.
“What’s this?”
“Seraphina’s journal,” he said. His voice was unreadable.
“Found hidden in her room after she died.”
I stared at it. My fingers trembled as I reached for the worn leather.
“Why are you giving this to me?” I asked quietly.
Draven met my eyes. And for the first time, his voice cracked — just barely.
“Because if you really are her… this book might help you remember.”