The Masked Muse

Prologue

The night was alive with the symphony of the forest, the rustle of leaves, and the distant howl of wolves mingling in the crisp air. In the heart of the clearing, the Silvercrest Pack had gathered for the sacred Choosing Ceremony, a night of anticipation and hope for the young wolves eager to discover their destinies.

Among them stood Lyra, her fur a blend of midnight black and silver, her amber eyes reflecting the flickering light of the moon above. She had trained tirelessly, honing her skills and dreaming of the day she would be recognized as a true member of her pack.

But as the elders gathered around the sacred fire, their faces etched with solemnity, Lyra felt a knot form in the pit of her stomach. There was something in their gaze, a coldness that sent a shiver down her spine.

When it was her turn to step forward, Lyra approached the fire with a mixture of hope and trepidation. But as the elders studied her, their judgment was swift and merciless.

"Lyra," the elder spoke, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of tradition, "you have been deemed unworthy. You are not fit to bear the mark of our pack."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence, each syllable driving a dagger into Lyra's heart. She stood frozen, unable to comprehend the magnitude of their judgment.

As the pack turned their backs on her, casting her out into the darkness, Lyra felt the weight of their rejection crush her spirit. She was alone, abandoned by the very family she had sworn to protect.

With tears streaming down her fur, Lyra fled into the night, disappearing into the shadows of the forest. And as the echoes of her howls faded into the distance, she vowed to never again trust in the bonds of pack loyalty. For in a world where even the moon could betray you, there was only one law that mattered:

Survival.