The cavern wasn't really a cavern.
It looked like one from a distance—wide, hollow, glowing faintly with silver that pulsed like breath—but as Lysandra stepped closer, she realized the walls were not made of stone at all.
They were alive.
Shadows curled through them like veins.
Light blossomed and dimmed as if reacting to her heartbeat.
The entire chamber seemed to lean forward, waiting.
Evander gripped her hand so tightly she thought his bones might crack.
"I don't like this," he whispered. "This feels like walking into something that already knows how we'll die."
The Heir gave him a sidelong glance.
"Then step carefully."
"Wow," Evander muttered, "thank you for that very helpful advice—"
"Quiet," Lysandra breathed.
Because her wolf wasn't pacing anymore.
It was standing still.
Stillness, for her wolf, meant two things:
danger,
or destiny.
And the space ahead held both.
As they passed the narrowing entrance, the shadows parted soundlessly. The walls expanded around them like a slow unfurling of wings. The silver glow brightened, spreading across the ground in thin streaks.
Evander stopped short.
"What… what is that?"
Lysandra followed his gaze.
At the center of the chamber, a massive orb hovered in midair—
not touching the ground,
not suspended from above.
A heartbeat pulsed from it.
Slow.
Heavy.
Steady.
Light throbbed inside it, swirling in spirals of silver and deep violet.
Her breath caught.
It wasn't an orb.
It was an eye.
Huge.
Sealed shut.
Breathing softly, as if asleep.
Evander choked. "No, no—nope—absolutely not—why does this place have a GIANT EYE?!"
The Heir's voice became a whisper.
"That is not an eye."
Evander pointed at it wildly.
"It LOOKS like one!"
"It is the Realm's Heart," the Heir said.
"And Hearts see everything."
Cold rippled down Lysandra's spine.
The Heir stepped closer, shadows rising at his heels like a cloak.
"This chamber is the core of your trial," he said. "It will either accept your rise… or reject your existence."
Evander stiffened. "Reject? As in—kill?"
The Heir didn't blink.
"Yes."
Evander cursed under his breath.
Lysandra stepped closer without realizing she'd moved.
The silver-violet light reflected in her eyes, washing her skin in soft luminescence.
Her wolf pressed forward.
Do you feel it?
Do you hear it?
It calls.
It remembers.
It knows the blood in our bones.
Her chest tightened.
"It's… calling me," she whispered.
Evander grabbed her wrist.
"Lysandra—don't—"
But the Heir shook his head.
"She must."
Lysandra walked forward, slowly at first, then with her wolf guiding each step. Her heartbeat fell into rhythm with the pulsing light inside the Heart.
It wasn't frightening.
It was familiar.
Like listening to a lullaby she couldn't remember learning, but had always known.
When she reached the edge of the glowing circle beneath the hovering Heart, the entire chamber exhaled.
Shadows pulled back.
Light brightened.
The walls shimmered like liquid silver.
Evander remained frozen a few steps behind her, panic in his eyes.
"Lysandra," he whispered, "please stop. Come back."
But she couldn't.
Her wolf lifted its head as if greeting an old friend.
She stepped into the circle.
The Realm's Heart opened.
Not like an eyelid.
Not like a door.
It split in a spiral—as though unwinding itself—revealing a swirling vortex of moonlight and shadow inside.
The air trembled.
Evander screamed her name.
The Heir lunged forward—
but the ground beneath Lysandra cracked, splitting into glowing lines that rose like bindings around her ankles.
She gasped.
"What's happening?!"
The Heir's voice cut through the storm.
"The Heart is testing you—do not break!"
The bindings climbed her calves, her knees, her thighs—
not harming her,
just holding her.
The Heart brightened, its swirling center expanding.
Then she heard it.
A whisper.
Not the shadows.
Not the Realm.
Not illusion.
A voice inside the Heart itself.
"Moonblood…"
Her wolf shuddered so violently she nearly collapsed.
Evander fought to reach her, but the shadows pushed him back violently, throwing him to the ground.
"LET ME GO!" he roared, clawing at the darkness.
His voice cracked into a sob.
"Lysandra—please—please don't leave me—"
The Heir's shadows wrapped around him, holding him steady.
"Do not scream," the Heir hissed. "She needs you calm."
"CALM?! SHE'S BEING PULLED INTO A—A—WHATEVER THAT THING IS!"
But the Heir didn't look at him.
He looked at Lysandra.
And his expression wasn't panic.
It was fear.
True fear.
"Lysandra," he said, voice softer than she had ever heard from him, "whatever you see… whatever you hear… do not follow it."
She couldn't respond.
The Heart's voice rose again.
"Daughter of the First Howl…"
Her breath shattered.
Evander shook his head violently.
"No—no—don't listen—don't you dare listen—"
"I'm not—" she whispered.
But she was.
The Heart pulsed again.
Something stirred inside the glow—
a shape forming—
a silhouette stepping through the swirling light.
Her wolf went silent.
Completely still.
The chamber dimmed as the figure stepped forward, formed from silver fire and violet shadow, tall, graceful, terrifying.
Lysandra's knees weakened.
"Who…" she breathed, "who are you?"
The figure did not speak.
It just lifted a hand—
a hand made of shifting moonlight—
and touched the air between them.
A shockwave slammed into Lysandra's chest, blasting through her bones, stealing her breath.
Evander screamed.
The Heir grabbed him.
Lysandra's vision blurred—
and suddenly she was no longer in the chamber.
She stood beneath a silver sky, facing a colossal wolf of pure light.
Its eyes were galaxies.
Its breath shaped the air.
The First Wolf.
Her wolf dropped instantly, bowing so hard Lysandra gasped from the force of it.
The ancient voice filled the air.
"My child."
Moonlight wrapped around Lysandra's body.
Silver fire ignited in her veins.
The world shook.
Her wolf screamed—
not in fear,
in awakening.
The First Wolf lowered its massive head.
"Awaken, Moonblood."
Lysandra reached out a trembling hand.
Her fingertips touched light.
And the Realm exploded.