Darkness.
That was the first thing Elara felt when she opened her eyes. Her head throbbed, her limbs ached as if she'd been tossed down a mountain. She tried to sit up, but the room spun, forcing her to lie still.
The air was cold, not the natural chill of night, but a deeper cold. Quiet. Hollow.
She lay on a bed far too soft to be a cell. The ceiling above her was high, carved with moons and wolves. Black stone walls surrounded her, elegant and towering, lit only by flickering candles, casting dancing shadows.
Slowly, Elara sat up and stepped toward a small arched window. Outside, endless woods stretched far and wide under a sea of violet fog.
She wasn't home. This was real.
Then the door creaked open.
Elara jumped back, heart racing. But it wasn't Lucan—it was a young man, tall, dressed in a dark cloak, with silver hair tied neatly at the back. His face was handsome but cold, and his gaze scanned her from head to toe.
"You're awake," he said flatly. His voice is deep and formal.
"Who are you?" she asked, wary.
"Aleron," he replied. "Right hand of King Lucan. I'm not here to harm you—yet."
Elara gripped the edge of the bed. "What do you mean… 'yet'?"
Aleron stepped closer. "That depends. Will you be a threat… or the answer?"
She didn't understand.
Before she could ask more, Aleron pulled a folded cloak from his sleeve and laid it at the edge of the bed.
"Wear this. The King wants to see you."
Elara didn't move. "And if I refuse?"
He stared at her. "You don't have that option."
Once Aleron left, the heavy door thudded shut behind him with a deep, echoing sound. Elara remained standing beside the bed, staring at the gray cloak he had left. The fabric looked expensive and soft, yet somehow it felt like a trap.
Should she go?
Part of her screamed to fight back, to reject all of this. But the other part—the part that had seen a throne room full of wolves and the terrifying man who ruled them—knew that a single wrong move could end her.
Her hands trembling, she slipped the cloak over her shoulders. It fit her perfectly, unnervingly so.
She opened the door.
A long corridor greeted her. Dark stone walls reflected the glow of torches. No paintings, no flowers. Just carvings of moons, wolves, and towering statues draped in shadows.
Her footsteps echoed as she followed the light. Every corner of the castle felt like it was watching her. Breathing. Waiting.
Eventually, she saw Aleron again, standing before a massive door with a carved wolf's head.
"He's waiting," he said, emotionless.
Elara inhaled deeply. Held it. Exhaled slowly.
The door opened on its own, responding to her presence. And there it was—the throne room. No longer glimpsed through a window. Now real, imposing, alive.
Lucan sat on his throne.
He didn't move, but his eyes pierced her.
His hazel gaze studied her like a puzzle he wanted to both solve and destroy. His chest still bare, a faint scar ran across his shoulder like an old claw mark—deep, jagged, never fully healed.
"Sit," he said.
Elara looked around. There was no chair.
He pointed to the ground before him.
He wanted her to sit… below him.
Elara clenched her jaw. "I'm not your servant," she whispered.
Lucan's expression shifted.
But instead of anger, he stood. Calmly. Step by step, he approached.
"You're right," he said.
Elara's breath caught.
Lucan slowly circled her, as if assessing every breath, every heartbeat. "You're different. You came from another realm, yet you crossed the gate unharmed. You carry something with you. Power… or ruin. I don't know yet."
"I… I'm just lost," Elara managed to say.
He paused behind her.
"One thing you must understand, human," he whispered. "In this place, fear is currency. And you… reek of it."
Elara spun, locking eyes with him.
Lucan's lips curled into a slight smile. Not kind. Predatory.
"I want to know why fate brought you to me, Elara Lysandra Vale."
Elara stood her ground, fists clenched, breath unsteady. "I don't know why I'm here. I don't know how I crossed that gate."
Lucan stepped forward, voice low and firm. "You think this realm lets anyone pass freely? This world chooses. It only opens the gate when something... breaks."
"Breaks?" she echoed.
"Change. War. Fate diverting from its path."
He turned slightly, looking toward the massive windows that framed the endless woods.
"Lycanthra is alive. Breathing. It doesn't allow humans in… unless that human means something."
Elara clutched the edge of her cloak. "So you think I'm some kind of messenger?"
Lucan's eyes returned to her. "Or a threat."
He moved closer, stopping just a breath away. "There was once another human here. A woman. Centuries ago. She nearly split this realm in two."
"Why?" she whispered.
"Because the king at the time… loved her."
Elara froze.
Lucan stepped back. "Human love is weakness. And weakness... is the start of destruction."
Just then, the door behind her opened. Aleron appeared again, silent as ever.
"Take her to the South Tower," Lucan ordered. "Let her see the world she's stumbled into."
"And if I run?" Elara challenged.
Lucan stared at her, unreadable.
"I won't chase you, Elara."
He smiled faintly. "But the forest will know. The fog will taste your blood in the air."