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The air grew cooler the farther down the steps Lyra went. It smelled damp, thick with earth and mildew. But layered beneath that were softer scents. Sage. Rosemary. Mint. Bergamot.
Candles lined the walls, their soft flickering light guiding her down the narrow passage until it opened into a small circular chamber. An ornate rug lay in the center, its edges worn from time. Candles burned in iron sconces, their flames casting long, dancing shadows. The walls were partially draped in faded fabrics, but tree roots jutted through the earthen ceiling and walls, as though nature itself was part of the structure. Soft cushions were scored across the floor, and off to one side, a heavy rocking chair stood like a throne.
A woman sat in it.
The witch.
Her hair was a shocking white, pulled into a severe bun. Her face was lined with deep wrinkles, each one a testament to time. She wore a plain brown shift and simple ballet flats, but a single ring, a sapphire, rested on her finger, matching the sharp blue of her eyes.
She tilted her head slightly, rocking slowly as she studied Lyra.
“So you’re the one,” she murmured. Her voice was low and lilting. “My dear Dylan said you would be coming.”
Lyra frowned at the familiarity in her tone. My dear Dylan? But she said nothing, only shifting uncomfortably as she glanced around the strange room.
“Come,” the witch said, motioning to one of the cushions on the floor. “Sit.”
Lyra hesitated. A warning prickled at the back of her neck. For a moment, she wondered if this had been a terrible mistake.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the witch said gently, her smile softening the lines of her face.” Dylan is quite fond of you. Just as he was of your mother.”
“You knew my mother?” Lyra asked, stepping cautiously into the room.
“No,” the witch said with a sigh. “I’m afraid I didn’t know her personally. But my dear Dylan considered her a friend. He spoke of her often.”
“You know Dr. Rockwell well, then?” Lyra asked, settling on the cushion nearest the stairs.
The witch’s smile deepened. “You could say
that.”
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She studied Lyra a moment longer before adding, “I’m Madeline.”
“Lyra,” she replied quietly.
Madeline nodded once. “The future Luna of your pack.”
Lyra hesitated, chewing her lip. “That’s not certain.”
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“Hmm,” Madeline murmured, eyes drifting toward the root–strewn ceiling. “It is, and it isn’t. So many things are decided long before we ever understand them. Fates written before we take our first breath.”
“You really believe that?” Lyra asked, her voice cautious.
“I do,” Madeline said. “But that doesn’t mean fate is immutable. We can rewrit pages. But the ink must be strong. The will behind it stronger.”
.e of the
Lyra folded her hands in her lap, then looked up. “Dr. Rockwell said you knew what my mother
was.”
“I do.” Madeline’s gaze sharpened. “I offered to tell Dylan, but he prefers not to know. He didn’t trust your former Alpha, especially after what happened to your mother.”
Lyra’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “What was she?”
Madeline’s eyes glinted in the candlelight. Your mother… was an Veriscent.”
Lyra’s breath caught, her eyebrows knitting together. “A what?”
Madeline leaned forward slightly, her voice almost reverent. “An ancient type of seer. Very rare. Feared. Revered. And hunted.”
“Veriscent?” Lyra whispered.
Madeline nodded, her eyes never leaving Lyra’s. “They see more than just the surface. More than skin and words. They see essence. Emotion. Energy. Truth. They see the world in colors that no one else can.”
Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest. “You mean like auras?”
“Yes,” Madeline said. “But not just colors around people’s heads. Veriscents perceive the emotional imprint in every interaction, in every space. They can feel deceit in the colors of a lie. See the cracks in a person’s soul like spiderweb fractures of light.”
Lyra’s fingers twitched in her lap. “My mother could see colors sometimes. Around people. Around words. She wrote about it in her journals.”
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+25 Points
“It’s more than that. Veriscents also possess the ability to subtly manipulate emotions. They can calm even the harshest of angers. Soothe the worst storms of grief. Bring light to the
darkest sadness.”
Madeline leaned back into the chair. “Veriscents were once revered as counselors to kings and warlords, as spiritual guides, truth–seekers and protectors. But those who claimed power in ruthless ways, who lied and manipulated to deceive others, couldn’t deceive Veriscents. So they accused them of terrible things. Of manipulating others feelings for personal gain. Of hiding truth. Of misguiding. When the fear grew, the stories turned. Reverence became suspicion. Suspicion became danger.”
“What happened to them?”
“They were hunted,” Madeline replied. “Killed just for existing. Those that rema, went into hiding. They learned to hide their identities. To not tell others what they were. To hide their gifts.”
“My mother didn’t want people in the pack to know what she was,” Lyra recalled, thinking back on the journal.
“Understandable, given the history of her people. And look what happened to her. She trusted just a few people with her secret and they turned against her. Hated her. Tried to hide the truth so no one would know.”
A chill spread down Lyra’s spine. “I have this… gift… too?”
Madeline smiled faintly. “You do. It lives in your blood. It’s why you sense things others don’t. Why people instinctively mistrust you without understanding why.”
“I’ve only seen it a couple times,” she admitted. “Colors around people. Around words. It’s not consistent.”
Madeline nodded. “It’s dormant, but not gone. Trauma and disuse buried it. But it’s still there, waiting for you. Once you begin to embrace it, to train it, you will find it easier to use. But you must be cautious. When it comes back, it won’t be quiet. It will roar.”
Lyra shivered. “And the wolves here… they won’t accept it, will they?”
“It will be difficult,” Madeline said honestly. “You are something almost unheard of. They don’t have the imagination for it. But that doesn’t mean you should hide it. Powers like yours, hidden too long, turn inwards.”
“And the witches? They don’t like what I am either. That’s why they want me to leave.” Madeline nodded. “They don’t think you should exist, child. A werewolf and Veriscent, a
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hybrid. They feel you violate nature. Most witches, and werewolves for that matter, don’t like lines being crossed. Boundaries being blurred.” She blinked, her eyes going glassy. “Trust me. I understand that better than anyone.”
Lyra was quiet for a long moment. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap, her thoughts spinning like a storm.
“What do I do?” she asked finally.
Madeline tilted her head. “You learn. You reclaim what was taken from your mother. You become what she couldn’t live long enough to be.”
Lyra swallowed. “I don’t… I don’t know how.”
“You will learn.” Madeline stood slowly. “It’s inside you. Once you find the power, it will feel natural. You will just have to learn how to trust your instinct and intuition.”
She walked slowly across the room, pulling back a tapestry on the wall to reveal another room. She disappeared for a moment before returning with an old book in her hand.
“This is all I have about Veriscents.” She offered the book to Lyra. “It’s not much, but hopefully it will help you get started. Help guide you.”
Lyra took the book, old and heavy, settling it in her lap. Staring at the cover, she wondered what truths she was about to discover.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
