The years passed quietly—too quietly. Ivyra grew, but the seal remained. Dormant, pulsing faintly beneath her skin like a second heartbeat.
The village they had settled in, nestled deep within the Frostmourne Forest, treated them not as family, but as a tolerated necessity. Elynn's healing skills had saved many. Her hands stitched flesh and coaxed breath back into lungs. Yet behind every grateful nod lurked unease.
They called her the Ghost Healer. They didn't call Ivyra anything.
At fifteen, Ivyra had outgrown her silence—but not her solitude.
She spoke only when needed, her voice calm and precise. She moved like mist, always watching, always sensing. Most nights she wandered the forest alone, where the trees remembered things the village wished to forget.
And the seal… it pulsed more now.
Sometimes in her sleep, it flared hot beneath her collarbone, stirring the dreams she couldn't control.
---
That morning, the mist had not yet lifted from the forest.
Ivyra slipped from the village before the sun could rise, drawn to the trees by a pressure building in her chest. The seal beneath her skin burned faintly, not with pain, but with... urgency.
The deeper she walked, the quieter the forest became.
Then, in a clearing surrounded by gnarled, silver-barked trees, she saw him.
The creature was massive—nearly ten feet tall—its fur shimmering with constellations, stars flickering and fading with each breath. Its eyes glowed a molten silver, piercing through the mist as though it were born of it.
It said nothing at first. Neither did Ivyra.
Then—
> "You have the scent of starlight," the creature said, voice ancient and resonant.
> "And you carry the mark of a god forgotten by time."
Ivyra didn't blink.
> "And you're not afraid of me," it added, tilting its head.
> "Should I be?"
> "Most are."
> "Then they must be weak."
A flicker of amusement passed through the creature's glowing eyes.
> "You speak like someone who has bled more than she breathes."
> "You speak like something that's watched the world burn."
A pause. Then a ripple passed through the air, like the beast was unraveling.
In a flash of swirling mist, it shifted—shrinking down to the size of a small fox, no larger than Ivyra's hand, though the stars in his fur remained. He padded forward, light-footed and silent, tail arcing high.
> "Name's Lyxra. Primordial beast of the Celestial Realms. Or what remains of them."
> "Why are you here?"
> "To watch. To wait. To find a soul forged in ruin."
> "You speak in riddles."
> "So do old gods. We tend to resemble our creators."
He leapt gracefully onto a low-hanging branch, curling his body around it like a snake.
> "You've felt it, haven't you? The pull? The seal cracking piece by piece. You were marked the moment you took your first breath. Your soul isn't meant for this world."
> "I don't care what it was meant for."
> "But you will. Soon."
The seal flared. Ivyra winced, pressing her hand to her collarbone. Lyxra watched her closely, eyes dimming.
> "I could help. But help comes with a price."
> "Speak plainly."
> "A bond. Ancient and irreversible. I give you my power—my form, my strength. You give me a place to belong."
> "And if I refuse?"
Lyxra smirked.
> "Then we go our separate ways, and the gods hunt you down like a beast in a cage. Because that's what you are, Ivyra. A cage. A sealed weapon."
She met his gaze. Cold. Unwavering.
> "Show me the terms."
Lyxra uncurled and leapt from the branch. With a whisper, the shadows thickened, curling around them in a circle. Symbols—ancient and glowing—rose from the earth.
> "Do you accept me as your contracted beast? To share breath, blood, and shadow?"
> "I do."
> "Then speak your truth, and I will anchor it in flame."
Ivyra placed her hand over her seal.
> "I do not seek power. I seek silence. Control. And if the gods rise against me... I will rise higher."
The air cracked. Light burst from beneath them, swirling between her chest and Lyxra's body. In a pulse of searing heat, the symbols seared into the earth and vanished. A second mark formed just beneath the seal on Ivyra's chest—smaller, star-shaped.
Lyxra exhaled.
> "We're bound."
> "So be it."
---
The rest of the day passed in strange silence.
Lyxra followed her in his smaller form, perching on her shoulder, tail occasionally batting at her braid. He was playful. Loud. Dramatic.
> "You know, for someone so grim, you've got excellent hair."
> "Touch it again and I'll bury you in it."
> "Kinky."
> "Deadly."
He laughed, a low musical hum that echoed oddly in the trees.
But when dusk fell, and shadows thickened near the village, Lyxra's tone changed. He stiffened, his fur bristling.
> "Something's coming. Not divine. But not normal either."
And they heard it—a girl's voice, arguing with the guards.
Sprinting forward, Ivyra crept near the edge of the village, where a stranger—dust-covered and defiant—stood facing two hostile villagers.
> "Name's Serren. Not that it matters."
> "She reeks of sorcery," one villager hissed.
> "You reek of onions," Serren shot back.
Ivyra stepped into view.
> "Let her speak."
The men froze. Serren turned.
> "You their executioner or something?"
> "Worse," one man whispered.
> "She's... Ivyra."
Serren studied her. Measured. Then smirked.
> "Well, if you're letting me live, I guess I'll follow you."
> "Don't presume."
> "Don't assume."
Lyxra snorted.
> "This one's trouble. I like her."
Ivyra walked away.
Serren followed.
And in the trees above, the stars shimmered.
The bond had been forged. The storm had only just begun.