The morning Lyra departed the Forbidden Forest was permeated with heavy, humid air. Yet, there was not a trace of sadness or hesitation within her. A backpack laden with dry provisions, a knife, a flint, and several vials of herbal concoctions Silas had prepared for her rested on her shoulders. Her new, silvery hair was braided into a thick plait, and her skin, tanned by sun and wind, radiated health. Dressed in simple, dark clothing that draped loosely over her newly sculpted body, Lyra felt light, ready for anything.
"Remember, Lyra," Silas's voice was like the rustle of ancient leaves, "Your power is a gift, but also a responsibility. Do not flaunt it. Observe. Wait. And trust your instincts. They are stronger now than ever before."
Lyra nodded, embracing her old mentor one last time. In his eyes, she saw both pride and concern. "I will return, Silas," she said, her voice resolute. "When I have fulfilled what I must."
She emerged from the valley where she had spent months and headed north, towards the direction where she most strongly sensed the plague's presence. The world outside the Forbidden Forest seemed… ordinary. Too ordinary for such a monstrous threat to lurk within it. Packs, though scattered, existed, living their daily lives. But Lyra, thanks to her Seer ability, saw more. She felt it.
The first signs were subtle. She noticed the forests were quieter. Fewer animals, and those she encountered were often ill, with dull coats and vacant eyes. As she passed small werewolf settlements, she detected an unease in the air, fear, and even a decay that wasn't from physical wounds. This was the scent of the Shadow of Oblivion.
One afternoon, Lyra came across a small herd of deer. One of them, a young doe, lay on the ground, her body trembling, her eyes clouded. The plague. Wolves from her former pack would have killed it to prevent its spread. Lyra knelt, placing a hand on the animal's head. She began to infuse it with her Primeval Magic. It wasn't easy. The plague resisted, attempting to repel her healing touch. Lyra had to summon all her concentration, focusing on purification. After a few minutes, the doe took a deep breath, its eyes brightened, and its body stopped trembling. With effort, it stood and trotted off to rejoin its herd.
"I must hurry," Lyra whispered to her wolf. "It's spreading too fast."
She traveled mostly at night, avoiding the gaze of other packs. She knew her silver hair and aura of power would be too obvious. She moved like a ghost, her enhanced senses allowing her to detect threats long before they became real. She felt the presence of wolves, their territories, their moods. Some packs were strong and unified, others seemed weakened, their Alphas seemingly struggling with an internal decay. This was the plague.
Several times she encountered actual shadows. These were not physical beings, but rather ethereal distortions that drained energy from the earth and plants. Monsters formed from the essence of the plague itself. Lyra used earth magic to bind them and light magic to disperse them, but they were insidious and difficult to defeat. They showed her how vigilant she had to be.
During these weeks, Aeris's memories in her mind became increasingly vivid. Lyra saw entire scenes from Aeris's life, her love for Thalass, a powerful warrior who was not her fated mate, but whose soul was her true partner. Thalass was a strong, loyal wolf who believed in Aeris and fought alongside her against the Shadow of Oblivion. Their bond was deep, full of mutual respect and boundless trust. These memories, though beautiful, were also painful for Lyra, reminding her of what she had lost, but also offering hope that a true connection was possible even beyond fate. Aeris and Thalass had sacrificed themselves to stop the previous plague, and this was precisely her unfinished business, whose echoes Lyra now felt.
Kaleb. The thought of him still caused a sharp pain in her chest, but with each passing day, that pain became more subdued, replaced by determination. Lyra knew her return would not be a plea for forgiveness. It would be a demonstration of power.
One night, while resting in an old cave, Lyra sensed something extraordinary. It was not the Shadow of Oblivion. It was a different aura, powerful, but pure and noble. The scent of conifers, snow, and distant mountains. It was the aura of a strong, healthy wolf. Kaelan. Lyra knew it instinctively. His pack was in this territory.
It was the Silver Claw Pack, one of the most respected and powerful packs in the north, known for its traditions and honor. She had never heard of them being afflicted by the plague. She felt that Kaelan was the Alpha, and his presence was like a breath of fresh air. She detected no pride or arrogance in him, only strength and calm.
Lyra, the Seer, could perceive his aura from a great distance. For some reason, her wolf was calm in his presence; it felt no threat. Something in Kaelan resonated with her own renewed strength. It wasn't the same frantic pull as a fated mate, but it was a deep, previously unknown form of attraction – an attraction to a similar power, to a potential ally.
She decided to proceed with caution. She didn't want to engage with anyone until she was absolutely certain. Her main objective was the Gray Moon Pack.
She continued her journey, but from then on, her senses were more attuned to Kaelan's presence. She felt his patrols, his decisions, and even his concerns for his pack. He was a good Alpha. Strangely, the thought of him gave her a certain sense of security.
More days passed, and Lyra finally drew near the borders of the Gray Moon Pack's territory. With each kilometer, the scent of the Shadow of Oblivion grew stronger, and the aura of Kaleb's pack became weaker and more distorted. Lyra felt fear, resignation, and above all – illness. The pack was sick. Kaleb was certainly fighting, but the plague was insidious.
Now I am closer, she thought. Closer than ever.
Before her lay the familiar valley where the heart of the Gray Moon Pack resided. She saw smoke rising from huts, but it was sparser than she remembered. She saw a few scouting wolves, moving slowly, their eyes vacant, their fur dull. This was her pack. The pack that had rejected her.
Lyra's heart ached. It wasn't as much pain as before, but rather sadness. The sight of her own home, now so afflicted, ignited a new wave of determination within her. She had to stop this. She had to save these people, even if they didn't deserve it.
She found a hiding place on the edge of the territory, from which she could observe the pack from above. She saw Kaleb. He was gaunt, his shoulders seemed narrower. His always proud stature was now slightly stooped. Even from this distance, Lyra sensed his anger, but also despair. And pride. Still the pride that prevented him from asking for help.
Seraphina was by his side, but her fiery hair seemed dull, and her posture – stiff, nervous. Lyra sensed anger in her, but also fear. The plague affected them all.
Lyra clenched her jaw. She was no longer a victim. She was now a predator. She knew she had to wait for the right moment. The moment when her intervention would be most effective. The moment when no one could ignore her return and her new power.
She waited in silence, her eyes fixed on the pack that had once cast her out. She felt the proximity of the Shadow of Oblivion, its cold breath. But she also felt her own strength, flowing through her veins. And a promise. A promise made to herself, to Silas, and to all who once believed in the Primeval Lunas.
I will return, and my light will dispel your shadow.