The forest grew darker as Lyra pushed further into its heart. The air was thick and damp, carrying the faint scent of moss and decay. Her injured ankle throbbed with every step, but she gritted her teeth and pressed on. Pain was a familiar companion now, as constant as the biting cold.
The sound of rushing water reached her ears, faint but distinct. She followed it, hoping to find a stream to drink from or perhaps something edible nearby. Instead, as she stepped through a dense thicket, the sight before her made her pause.
A camp.
It was tucked away in a natural clearing, surrounded by ancient trees whose branches wove together overhead like a protective canopy. The camp consisted of several crude huts made of wood and thatch, arranged in a loose circle around a central firepit. Smoke curled lazily into the air, carrying the scent of herbs and something metallic—like iron or blood.
Lyra's first instinct was to turn back, but her curiosity and desperation held her in place. She crouched low, her heart pounding as she scanned the camp. Figures moved between the huts, their movements deliberate and purposeful. These were no ordinary villagers.
Her wolf stirred uneasily, a low growl rumbling in her mind. Danger. Leave.
But Lyra ignored the warning. She couldn't afford to be picky about where she sought help. Swallowing her fear, she took a hesitant step forward, then another.
The moment her foot crunched on a fallen twig, all activity in the camp ceased. The figures froze, their heads snapping toward her in eerie unison.
Lyra's breath caught in her throat. The women who emerged from the shadows were unlike anyone she had ever seen. They wore dark, tattered robes that clung to their bodies like a second skin, adorned with bones, feathers, and strange symbols painted in ash. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes sharp and predatory.
One of them stepped forward, her movements fluid and deliberate. She was tall and imposing, with wild hair that cascaded down her back in tangled waves. Her piercing green eyes locked onto Lyra, and a small, dangerous smile curved her lips.
"Well, well," the woman said, her voice smooth and cold. "What have we here? A lost pup?"
Lyra opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. Her throat felt dry, her body frozen under the woman's intense gaze.
The other witches began to circle her, their whispers like the rustling of dead leaves.
"She reeks of wolf."
"She doesn't belong here."
"Send her away before she brings trouble."
The tall woman raised a hand, silencing them. "Quiet."
The murmurs stopped instantly. The woman took a step closer to Lyra, her eyes narrowing. "Why are you here, little wolf? Speak."
Lyra swallowed hard, forcing herself to find her voice. "I… I didn't mean to intrude. I was just—"
"Surviving," the woman finished for her, her smile widening. "I can see it in your eyes. You've been through hell, haven't you?"
Lyra hesitated, then nodded.
The woman tilted her head, studying her intently. "Interesting. You're not just any wolf, are you? There's something… different about you."
Before Lyra could respond, another voice interrupted. "Maren, we can't let her stay. She's a liability."
The speaker was an older witch with a scar running down the side of her face. Her expression was hard, her tone dripping with disdain.
Maren—the leader, Lyra realized—didn't even glance at her. "She's not a liability. She's an opportunity."
Lyra's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Maren's smile turned predatory. "You have power, little wolf. I felt it the moment you stepped into our territory. If you want to survive, truly survive, we can help you harness it."
The words sent a chill down Lyra's spine. She didn't trust this woman, but the promise of understanding her strange abilities was tempting. "And what do you want in return?"
Maren's gaze hardened. "Your loyalty. You'll swear yourself to this coven and forsake whatever ties you had to your old life."
The weight of her words hit Lyra like a blow. Swearing loyalty to the coven meant abandoning her pack heritage completely. It meant giving up the last remnants of the life she once knew—the life she had dreamed of reclaiming.
"I…" Lyra faltered, her thoughts racing.
"Think carefully," Maren said, her voice soft but firm. "Out here, alone, you won't last long. But with us, you'll have a chance. A real chance."
The other witches watched her intently, their expressions a mix of skepticism and curiosity. The scarred witch shook her head, muttering something under her breath, but Maren ignored her.
Lyra's mind was a whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, desperation, and an ache she couldn't quite name. Darius's voice echoed in her head, sharp and dismissive. "You are weak."
Her fists clenched at her sides. "Fine. I'll join."
Maren's smile returned, triumphant. "Good choice."
The witches stepped back, giving Lyra space as Maren motioned for her to follow. "Come. Your training begins now."
---
The days that followed were grueling.
The witches' camp was a place of harsh discipline and relentless tests. They taught Lyra how to read the forest like a book, how to find food and water where there seemed to be none, and how to defend herself with both physical and magical means.
But their methods were brutal. They pushed her to her limits and beyond, forcing her to confront her fears head-on.
"Again!" Maren barked as Lyra collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath.
Her arms shook as she tried to push herself up, her body screaming in protest. The witches had surrounded her, their eyes cold and unyielding.
"Do you want to die out here?" Maren's voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of pain. "Because if you do, you're welcome to leave. The rogues would love a weak little wolf like you."
Lyra's jaw tightened. She forced herself to her feet, ignoring the searing pain in her muscles. "I'm not weak," she said through gritted teeth.
Maren's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Then prove it."
And so she did, over and over again. Each day, she felt herself growing stronger—not just physically, but mentally. The bitterness and anger that had consumed her began to transform into a steely resolve.
But there was a cost.
The vulnerability that had once defined her, the part of her that yearned for connection and love, was slowly being buried beneath layers of hardened resolve. She felt herself changing, becoming someone colder, more guarded.
One night, as she sat by the campfire, she stared into the flickering flames and wondered if she was losing herself.
Do I even recognize the person I'm becoming?
The thought lingered as the fire crackled, casting eerie shadows across the camp.
"Second thoughts?" Maren's voice startled her.
Lyra glanced up, meeting the older woman's piercing gaze. "No," she lied.
Maren smirked. "Good. Because there's no turning back now."
As Maren walked away, Lyra turned back to the fire, her expression unreadable.
The forest was silent, but the weight of her decision echoed loudly in her mind.