A heavy silence hung over the den like mist.
The scouts had returned at dawn, their fur dusted with soot,
their eyes narrowed with unease. One bore claw marks down his flank. Another
had lost a portion of his left ear. They spoke in low growls to Lykos at the
mouth of the cave, voices edged with frustration and warning.
Lyra kept her distance, sitting near the fire pit, hands
wrapped around a lukewarm bowl of root broth. Her eyes followed every movement
in the den with quiet tension. She wasn't stupid—something had happened.
And it involved her.
🔥 Trouble from the
South
"Fire Plains," one scout spat, licking his wounds. "Burned a
stretch of Moonvine Grove. Left claw marks in our trees."
Another added, "And they're asking questions again. About
her."
Lykos's shoulders tensed.
"Did they give a name?" he asked.
The scout hesitated, then nodded. "Rookh."
The fire cracked.
Lyra flinched at the name.
Lykos didn't speak. His claws flexed slightly. Then, in a
voice cold and cutting, he growled, "That arrogant flame-blood thinks he can
send his claws into my forest."
He turned sharply. His gaze landed on Lyra—and for a second,
it wasn't anger. It was fear. Not for himself.
For her.
---
🌙 A Heated Warning
Later that evening, Lyra was organizing her foraged herbs in
a quiet corner when Lykos appeared behind her. His presence was like moonlight
dipped in shadow—silent and consuming.
"You can't wander past the second clearing anymore," he
said, voice low.
Lyra straightened. "Why?"
His eyes pinned hers. "Because the Fire Plains are watching.
They've caught your scent. If they find you outside my territory… I may not get
to you first."
She swallowed hard. "But I haven't done anything to them."
"You exist," he snapped. "That's enough."
She took a step back, her voice trembling. "I didn't ask to
come here."
"I didn't ask to care," he growled. Then froze. Regret
flickered in his eyes. "Damn it."
She stared at him, wide-eyed. "You care?"
Lykos turned away, pacing. "You're fragile, you're reckless,
and you don't understand the power you've been dragging through these woods.
The Fire Plains aren't like my pack. They don't take chances. If Rookh finds
you…"
His jaw clenched.
"…he'll try to claim you."
Lyra's pulse quickened. "Claim?"
"As mate. Trophy. Leverage." Lykos's tone was bitter. "He
collects the rare. And you, little bloom, are more rare than anything this
realm's seen in centuries."
---
🌿 The Eden Core Reacts
That night, Lyra couldn't sleep.
The Mooncub curled beside her in the fur nest, breathing
softly. She stroked its head absently, her thoughts spiraling.
> I'm being hunted. Desired. And I can't even defend
myself properly.
Not yet.
With a deep breath, she summoned her Eden Core and slipped
silently into her Sanctuary Grove.
The space had changed again.
New features had blossomed while she slept:
A second chicken had hatched and was pecking near the
moonberry vines.
A stone archway had grown behind the celestial pond, its
surface shimmering faintly with runes.
And most importantly…
> 🧪 [Feature Unlocked:
Seed Infusion Station – Combine herbs to create elixirs and beast salves.]
Lyra's eyes widened.
She could make healing items now. Real ones.
> [Recipe Discovered: Silksedge Salve – Eases minor
burns and soothes fire-beast inflammation.]
She spent the next hour preparing her first jar, sealing it
into her satchel and storing extras in the timeless pantry.
If she couldn't stop Rookh… maybe she could survive him.
---
🐺 A Glimpse of Jealousy
The following morning, a merchant caravan passed through
Moonfang territory.
Rare.
Beastkind rarely traded between clans without council
orders.
Lyra watched from behind a curtain of moss near the edge of
the den's lower tunnel. One of the caravan guards—a golden-furred puma beastman
with cheek scars and an easy grin—noticed her peeking.
He winked.
She blushed and ducked back behind the moss.
Later, as she was hauling dried herbs to the storage ledge,
Lykos approached, nostrils flaring.
"You smell like foreign scent," he said.
Lyra blinked. "I—I was just watching the traders pass—"
"I know," he interrupted. His expression was sharp. "Don't
smile at them."
She frowned. "I didn't. He smiled at me."
"Don't let them smell your warmth," he growled.
She folded her arms. "You don't own me, Lykos."
"No," he said. "But I'm the only one keeping you alive."
---
🌕 Ritual of Shadowbark
That evening, the Moonfangs gathered for a Ritual of
Shadowbark, a seasonal tradition where they painted protective sigils on their
skin with sap from the ancient trees. It was said to shield the pack from
curses and blood-heat sickness.
Lyra was allowed to watch.
She sat near the fire, hair braided back, her cloak wrapped
tight. One by one, pack members approached the shamans and received their
sigils.
Finally, Lykos approached her.
She froze as he knelt in front of her, dipping two clawed
fingers into the sap. "Give me your wrist."
She hesitated.
He looked up at her. "This will hide your soul scent. From
the Fire Plains. From him."
Slowly, she held out her hand.
He brushed the sap across her wrist in slow, deliberate
strokes, drawing a curling rune that pulsed faintly gold.
Her skin tingled.
> [System Alert: Foreign Rune Detected. Protective
Bond – Alpha Tier.]
Her eyes flew to his.
He saw the flash of surprise and leaned in, voice low.
"It's not a mate mark," he said. "But they'll think it is."
Her breath caught.
Lykos stood, then turned without waiting for her reply.
But her hand burned with the heat of something unnamed.
---
🩸 The First Roar
Later that night, a sound split the trees.
A roar—deep, fiery, and resonant. Unlike anything Lyra had
heard in this world.
Every beast in the den froze..
Lykos rose, eyes gleaming with silver rage.
"He's here."
"Who?" Lyra whispered, dread crawling down her spine.
Lykos's voice was flat.
"Rookh. The Fire Lion Guardian."
---
End of Chapter Five