The night was colder than usual, the kind that seemed to crawl into Lyra's bones and settle there. She sat on her thin straw mat in the servants' quarters, fingers clutching the frayed edge of her blanket. The whispers of earlier punishments still echoed in her ears. The laughter of warriors outside, the mocking comments about her cursed blood… all of it gnawed at her, leaving her raw.
But tonight was worse. Tonight marked thirteen years since her mother's death.
No one in the Nightwalker Pack remembered, of course. Or perhaps they remembered and simply did not care. Only Lyra kept the flame alive in her heart, though it flickered faintly with each passing year.
She closed her golden eyes, recalling the woman whose features she carried. Silver hair that shimmered like moonlight. A gentle smile that had once been Lyra's entire world. And a voice—soft, laced with sorrow—that had always whispered hope even in chains.
Her mother's name was Seliora.
Seliora had been a half-vampire slave brought to the pack years before Lyra's birth. She had never belonged, not to the wolves, not to freedom, not even to herself. Yet to Lyra, she had been everything.
Lyra remembered the night the flames consumed their small hut. She had been only five, clutching her mother's hand as angry voices rose outside. Seliora had hidden her beneath the floorboards, her voice trembling as she whispered, *"Stay silent, little moon. No matter what you hear, stay hidden."*
Through the cracks, Lyra had watched the Luna, MIRA, standing with cold satisfaction as the flames grew higher. And she had watched her mother fall, her body limp and lifeless when the fire finally died.
The memory ended the same every time—with Lyra's screams muffled into her tiny palms, her chest aching so hard she thought it might never stop.
Now, thirteen years later, Mira still found ways to remind her of it.
---
"Still awake, silver rat?"
The sneering voice came from the doorway. Lyra turned sharply to see **Kellan**, one of the younger warriors, leaning against the frame. His blond hair caught the torchlight, and his lips curled with amusement. Behind him, another shadow stepped forward—**Darius**, broader and darker, his smirk cruel.
"What are you muttering to yourself?" Darius taunted. "Calling to your dead mother? Or maybe praying to the moon to finally grant you a shift?" He snorted. "As if the moon would claim cursed blood like yours."
Lyra lowered her head, fists clenched in her lap. Answering them would only earn her bruises.
Kellan chuckled, exchanging a glance with Darius. "Careful, Darius. They say her mother's ashes still whisper at night. Maybe the rat keeps them hidden, feeding on vampire filth."
The words pierced her deeper than any lash. She remembered clutching a small urn, the last thing she had of Seliora, only for Mira to snatch it away. The Luna had scattered the ashes into the river, laughing as Lyra screamed until her throat bled.
"Leave me," Lyra whispered, her voice barely audible.
But silence only made them crueler.
Darius stepped inside, his boots crushing the edge of her mat. "What did you say, slave?"
Before he could strike her, another voice interrupted.
"That's enough."
It was **Selene**, one of the kitchen maids. She was older, her hands scarred from years of chopping and burns. Her tone wasn't kind—Selene had never been kind to Lyra—but it was sharp enough to make the warriors pause.
"If the Alpha finds you roughing up his property again, you'll be cleaning dung pits for a week," Selene snapped.
Darius sneered but stepped back. "Fine. The rat isn't worth dirtying my hands."
Kellan gave Lyra one last cruel smile before they both left, their laughter fading down the hall.
Selene lingered, her gaze heavy on Lyra. "You should stop clinging to your mother's memory. It only makes them hate you more."
Lyra swallowed the lump in her throat. "I can't forget her."
The maid's face tightened, some flicker of pity crossing her features before it vanished. She turned away, muttering, "Then you'll only suffer longer."
---
When the quarters grew quiet again, Lyra lay back on her mat, staring at the ceiling. The smoke-stained beams reminded her of fire, of ashes, of the woman she would never see again.
She pressed her trembling fingers to her chest, whispering to the dark, "Mother… if you can hear me… I will endure. I will endure, no matter how much it hurts."
Outside, the moon hung heavy and pale in the sky, its light spilling through the cracks in the shutters. Lyra's golden eyes reflected it, filled with a quiet, burning promise.
Though she was chained, though she was mocked, though the memory of ashes still clung to her… she would not let them destroy the last piece of her mother within her.
---