The wolf's low growl reverberated in the dense forest air, sending a ripple of tension through Lyra's body. Her heart beat faster, the rhythm steady and strong as she gripped her sword with both hands, her knuckles white against the leather hilt. The whispers from her armor had quieted to a soft murmur, almost as if they were holding their breath alongside her.
The wolf's glowing eyes never left her, its large frame shifting with an eerie grace. Lyra could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her. It was a deadly kind of stillness—nothing moving, no birds, no wind—just the two of them, locked in this fleeting moment before the battle would begin.
For a second, Lyra thought of her sister, Emmy, and the warmth of her embrace. It was an image that steadied her, reminding her of the promise she'd made to always protect her. No matter the cost. She couldn't afford to fail her now.
The wolf shifted again, crouching slightly, muscles taut and ready to spring. Its fangs were sharp and deadly, gleaming in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the trees. It was smart, faster than anything she'd fought before, and it wasn't just a wild animal—it was something more, something trained to hunt.
Lyra's breath slowed, and she centered herself. She wasn't just an adventurer. She wasn't just a girl trying to survive. She was more than that now. The whispers in her armor had taught her a new way to see the world, a way to understand things she hadn't before. But even with that newfound power, she knew it wasn't enough to rely solely on her armor.
She had to fight smart. She had to fight with everything she had.
The wolf made the first move.
It lunged at her with terrifying speed, its claws scraping the earth as it propelled itself forward. Lyra barely had time to react, but instinct kicked in. She rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the beast's snapping jaws. Her sword was already in motion, a quick slash aimed at the creature's side as it passed by. The blade caught the wolf's thick fur, leaving a shallow cut, but it was only a brief distraction.
The wolf spun on its heels, its eyes narrowing, and this time, it didn't waste any time. It leapt toward her again, its jaws open wide in a deadly arc. Lyra barely managed to raise her sword in time to block the strike, the wolf's fangs clashing against the steel in a spray of sparks. She gritted her teeth against the force, her legs buckling slightly under the impact, but she held her ground.
The whispers in her armor stirred again, more insistent now. Focus. Take control.
She could feel the power from the whispers begin to build, but she knew better than to rush it. The armor's power had its limits. If she pushed too hard, she could lose control. But there was no time to second-guess herself. The wolf was relentless.
With a grunt, she shoved the beast back with her sword, creating enough distance for her to regain her footing. The wolf skidded on the ground, its claws digging into the earth as it righted itself in a fluid motion. It was too fast, too agile. It wasn't like the monsters she had fought before—this one was a true predator.
Lyra's mind raced. She needed an opening. She needed to outmaneuver it. Her grip on the sword tightened as the creature circled her, its tail flicking behind it like a warning. The wolf wasn't going to give her an easy fight.
Breathe. Focus. Wait for it.
Lyra's eyes never left the wolf. Every movement, every shift in its posture, every twitch of its muscles was a signal. She could almost feel the rhythm of the fight, the way it moved, the way it thought. It was hunting her, but she could do the same.
The wolf lunged again, faster than before, its teeth gleaming as it aimed for her throat. This time, Lyra was ready. She sidestepped, her body moving almost of its own accord, and in a single fluid motion, she brought her sword down in a sweeping arc.
The blade met the wolf's side, carving a deep gash into its fur and flesh. The creature howled in pain, its body recoiling from the impact. Lyra didn't hesitate. She pressed her advantage, moving with precision and speed.
The wolf's blood stained the ground beneath them as it staggered back, its breath ragged, but the beast wasn't done yet. It snarled, clearly enraged now, and launched itself at her once more. But this time, Lyra was prepared. She anticipated its next move, stepping to the side just as it lunged, and she drove her sword into its flank, piercing deep.
The wolf's body went stiff, a strangled growl rising from its throat as it struggled against the blade lodged in its side. It writhed for a moment, but with one final, defiant shake of its head, it collapsed to the ground. Its glowing eyes flickered once, and then, like a flickering candle, they faded into darkness.
The fight was over.
Lyra stood over the creature's lifeless body, breathing heavily, her sword still lodged in its side. Sweat trickled down her brow as she wiped it away with the back of her hand. The whispers in her armor grew faint once again, a quiet hum that almost sounded like a distant sigh of relief.
She had done it.
But as she looked down at the creature, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. It had been strong, yes, but there was something in its eyes before it died—something familiar. It wasn't just an animal.
And that gnawing feeling in her gut told her that the connection to the organization wasn't as far removed as she'd hoped.
Lyra knelt beside the wolf, wiping her sword on the grass before sheathing it. She needed to take the creature back to the guild, but there was no doubt in her mind now: the fight wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.