Lyra's Tension

A sharp knock rattled Klen’s door as morning light crept across the floor.

He blinked awake, sluggish and still sore from yesterday’s aches. The knocking came again—rapid, impatient.

Klen stumbled to the door and pulled it open.

Lyra stood there.

Not dressed in her usual noble attire, but in a simple, casual outfit—light boots, a soft tunic, her hair tied back loosely. In her hands, she held a small woven basket.

“Good,” she said, stepping past him into the room without hesitation. “You’re up. Get dressed. We’re going somewhere.”

Klen stared blankly. “…Huh?”

Lyra ignored him and inspected his room with narrowed eyes, as if checking for something out of place. “Come on. You’re slow today. Hurry.”

“W–wait, what’s happening? Where are we—”

“Somewhere special,” she replied simply. “Change. Now.”

Klen rubbed his face with one hand, overwhelmed. “Can you—maybe—wait outside? I’ll be out in a moment.”

“No.” She crossed her arms. “You’ll take forever. I’m not letting you stall.”

“…Stall? Why would I—?”

“Because you’re you,” she said matter-of-factly.

Klen had no counter to that.

So he dressed quickly while Lyra stood by the door outside like a strict supervisor. When he finally finished adjusting his belt and boots, he opened the door for her and she nodded, satisfied.

“Good. Follow me.”

She grabbed his wrist without warning and pulled him into the hallway.

Lyra did all the talking at the entrance.

“We’re going out for the day,” she declared.

Fole, stationed by the doorway, raised a brow. His gaze flicked to Klen. “Is this true?”

Klen opened his mouth. “I—apparently?”

Lyra nodded confidently. “Yes.”

Fole’s lips twitched—almost a smile. “Very well. Stay aware of your surroundings. And return before sunset.”

“We will,” Lyra answered.

“Lady, I still need to get my sword. I can’t let you get hurt out there.” Klen said and quickly went to his room and took his sword with him. After he returned and got ready to leave, Marna popped around the corner, grin already forming. “Oho? Going on a date, are we?”

Both of them flinched.

“It’s not—!”
“We’re just—!”

“Sure, sure.” Marna waved them off, smirking. “Yesterday was my turn. Today is hers. Lucky boy.”

Klen flushed. Lyra’s ears turned pink even as she tossed her hair in a dignified huff.

“We’re leaving,” Lyra snapped, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him outside.

Marna called after them, laughing, “Don’t lose him again, princess!”

The walk was long, deeper into the forest than Klen had ever gone. Lyra led the way confidently, weaving through narrow trails and stepping over mossy roots.

“You’ve been here before?” he asked.

“A few times,” she said. “It’s quiet. Peaceful. Father doesn’t know about it, so… it’s mine.”

Eventually, the dense trees opened into a clearing.

A lake shimmered before them—still, calm, and almost untouched. Mist drifted over the surface. Strange pale blossoms grew along the edge. The air felt different—cleaner, cooler.

Klen’s breath caught. “This is… beautiful.”

Lyra smiled faintly. “I know.”

They sat by the shore and shared a fruit from her basket—something like an apple crossed with an orange, crisp and sweet.

For a while, they simply breathed.

Then Lyra spoke softly.

“Klen… can I tell you something?”

He nodded slowly.

“When I was younger… everyone around me only cared about my family name. Or what I would become. I didn’t have anyone real.” She looked down at the lake. “Then Marna came. And then… you.”

Klen blinked.
“…Me?”

“You’re my first friend,” she said quietly. “The first one I ever had. And if you lose tomorrow… you’ll be gone.”

His chest tightened.
Her voice was trembling.
And he had no idea how to respond.

Before he could try—

The forest went silent.

Klen stiffened immediately.

“Lyra,” he said, voice sharp, “get behind me.”

“What—?”

A howl tore through the trees.

A creature burst from the shadows—huge, too fast, its fur a burnt red mixed with ashen black. Its eyes burned with unnatural intensity.

A mutated Snow Wolf.

Klen barely had time to shove Lyra aside before the beast slammed into him. Claws dug into his chest, slicing through skin. Saliva dripped hot onto his shoulder.

He managed to elbow the wolf’s jaw and roll away, gasping.

His hand clutched his chest while the other grasped desperately for his sword.

The wolf stalked forward, glowing purple veins crawling beneath its corrupted fur.

Lyra backed away, trembling. “K-Klen—!”

“Stay back!” he shouted.

The wolf lunged.

Sparks flew as claws met steel. Klen blocked twice—three times—but a fourth strike broke through, hurling him across the ground. Dirt filled his mouth; pain shot down his ribs.

He forced himself up, crouched, breathing hard.

The wolf jumped.

Teeth sank into his left arm.

His scream shook the air.

“AAAGH—!!”

The wolf whipped him violently side to side, tearing muscle, ripping flesh. His vision blurred.

Klen slammed his boot into its throat—again, and again—until it loosened and flung him away.

He hit the ground hard.

As the wolf pounced again, he rolled—
landed on one knee—
grabbed his sword—
and hurled it like a spear.

The blade struck the wolf’s neck, spraying dark, purple-black blood.

The beast staggered, trembling, its veins glowing violently.

Then, with a distorted snarl, it turned and vanished into the forest at unnatural speed.

Silence returned—heavy and suffocating.

Klen gasped, lowering his trembling arm.

Lyra rushed to him, ripping a strip from his tunic and bandaging his bitten arm with shaking hands.

As they walked back, slowly, painfully, Lyra whispered, shaken:

“That… that looked like a Snow Wolf. But Snow Wolves don’t have red and black fur.”

Klen nodded weakly. “Or glowing veins. And they don’t attack humans.”

“And they don’t live anywhere near forests,” she added. “What was that thing?”

Klen gritted his teeth, clutching his injured arm.
“I… don’t know. I never heard of anything like this from Fole either…”

Back at the mansion, Lyra dragged him to the infirmary alcove.

She uncorked a small teal potion and poured it across his bruises. The warmth spread quickly, closing shallow cuts and fading the dark bruises across his ribs.

But the deep wounds—

The bite.
The slashes on his chest.

Those remained.

“It can only heal the light wounds,” she murmured. Klen nodded. “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t fine! You always say this and it doesn’t help me!”

She stood abruptly and stormed toward Leor’s study.

Klen followed minutes later, adjusting the bandage across his chest. His arm throbbed, every pulse sending a sharp sting through bone.

He found Lyra outside the study.

She stood frozen. Shoulders trembling slightly.

“…Lyra?”

She turned to him—her expression tight, frustrated, defeated.

“I tried,” she whispered. “I asked him to delay it. Just one day.”

“And…?”

Her jaw clenched. “He refused. He said that it’s not possible.”

Klen offered a small, tired smile. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“It’s not fair,” she snapped quietly. Then softer: “You nearly died today.”

Klen had no answer.

She looked away, blinking fast. “I don’t… want to talk about it.”

She turned her head down, sadness heavy across her face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she murmured.

Then she walked away, leaving Klen alone in the silent hall, the weight of the coming duel heavier than ever.