Grace of a Wolf

Chapter 152: Lyre: Anchors and Divinities

LYRE

Grace looks like a spooked deer, and I reign in my arcana hard. The poor thing’s a mess. Thankfully, she slept through my little spat with her royal leech last night.

I sigh.

"The storm’s one of his signatures. He likes a dramatic entrance, but it’s not all his fault. Chaos can’t really exist without..." My hands flutter in the air. "Chaos."

"Uh-huh." Grace just looks more confused than ever as she finishes making her cup of coffee. She slides into the bench opposite with me and takes a slow sip, her eyes finally meeting mine without sliding all over the place.

Guess it’s finally time to turn the poor girl’s world upside down.

She sucks in a deep breath. "So, did I sign my own death warrant by meeting him?"

"No, no. Nothing like that."

I tap my finger against the table, watching the girl across from me. Grace is trying so hard to appear casual, but her entire body’s strung tight and her leg keeps jiggling under the table.

"Have you seen any strange apps on your phone recently?" I ask, keeping my voice deliberately light.

Her eyes widen immediately. "Yes! I got this weird notification from Chaos through it. I can’t open it whenever I want, though."

Well, shit.

The confirmation wasn’t really necessary, but it still sucks to hear it.

I sigh deeply, the sound dragging out of me like it weighs a thousand pounds. "Yeah. It’s probably because Chaos pushed up the timeline of your fate."

"What does that mean?" Grace leans forward, her coffee forgotten. She’s a bloodhound of a human now, latching onto the possibility of answers in her strange new life.

I shake my head. Some truths aren’t mine to deliver, and frankly, I’m not in the mood to be smote before lunch. "That’s not something I’m free to share."

Her face falls.

"More importantly, Grace, do you understand what Chaos is?" noveldrama

The girl hesitates, fiddling with her cup, spinning it between her palms. "If angels exist, then my assumption would be Chaos is the devil?"

The laugh that bursts from me is genuine. The same tired binary. Good versus evil. Heaven versus hell. As if existence could be packaged so neatly.

"You’re not exactly wrong, but also, you’re very wrong."

Her brow furrows adorably.

"Chaos isn’t a who," I explain, "but a what. Chaos is closer to the type of existence one might call ’God’ or ’Goddess.’"

She frowns, opening her mouth to ask what appears to be one of fifty burning questions judging by the look in her eyes. I hold up my hand, stopping her before she can derail us.

"Three ancient gods—to put it in a way you might understand—exist and rule this world and others. Order, Chaos, and Balance." I count them off on my fingers, trying to simplify concepts that predate language itself. "All other gods fall under their purview. The Goddess most wolves pray to would be considered a minor divinity, for example. She does not have the power one would think she has compared to a primal divinity, such as Wrath or Justice."

Grace stares at me blankly, looking like she’s trying to solve differential equations in her head.

"Are you still following?"

She nods slowly. "Kind of."

"To put it simply, you had a brief visit with Chaos. One of the three ultimate divinities in this world. As you can imagine, chaos is his purview. Anything to disrupt order in this world is under his reign. Like you."

Predictably, she blinks again. "Me?"

"Yes. You."

I wait for her to process this new line of information.

"How am I... disrupting order?"

"To be precise, you aren’t disrupting order. Your existence does. Did Chaos say anything to you about Anchors?"

She nods. "Sort of. He called me an Anchor."

I grin. "Yes, he would. That’s because you are one."

I let the silence simmer a little longer. Part of it is for my amusement, of course—watching the confusion grow in Grace’s eyes. But most of it’s for her to digest this information at her own pace.

But also because I’m weighing and judging what I can and cannot reveal to this child who’s stepped into the realm of gods.

It’s a painful balancing act, but Time has failed us both, letting this happen under his watch.

The apologies flooding my inbox aren’t nearly enough to douse the irritation Chaos has roused in me. Daring to touch Grace, to push her when she isn’t ready...

"Okay. I’ll bite. What’s an Anchor, Lyre?"

I reach across the table and poke Grace’s nose, making her blink in surprise. "What do you think an Anchor is, little miss?"

She sits back, frustration creasing her brow. The girl has such an expressive face—all her emotions play across it in high definition. Right now, she’s vacillating between annoyed and desperate, caught between wanting to tell me to go to hell and begging for answers.

"Why do I have to guess? Can’t you just tell me?" Her voice edges into a whine, one hand curling around her coffee mug like it’s a lifeline.

It isn’t the type of whine a child might use, but more like... an annoyed younger sister.

It’s cute.

"Because, darling, you’ve been walking a very interesting path. You must have some theories by now." I tap my nail against my own mug, studying her. "You’ve been feeling things, haven’t you? Sensing things? I’ve rarely seen someone face so many extraordinary circumstances in such a short window of time without developing a working hypothesis."

The frustration slowly melts from her face. Behind it, something thoughtful emerges—cautious but genuinely curious. She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek as she thinks.

"Well..." she starts, voice quiet. "Caine mentioned that I seem to... calm him."

I nod, letting the silence stretch just long enough to encourage her to continue.

"And when we touch, I could feel the energy—like gold threads connecting us." Her words pick up speed. "When Bun shifted and lost control, I was able to reach her somehow. And last night with Caine..." She stops, a flush invading her cheeks. "There was something there. Something powerful. It felt like he was pulling something out of me. Or maybe we were sharing it?"

I watch her work through it, pieces clicking into place behind those intelligent green eyes. The girl isn’t stupid—just woefully uninformed and drowning in supernatural existence.

"So whatever I’m doing, I’m... anchoring Caine, right?"

She’s closer than she realizes. I nod again, more deliberately this time.

"Caine feels less..." She gestures vaguely with her hands, searching for the word. "Less volatile around me. Less dangerous. Is that what an Anchor does? Stabilizes things?"

My lips curve into a smile. Not bad for a child who was raised by wolves with absolutely zero magical education. Granted, the signs were there in blazing neon, but still.

"Indeed." I lean back, weighing how much to tell her—how much I’m permitted to tell her. The lines between guidance and interference blur so easily. "An Anchor is exceedingly rare."

Grace’s eyebrows lift. "So I’m special?"

"Didn’t you already know that?"

She laughs a little, but it’s awkward. "You knew I was an Anchor when we first met, then?"

"Of course."