Chapter 3 : Memories and Despair

Lyra's POV

Lyra’s body lay sprawled on the cold, hard cot in her cell. She could feel herself drifting in and out of consciousness, caught in a haze of pain and darkness. Her skin burned, her muscles ached, and every breath seemed to bring fresh waves of agony.

A soft light appeared as the door to the cell creaked open. The healer, a kind-faced woman named Elara, stepped inside, her brows drawn in sorrow as she looked down at Lyra’s beaten form. Kneeling beside her, Elara worked silently, pulling out cloths and ointments from her bag. With gentle hands, she began to clean Lyra’s wounds, her fingers careful around the worst cuts.“

Evelyn crouched beside her, setting down a small lantern that cast a dim, comforting light into the dark cell. Her hands worked with practiced tenderness, gently brushing Lyra’s hair back from her bruised face. Lyra felt the healer’s touch and blinked, trying to focus, but the ache of her injuries weighed heavily on her.

"Oh, child…” came a voice, soft and sad. It was Evelyn, the healer.

“You poor child,” Evelyn murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. “They have no right to do this to you.”

Lyra couldn’t answer. Her throat was dry and raw, and the words she wanted to say were tangled, lost in a haze of pain. Evelyn’s hands moved slowly, her touch soothing, though she could do little to heal the cuts left by the silver blade. All she could offer was temporary relief - a cloth pressed to her skin, a clean bandage wrapped around her arms and shoulders.Evelyn’s fingers were gentle as she began cleaning Lyra’s wounds, wiping away the dirt and blood that covered her skin. She worked methodically, applying salve to some of the deeper cuts and wrapping them in bandages. Lyra winced at the sting but said nothing, grateful for even this small reprieve from the cold indifference of the world above.

As Evelyn worked, Lyra’s mind drifted, fragments of memory surfacing like pieces of shattered glass.

For a while, neither of them spoke, and Lyra let herself drift. The healer’s soft touch allowed her mind to wander, as fragments of memories and pain began to surface unbidden.

She was twelve again, sitting on her father’s knee in the quiet safety of their small cottage. He was telling her about the constellations, pointing out stars as they glimmered through the window, his voice a deep and calming presence.

“One day, Lyra,” he said, his voice thick with pride, “you’ll do great things. You have a fire in you, a spark that can’t be snuffed out. Remember that.”

The memory shifted, and suddenly, Lyra was back in the square, the day her parents were taken from her. She remembered Luna Mara’s icy gaze, her voice dripping with venom as she accused her parents of treason. The crowd was silent, but she felt their collective gaze bore into her as her mother was dragged forward.

“Traitors!” Regina had called them, her voice ringing with conviction. “They would have destroyed our pack’s honor, all for their own selfish ends!”

Her father had shouted, trying to defend their family’s name, but his voice was drowned out by the jeers of the crowd. And then, just like that, her parents were gone, their lives snuffed out like flames in the wind.

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as the memory faded, and she felt the anger and sorrow of that day bubble up anew, mingling with the sting of her fresh wounds. The pack’s cruelty was all-encompassing, and she was suffocating under the weight of it.

She was thirteen again, hiding behind a tree, watching as her parents were dragged into the pack square. Her mother’s eyes, once so full of life, were hollow, darkened by weeks of imprisonment. Her father, once so strong, now looked broken and frail, his head bowed. They were accused of treason, accused of threatening Alpha Lucien’s authority - a lie, a complete fabrication, she now realized. But Luna Regina had spoken with such conviction that no one dared to question her. No one except her parents, who paid the ultimate price.

She heard the crack of the whip, felt her own body flinch as her mother’s cries filled the air. The memory was seared into her mind, and now, in her fevered state, it returned to torment her.

“You’ll remember this day, Lyra,” her mother had whispered when she’d found Lyra hiding, moments before she was taken away. “Remember who you are.”

But her mother’s words had faded, buried under years of shame and suffering. She wasn’t the brave girl her parents had known; she was nothing more than a slave now, a shadow, clinging to scraps of existence.

Evelyn’s voice broke through the fog. “Try to drink this,” she said gently, lifting a cup to Lyra’s lips. “It will help with the fever.”

Lyra managed to take a sip, the cool liquid easing the burning in her throat. She wanted to thank Evelyn, but her words failed her, the pain too consuming to allow anything else.

