The skies of Lycanthra shifted as morning approached—but not like Earth's morning. Here, the sky turned a deep violet-blue with silver streaks. The fog still hovered over the trees, like the breath of some slumbering beast.
Aleron led Elara through the castle's winding halls. Neither of them spoke much. Their boots clicked softly against polished obsidian floors, and now and then, Elara glimpsed her reflection—pale, lost, foreign.
They stopped before a tall door carved with antlers and roots.
"This is the Southern Tower," Aleron said flatly.
Elara looked up—the tower stretched impossibly high, like a spear piercing the heavens. The door creaked open by itself, revealing a spiral staircase.
"Climb. Alone."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're not coming?"
"This tower… chooses what it shows. I won't interfere."
Elara hesitated, then stepped onto the first stair. The cold stone chilled her feet through her boots.
She climbed. Step by step. Each level showed strange murals—moving images of war, of sorrow, of beasts unknown, of kings with wolves' eyes.
Whispers began to surround her.
"Elara… you carry the blood…"
She turned. No one.
"You do not belong to them…"
Her heart pounded. She climbed faster until she reached the top.
There, a wide balcony opened to the world.
From this height, she saw all of Lycanthra—endless forests, a pitch-black lake, and mountaintops that floated—yes, floated—in the sky. The horizon shimmered with something that looked like a city made of crystal.
And… she felt something watching her.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a deep voice said.
Elara turned—Lucan stood at the doorway.
"You followed me?" she asked.
"I always know where you go," Lucan replied calmly.
"This world is… strange," Elara whispered. "But… somehow… it feels familiar."
Lucan narrowed his eyes. "Maybe because a part of you… belongs here."
Elara didn't know what to say. The wind that swept the tower carried scents of moss, old stone, and something deeper—an ancient magic she couldn't name.
Lucan stepped beside her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his skin. His body felt like carved stone—solid, commanding, yet somehow very much alive. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, as if searching for something beyond the fog.
"This world is fractured," he said at last. "Not just by war, but by fear. The clans no longer trust each other. The kings guard their borders. But when the gate opens… it means something from outside has been summoned."
Lucan turned to her. "Elara. What was the last thing you thought… before you touched the stone?"
Elara closed her eyes. She saw herself in the campus garden, crying alone, feeling hollow. "I wanted… to disappear," she whispered. "I felt like I didn't matter. Like no one needed me."
Lucan gave a slow nod. "Despair unlocks many ancient doors. This world… heard you."
"But why me? I'm no one," Elara murmured.
"You're wrong. This realm doesn't choose at random. And your blood…" He inhaled deeply. "Something is unsettling about it. Strange, yet… familiar."
"What do you mean?" she asked softly.
Instead of answering, Lucan stretched his hand, and the air shimmered. A silver glow sparked between his fingers, forming a magic circle suspended in the air.
An image formed: a woman with long brown curls, eyes glowing like Elara's. She was being hunted by crowned wolves. She was wounded. And she was pregnant.
Elara's breath hitched.
"Who… is she?" she whispered.
"I don't know," Lucan replied. "But she's appeared in every oracle's vision for the past seven years. And now you arrive—bearing her face."
"You think she might be… my mother?" Elara asked.
"If she is… then you're far more dangerous than we thought," Lucan said flatly.
Suddenly, the wind around them howled. A gust tore through the tower. From the sky, a massive black bird descended, landing on the edge. Its feathers looked like living smoke, and its eyes burned red.
Lucan tensed. "A messenger from the North. The Ravenborn Clan."
The bird opened its beak and spoke.
"King Lucan… the human has returned."
Elara's eyes widened. "What does that mean?"
Lucan didn't answer right away. His jaw clenched as he faced the creature. "Tell your master I'll attend the blood council."
The bird vanished into the mist.
Lucan turned to Elara, his voice cold. "You need to return to your room. Now."
"What's happening?" she asked, almost pleading.
"This world will react. And if I'm right… You're not just a visitor, Elara. You're the spark of the next war."
Elara's footsteps echoed heavily as she descended the tower. Aleron was no longer waiting—gone as if swallowed by the shadows. Lycanthra felt darker now, more oppressive than when she first climbed.
Lucan's words kept repeating in her mind:
"You're not just a visitor… You are the spark of the next war."
Her heart raced. She didn't want to be part of any war. She didn't even know who she was. Yet… everything felt like puzzle pieces slowly locking into place.
As she approached the main corridor, a faint voice echoed behind the stone wall.
"Elara…"
She turned sharply. No one.
Her pace slowed.
"Elara… not all of them can be trusted…"
She froze.
"Who are you?" she whispered into the emptiness.
No answer. Just the flicker of torches responding to a sudden breeze. She quickened her steps, but the voice echoed in her thoughts, like someone from this world, or her past, was trying to warn her.
When she reached her chamber, the door was already ajar. She stepped inside cautiously.
The window was open, letting in cold air. On her bed… a piece of tattered cloth, frayed and aged, lay there with a strange embroidered symbol: a circle flanked by two crescent moons.
Her hand trembled as she picked it up.
"That symbol…"
She had seen it before. But not here. In her world. In her mother's old book, hidden on the highest shelf, full of strange writings she never understood.
Elara sank onto the bed.
Her blood carried something. But if that was true… who had hidden the truth from her? And why?