Chapter 1 : Just Lyra
Lyra woke up to the smell of fried plantains and fresh bread.
That alone told her two things.
One — it was a training morning.
Two — her mother was in a good mood.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of the house. Voices drifted faintly from downstairs — her parents talking about something in low tones. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear the warmth in them.
For a few seconds, she allowed herself to stay there.
Just Lyra.
Not the Alpha’s daughter.
Not someone being evaluated.
Just a girl in her bed.
Then her father’s voice carried up the stairs.
“Lyra, training starts in ten minutes.”
There it was.
Reality.
“I’m awake!” she called back.
“You said that yesterday too,” he replied.
She smiled despite herself and pushed the covers off.
By the time she reached the kitchen, her mother was placing a plate on the table.
“You need to eat properly if you’re going to complain about being tired later,” her mother said without turning.
“I don’t complain,” Lyra protested, grabbing a piece of plantain.
Her father was already dressed in dark training clothes, leaning against the counter with a cup in his hand.
“You complain creatively,” he corrected.
Her mother laughed softly.
Lyra pointed at him. “You see? This is bullying.”
“It’s encouragement,” her father replied calmly.
But his eyes were warm.
That was the difference.
On the field, he was Alpha first.
Here, he was just her father.
“Finish eating,” he said, pushing away from the counter. “Meet me outside.”
When he left, her mother sat across from her.
“You don’t have to prove yourself every single day,” she said gently.
Lyra hesitated. “I know.”
But she did.
Because being average in a pack full of warriors felt louder than it should.
She finished quickly and stepped outside.
The morning air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and earth. The training grounds were already active — wolves sparring, laughing, shoving each other playfully between drills.
Mira jogged over immediately.
“You’re alive,” she said dramatically. “I was about to request a memorial.”
“Very funny,” Lyra muttered.
Her father stood near the center of the field, observing. When Lyra approached, his expression shifted — not unkind, just focused.
“We’re working on balance today,” he said. “You rely too much on speed.”
“I like speed.”
“Speed without control is panic.”
She rolled her shoulders. “I don’t panic.”
He didn’t respond.
That annoyed her more.
They began with basic sparring. Lyra moved fast, ducking under his reach, twisting out of holds. For a moment, she felt confident.
Then he adjusted.
He anticipated her movement, blocked her next step, and gently but firmly sent her to the ground.
Not hard enough to hurt.
Just enough to remind her.
She groaned, staring up at the sky. “You enjoy this.”
“I enjoy improvement,” he corrected, offering his hand.
She took it and stood.
“Again.”
They went another round. And another.
By the fourth, she was breathing harder, frustration building in her chest.
“You’re hesitating,” he said.
“I’m thinking.”
“Thinking too long.”
Mira winced from the sidelines. “She’s trying, Alpha.”
Her father glanced at Mira, then back at Lyra.
“I know she is.”
That softened something inside her.
He wasn’t disappointed.
He just expected more.
When training finally ended, Lyra wiped sweat from her forehead and walked beside him toward the house.
“You’re getting stronger,” he said after a moment.
She looked up, surprised. “I am?”
“Yes. You just don’t see it yet.”
That stayed with her longer than the fall had.
Inside the house, her mother handed her a towel.
“Survived?” she asked.
“Barely,” Lyra replied.
Her father chuckled and disappeared into his office.
For a while, it felt like any normal day.
And Lyra almost forgot that soon, very soon, important visitors would arrive in their territory.
Visitors that would change everything.
