1
LYRA
The morning light filters through the crystalline windows of the aerie’s hybrid clinic, casting rainbows across my workspace. Eight months since Elena first integrated Storm Eagle healing with Haven’s Heart technology, and the impossible has become routine. Holographic displays float beside ancient healing glyphs carved into living stone, their blue light pulsing in rhythm with the mountain’s heartbeat.
I move between stations with practiced efficiency, checking on patients who would have been enemies just a year ago. A young wolf shifter from Zane’s Shadow Clan sits on the examination table, his leg twisted at an unnatural angle from a hunting accident. He watches me with the wary respect all the wild clans show toward healers—part reverence, part fear.
“This might tingle,” I warn, placing my hands on either side of the break.
Silver-blue light flows from my palms, sinking into muscle and bone. The energy seeks the injury like water finding cracks in stone. Through my healer’s sense, I feel the fracture knitting, cells multiplying at accelerated speed, calcium deposits strengthening the weak points. Elena’s techniques merged withtraditional Storm Eagle healing create something neither culture could achieve alone.
The wolf’s eyes widen as the pain fades. “That’s... different from our pack healers.”
“Different doesn’t mean wrong,” I say, helping him test the newly healed leg. “Just another path to the same destination.”
He nods slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. Integration isn’t just about treaties and territory—it’s about moments like this, when strangers learn to trust.
“Impressive work, as always.”
Elder Tempest’s voice makes me look up. My mentor stands in the doorway, her silver-streaked hair gleaming like moonlight. She’s one of the few Storm Eagles who embraced Elena’s methods from the beginning, recognizing evolution when she saw it.
“The integration techniques are remarkable,” I say, disposing of the used supplies. “The healing is faster, more complete. Elena’s research on shifter biology opened doors we didn’t even know existed.”
“Knowledge shared is knowledge doubled,” Tempest agrees, but her eyes hold something else—a knowing that makes my skin prickle. “You have a particular gift for seeing what others miss, don’t you?”
My hands still for a fraction of a second before resuming their work. “I’ve been well trained.”
“Hmm.” She doesn’t push, but the weight of her gaze follows me as I move to the supply cabinet. Tempest has always seen too much, understood too much. Sometimes I wonder if she knows about my other sight, the one I’ve hidden since childhood.
A human trader enters the clinic, cradling his wrist against his chest. “Fell off my wagon,” he explains sheepishly. “Tried to catch myself wrong.”
I guide him to a chair, gently taking his arm. The moment my fingers touch his wrist, the world tilts.
A vision hits me.
The bone, three days from now. He’s reaching for a heavy crate, confident the wrist has healed enough. But there’s a weak point I can see now, clear as sunrise—a stress fracture that will splinter catastrophically under that exact angle of pressure. His scream echoes in my mind, the sound of bone snapping like dried wood.
I blink hard, pulling myself back to the present. The trader is watching me with concern. “Miss? You alright?”
“Fine,” I manage, focusing on the actual injury rather than the future one. “Just assessing the damage.”
I adjust my healing approach, sending extra energy to reinforce that specific weak point my vision revealed. The silver-blue light pools deeper there, strengthening what would have failed. When I’m done, his wrist will be stronger than before the break.
“There,” I say, releasing his arm. “But be careful with heavy lifting for the next week. Let it fully settle.”
He flexes his fingers experimentally, amazement clear on his weathered face. “Incredible. Thank you, healer.”
After he leaves, I lean against the counter, breathing through the lingering disorientation. The visions have been coming more frequently lately—small glimpses, manageable moments. But they always leave me shaky, reminded of the burden I carry alone.
“Take a break,” Tempest suggests. “You’ve been here since dawn.”
I want to protest, but exhaustion weighs on my bones. “Perhaps a short one.”
I’m organizing medical supplies in the storage room, trying to clear my mind, when it hits me.
This vision doesn’t creep in like the others. It slams into me with the force of an avalanche, ripping me from the present and hurling me into a future I don’t want to see.
So much snow, pristine white turned crimson with blood that steams in the frigid air. A man on his knees—massive, powerful, brought low by wounds that even I can see are mortal. His eyes are silver, and they catch the light like precious metal, but that light is fading.
