Page 54

Lyra

The hut was exactly as I had left it—silent, smelling of dried herbs and the lingering ghost of Kaelen’s scent—but it felt smaller now. The walls seemed to pulse with the rhythm of my own blood, which was still humming with a frantic, unspent vibration.

I sat on the edge of the sleeping furs, my hands trembling as I pushed my hair back from my face. My lips felt swollen, sensitised to the point of aching, and the cool air of the hut sharply contrasted with the furnace of Kaelen’s skin.

"Stubborn bastard," I whispered to the empty room, the word a ragged breath.

I was angry. I was beyond pissed off. He had dismissed me like a servant caught in a forbidden hall, pushing me away with that cold authority just when the air between us had reached a breaking point. One second he was whispering "you" into my skin, and the next, he was barking orders like I was a recruit on a training field.

But as I lay back against the furs, staring up at the woven ceiling, I couldn't sustain the rage. Not when my body betrayed me.

I had told myself I was doing it to help him. I had walked into it with the clinical intent of a medic, looking for a way to vent the pressure of a dangerous fever. But the moment I touched him—the moment I felt the sheer, vibrating power of his reaction—the "help" turned into something else entirely.

The pull was undeniable. It wasn't just a biological fluke or the effect of the moons; it was a gravity I couldn't escape. Even now, the memory of his hands in my hair and the low, guttural roar of his voice made a sharp, persistent heat coil in my stomach. I had enjoyed it. I had liked the way he looked down at me, wide-eyed and stunned, his legendary control crumbling under my touch. For a few minutes, the Great Huntmaster had been at my mercy, and the pleasure of that—both physical and mental—was a terrifying thing to admit.

"Get it together, Lyra," I muttered, rolling onto my side and pulling a heavy fur over my shoulders.

I forced my eyes shut, determined to bury the memory of the High Roost under layers of logic. I couldn't change Kaelen’s moods, and I couldn't change the fact that I was an alien on a planet that seemed designed to eat me alive.

To distract myself, I latched onto Sora’s earlier words. Something prepared for you in the morning.

A gift? A ritual? Sora had been so cryptic about it, her violet markings shimmering with that playful, secretive light. Given how the rest of this night had gone, the idea of something positive—something that didn't involve blood, cages, or frustratingly hot Huntmasters—was the only thing keeping me grounded. Maybe it was a sign that I was finally moving past being a "guest" or a "problem."

Maybe it was a way to finally belong here, on my own terms, without needing Kaelen’s permission to breathe the air.

I focused on that thought, let it become a mantra as the adrenaline finally began to ebb, leaving a hollow, bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. My mind drifted, the image of the mere boy in that cage blurring with the memory of Kaelen's predatory gaze, until finally, the heavy pull of sleep dragged me under.

I was jolted from a dreamless, heavy sleep by the soft rustle of the door-flap and a low, melodic hum.

I sat up, blinking against the brightness, to find Sora standing at the centre of the hut. She looked radiant, her deep red skin appearing almost velvety in the morning glow. Her markings, usually a soft lavender, were currently a bright, celebratory violet that danced across her collarbones. In her arms, she held a wide, shallow basket woven from silver-grass, covered with a heavy, embroidered cloth.

"You sleep like the stone-dwellers, Lyra," she teased, her eyes sparkling.

"I had a long night," I grumbled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Memories of the root-cage and the High Roost rushed back, making my face heat up instantly. I looked at the basket. "What’s that? Is that the surprise?"

"It is," Sora said, setting it carefully on the low table.

I reached for the edge of the cloth, my curiosity getting the better of my exhaustion. "Can I⁠—"

"No!" Sora swiped my hand away with a playful hiss, her markings flashing a protective amber. "It is for the Alignment. You cannot open it until the first moon crests the horizon tomorrow. It is tradition. It is a gift from the tribe, to honour your place here under the eyes of Alu'un."

I let out a dramatic groan and fell back against the furs. "Sora, come on. I’m a human. We’re terrible at waiting. My people practically invented the concept of 'spoiler alerts' because we can't handle a mystery."

Sora laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "Then you must learn the patience of the wood. The festival is a sacred time, Lyra. To rush the gift is to insult the spirit of the giver."

I pouted, trying to look as stubborn as possible, but Sora just stood there with a smug, joyful expression until I finally threw my hands up in defeat. "Fine. Fine! I’ll wait. But if it’s just a pile of fruit, I’m going to be very disappointed."

I sat up properly, trying to smooth out my hair. "How is everyone? The hunters from yesterday?"

"The wounded are all healed," Sora said, her expression softening into genuine pride. "The medicines you provided, mixed with our own chants... it was a powerful combination. The majority of the Nest are now in tune with the rising moons. The energy is... high. Very high."

I winced inwardly, thinking of just how "high" that energy had felt last night. I stood up and followed Sora as she led me out of the hut and onto the main walkways. I tried to keep my gaze fixed on the horizon, avoiding any glance toward the upper branches where Kaelen usually presided.

"And the Huntmaster?" Sora asked, her voice tilting with a knowing edge. "Did he find the peace he was looking for in the high canopy?"

"I wouldn't know," I said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "I went for a walk. I saw him, but we didn't... talk much."

Sora hummed, a low, vibrating sound that told me she didn't believe a word of it, but she was kind enough not to push. Instead, I diverted the conversation toward the weight that had been sitting in my gut since I’d left the roots.