Lyra Silver-leaf

The Wolf's Vow The sunlight filtered through the ancient canopy of the Whispering Woods, casting dappled gold across Lyra’s cream-colored gown. She stood motionless beneath the arch of blooming pink roses, her long lace train spilling over the moss like a silent river. To any passing traveler, she looked like the perfect picture of a high-born bride, save for the tufted, silver-grey ears that twitched at the slightest rustle of the leaves. Lyra wasn't just marrying into a legacy; she was bridging two worlds. As the wind picked up, carrying the scent of damp earth and wild jasmine, she felt the familiar hum of the forest beneath her feet. Today, the lace of her veil felt heavier than any iron shackle, yet her gaze remained steady. She wasn't just waiting for her groom—she was waiting for the moon to rise, and with it, the truth of her bloodline.