Elara placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “You’re stronger than you think, Lyra. Hold on, for just a little longer.”

The healer lingered for a moment, a look of pity on her face. “I’ll return when I can. Rest as much as possible, Lyra,” she said softly, brushing a damp cloth over Lyra’s forehead before slipping away.

As Evelyn left, Lyra lay back on the cot, the healer’s words echoing in her mind. For the first time, she let herself imagine that perhaps there could be a future beyond this prison, that perhaps Thalia was right - that the pain could be endured, that she could be something more than a slave, more than an outcast.But the thought was fragile, like the faint light flickering from Evelyn’s lantern in the darkness of her cell. The darkness pressed in on all sides, but a sliver of hope remained, faint yet defiant.

As the door closed and darkness filled the cell once more, Lyra lay back, her thoughts spiraling into despair. She closed her eyes, but the memories wouldn’t stop, dragging her into their depths.

The memory of Aiden’s rejection rose before her, his cold gaze, the contempt in his voice as he dismissed her. “You disgust me.” The words echoed through her mind, as cutting as the silver blade Seraphine had wielded against her. She could still feel the bite of the knife in her skin, could still hear Seraphine’s laughter as she left her bleeding and broken.

Her mind drifted further, back to the edge of the cliff where she had stood just a few days ago, looking down into the abyss below. She remembered how she had walked there with only one thought in mind—to end it all, to escape the endless cycle of pain and humiliation. She had wanted to let go, to surrender herself to the darkness.

Now, lying alone in the cold cell, she felt that same urge creeping over her. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? Just to slip away, to find peace in oblivion.

“You don’t belong here, Lyra.” Her father’s voice drifted through her mind, soft and comforting, as though he were there beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder. “You are stronger than this.”

“But I’m so tired,” she whispered back, her voice barely audible even to herself. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

In the murky darkness, her vision blurred, fading in and out, and she felt her parents’ presence like a faint, fading warmth. She could almost see their faces, hear their words.

“You are not alone,” her mother’s voice echoed, distant but steady. “Hold on, Lyra. There is more to your story than this.”

But the comfort of their presence began to fade, leaving her with only the cold, empty silence of the cell. Lyra felt the despair settle in her bones, heavy and suffocating. She longed for an escape, any escape - even if it was final.

“Thalia,” she whispered, summoning her wolf, her only remaining strength.

“I am here, Lyra,” Thalia answered, her voice a steady anchor, her warmth a gentle balm against the pain. “I am here with you.”

“I don’t know if I can keep fighting,” Lyra admitted, her voice cracking under the weight of her despair. “Everyone who could have loved me is gone… Even Aiden…”

“But I am still here, Lyra.” Thalia’s words were firm, unyielding. “You are not alone, not while I am with you. You have a strength within you that they cannot break.”

A flicker of hope stirred in her heart, faint but persistent. Thalia’s words brought a glimmer of light, reminding her that, despite everything, she was still alive. And as long as she was alive, she could resist, she could endure.

A soft knock echoed through her cell door, breaking the silence. The door opened, and Evelyn slipped back inside, bringing a fresh basin of water and clean cloths.

“I thought you might need a bit more care,” she said softly, kneeling beside Lyra. She began to gently wash away the dirt and dried blood from Lyra’s skin, her movements tender and careful.

“Thank you…” Lyra murmured, her voice raspy.

Evelyn looked at her, compassion in her eyes. “You don’t deserve this,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “One day, things will change, Lyra. You must hold on until that day comes.”

Lyra didn’t answer, her mind still clouded by pain and exhaustion, but Evelyn’s words planted a seed of hope. She could feel Thalia’s presence like a faint glow in the darkness, a quiet reminder that she wasn’t as alone as she had believed.

As Evelyn finished tending to her, Lyra’s eyelids grew heavy, and she felt herself drifting, sinking into the comforting warmth of unconsciousness.

Lyra’s eyes drifted shut, and in her dreams, she saw the faces of her parents, her father’s hand resting on her shoulder, his eyes filled with pride. She felt Thalia’s warm presence by her side, a quiet strength she could lean on.

And though the darkness lingered, Lyra resolved to hold on- for one more night, one more breath, and one day more. And though she slipped back into the darkness, her last thought lingered - a silent vow to hold on, to survive.