Breaking Limits

The cold night air stung my skin as I made my way back to the cabin. Every muscle in my body ached, my lungs still burned from the chase, and my palms throbbed where the blisters had begun to swell. But despite the exhaustion weighing me down, my mind refused to rest.

I could still feel Caius’s touch lingering at my throat—not in a way that hurt, not in a way that made me fear him, but in a way that unsettled me. He had been testing me, pushing me, breaking me down piece by piece.

And damn him, it was working.

I wasn’t sure what I hated more—the fact that he was right about my weakness, or the fact that I craved his approval, even if I didn’t want to admit it.

As I reached the door, I hesitated. The cabin was dark inside, the fire reduced to faint embers in the hearth. It should have felt safe. It should have been a relief to step inside, to crawl into bed and let sleep take me.

But something inside me stirred—a restless energy I couldn’t shake.

I wasn’t done.

I wasn’t ready to stop.

I turned on my heel and strode back toward the training grounds. My legs protested, my arms screamed, but I ignored them. If Caius thought I was going to crumble under pressure, he had another thing coming.

I reached the clearing, my boots crunching softly against the dirt. The axe was still lying beside the scattered pieces of wood, the moonlight casting long shadows over the training area. I picked it up, feeling the rough weight of it in my hands.

Swing.

Crack.

The log split in two.

Swing.

Crack.

Another.

And another.

The night stretched on, and I kept going, my breaths turning into ragged gasps, my vision blurring at the edges. Sweat dripped from my brow, my hands slick with it, but I refused to stop.

Not yet.

Not until my body gave out.

I didn’t hear him approach.

I didn’t even sense his presence until a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist mid-swing.

Caius.

I looked up, breathless, my chest heaving.

His silver eyes burned into mine, unreadable in the dim moonlight. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at me, his grip firm but not painful.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

I yanked my arm free, my jaw tightening. “Training.”

“At this hour?”

I wiped my forehead with the back of my arm. “You said I wasn’t fast enough. That I wasn’t strong enough. So, I’m fixing that.”

His gaze flickered, his expression unreadable. “Pushing yourself to the brink of collapse won’t make you stronger.”

I scoffed. “Oh? And what will?”

Caius studied me for a long moment, then sighed. “You’re stubborn.”

I shrugged. “And you’re observant.”

He smirked slightly, but it faded just as quickly. “Come with me.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Because if you’re so desperate to break yourself, you might as well do it right.”

Something in his tone made my stomach tighten. I hesitated for only a second before following him into the trees.

The Wolf’s Endurance

The forest was silent, save for the rustling of leaves beneath our feet. The deeper we went, the thicker the trees became, their twisted branches forming a tangled web overhead, blocking out most of the moonlight.

I didn’t ask where we were going. I had learned by now that Caius didn’t do anything without a reason.

Eventually, he stopped in a small clearing. The ground here was uneven, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine.

He turned to face me. “Take off your boots.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Your boots. Take them off.”

I hesitated, then huffed and kicked them off, standing barefoot in the dirt.

Caius nodded. “Now, shift.”

I stiffened. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I swallowed hard, glancing away. “I—I can’t.”

His gaze sharpened. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

My hands curled into fists. “I told you. My wolf is—weak.”

“Bullshit.” His voice was flat. “She’s there. You’re just afraid.”

A sharp pang of frustration shot through me. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” He stepped closer, forcing me to look at him. “I’ve seen it before, Lyra. Wolves who suppress their instincts. Who bury their power because they don’t think they’re strong enough. Do you know what happens to them?”

I swallowed, shaking my head.

“They break,” he said simply. “Not because they were weak, but because they refused to embrace what they were.”

My throat felt tight. “I—” I bit my lip, shaking my head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is.” His voice softened just slightly. “You want to be stronger? Stop holding back.”

I looked away, my heart pounding.

I wanted to shift. Gods, I wanted to. But something inside me always stopped it. Some deep, rooted fear I couldn’t name.

Caius must have seen the conflict in my face because he stepped back, sighing. “Fine. If you won’t shift, then you run.”

I frowned. “Run?”

“Until your body gives out,” he said, echoing my words from earlier.

My pulse quickened. “What—?”

But before I could finish, Caius lunged.

I barely had time to react before he was on me, his hand grabbing my wrist and yanking me forward. Instinct took over, and I twisted away, stumbling back.

“Run, Lyra.” His voice was low, dangerous.

My breath hitched.

Then, I ran.

The forest blurred around me, the cold air biting at my skin. My feet pounded against the earth, twigs snapping beneath me as I pushed forward.

But Caius was right behind me.

I could hear him moving effortlessly, his presence a looming force in the darkness.

I pushed harder, my lungs burning, my legs screaming. Every ounce of strength I had left was poured into escaping him.

But it wasn’t enough.

A blur of movement.

Then—impact.

I hit the ground hard, my breath knocked from my lungs as Caius pinned me down.

My heart pounded in my ears, my body trembling from exertion.

Caius leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re still holding back.”

I swallowed hard, my breath shaky.

He wasn’t wrong.

I was still trapped—by my own fears, my own limits.

And if I didn’t break past them…

I would never be strong enough.

Not for revenge.

Not for survival.

Not for anything.

Caius pulled back, his silver eyes searching mine. “Again.”

And so, we did it again.

And again.

Until the sun began to rise, and my body could no longer move.

Until I collapsed, completely and utterly spent.

And as I lay there, chest heaving, the first rays of dawn washing over me, I realized something.

I wasn’t broken.

Not yet.

But I was close.

And if I wanted to survive, I had to break through—before someone else broke me first.