PROJECT: CAYRO

Star Zaraki:

September 11, 2025

22:42 CST

SkyTeam Stadium

Cedar Rapids IA.

The attack on the stadium hadn’t lasted long. My team and I had carved through the enemy quickly, leaving a trail of bodies behind us. The realization that they couldn’t win led several of the attackers to surrender. I thought the carnage we left in our wake was brutal—until I entered Cayro’s battlefield.

Nothing could have prepared me for the horrific scene that lay before me. It was like stepping into a nightmare, one that even the darkest parts of my mind had never conjured. Body parts and organs were scattered across the floor like discarded debris, a grotesque display of brutality. At the center of it all was a man, his chest ripped open, ribs splayed out like grotesque wings. His heart, mangled and barely recognizable, lay discarded at his feet. Another man was slumped against a wall, his entrails spilling from a gaping wound in his abdomen. And the blood—God, the blood—it was everywhere, staining the floor, walls, and even the ceiling in a sickening red that seemed to pulse with the echoes of violence. It was a slaughter, pure and simple. I stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from the carnage.

A heavy claw rested on my shoulder, pulling me back to the present. Director Staroko stood beside me in his wolf form, his grip firm, yet somehow comforting amidst the horror. His eyes, reflecting sorrow and pity, surveyed the scene with a weariness that spoke of countless battles. The sight of the fallen wolves before us, their bodies lifeless among the massacre, weighed heavily on him. Nine wolves, at least—each one a life lost, a member of our pack gone forever. The toll this attack had taken was staggering, and the bitter truth settled in my chest like a stone: this bloodshed, this loss, was because of us. We brought this hell upon them.

Two brown wolves, both drenched in blood, approached us, flanking a stunning silver wolf whose fur was equally matted with the gore of battle. In her arms, she cradled Cayro. My heart stopped as I took in his limp form, his sapphire eyes open but unfocused, staring into nothing. Panic surged through me. Why wasn’t he moving? Was he… no, he couldn’t be. Please, Gods, no.

The silver wolf stepped forward, her expression a mix of fear and concern as she gently passed Cayro to Director Staroko. His body was slick with blood, his once-vibrant aura now dulled by the weight of whatever had happened here. A brown wolf handed me Cayro’s helmet, the dark visor smeared with blood, obscuring the memories of the battle it had witnessed. I took it with trembling hands, my voice lost to the horror of the moment.

“What happened, Lyra?” Director Staroko’s gravelly tone broke through the silence.

“We hunted, Sir,” she replied, her voice equally rough, yet tinged with submission.

“I meant what happened to him?” Director Staroko asked again, his patience laced with underlying urgency as he looked down at Cayro’s motionless form.

“I don’t know, Sir. He was fine until the battle ended. Then he… took off his helmet and vomited,” she explained, her gaze falling to a patch of vomit near the mutilated corpse with the exposed chest.

“Head to the mansion with the others. Get cleaned up. We’ll discuss everything later, after we’ve accounted for everyone.” His tone was calm, but the worry etched on his face betrayed his true feelings as he took Cayro from the she wolf.

Lyra bowed her head before turning away, gathering the remaining wolves and leading them away from the carnage. Director Staroko looked down at me, concern deepening the lines on his face.

“He’s not dead, Star,” he said softly, his voice a lifeline in the sea of my despair.

The tension in my chest eased slightly as I focused on Cayro, the man who had become my closest friend, my anchor, and the love of my life. I watched intently, relief washing over me as I saw the faint movement of his nostrils, a sign that he was still breathing, still with me—if only just.

“What do you think is wrong with him?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, the words muffled by my helmet.

“I’m not sure,” Director Staroko replied in an equally soft tone, his concern evident. “Let’s get him back to the mansion. Doctor Volkova is already on her way there with Scuzball.”

I nodded, too consumed by worry to speak further. Together, we began the long walk back to the mansion, leaving behind the grisly remnants of the battle. The journey felt endless as we trudged past more bodies, each one a grim reminder of the violence that had unfolded. By the time we reached the mansion, it was a hive of activity. A makeshift triage area had been set up on the driveway, where those who had survived the chaos were being treated. Wolves, some in human form and others still shifted, stood guard or helped where they could, rifles in hand. The entire mansion was now under armed watch, the tension in the air palpable. No one questioned us as we walked through the throng and into the mansion’s grand entrance.

Inside, the scene was one of controlled chaos. SkyTeam members rushed about, handling the myriad tasks that had arisen in the aftermath of the attack. Director Staroko let out a sharp, long whistle, cutting through the noise and bringing everyone to a halt. As if on cue, they all turned and moved out of his way, clearing a path for us. He led me to the large dining room, where several members bowed their heads in respect as we passed—a gesture that made me feel slightly uneasy, as though we were royalty amidst the chaos.

Once inside the dining room, Director Staroko gently laid Cayro down on the large dining table. I barely had time to process the scene before Doctor Volkova burst through the door, her face a mask of urgency. She rushed to Cayro’s side, pulling a penlight from her pocket and shining it into his unresponsive eyes. She worked quickly, checking him over before looking up at me with a stern expression.

“Star, get the suit off him, now,” she ordered.

Without hesitation, I began unlatching the various pieces of Cayro’s suit, my hands moving swiftly despite the fear gnawing at my insides. When I removed the chest plate, I half-expected to find a wound we had somehow missed, but there was nothing—no cuts, no bruises, not even a scratch. He was physically unharmed. Doctor Volkova pulled the stethoscope from around her neck and listened to his chest, her brow furrowing in concern as she leaned back.

“He’s perfectly fine physically. There are no wounds that I can see or feel,” she reported, her voice tinged with confusion.

“What do you think is wrong, then, Katrina?” Director Staroko asked, his tone calm but with an underlying urgency.

“I have no earthly idea, Stephan. What exactly happened to him?” she asked, her gaze shifting between us.

“We’re not sure. Lyra brought him to us like this,” he replied, the worry deepening in his eyes.

“Get her in here now, Stephan,” Doctor Volkova demanded, her voice brooking no argument.

As Director Staroko moved to the door, I focused on Cayro’s still form, my mind racing with a thousand questions and no answers. I barely noticed when Director Staroko called for Lyra. I was too preoccupied with the hope that there might be some clue in Cayro’s implants, something that could explain this sudden and terrifying change.

“Star, do you think you can ask Scuzball to run diagnostics on his implants? Maybe they’ll reveal something,” Doctor Volkova suggested, her voice breaking through my thoughts.

“Sure,” I responded quickly, accessing my comms link and sending a mental nudge to Scuzball. It didn’t take long for him to reply.

“What’s up, Star?” he asked, his usual upbeat tone a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation.

“We need you to run diagnostic tests on Cayro’s implants. Something’s happened to him, and he’s not responding. Physically, he’s fine, but… something’s wrong,” I explained, my voice tight with worry.

“Give me a moment,” Scuzball replied before going silent.

Meanwhile, Director Staroko returned, Lyra following closely behind. She entered the room with a hurried pace, bowing her head to me and then to Director Staroko. Realizing I still had my helmet on, I quickly removed it, letting my hair fall free. As I shook my head to get my hair to settle, I noticed Lyra staring at me, a look of surprise etched on her face.

“What happened, Lyra?” Doctor Volkova asked, her voice demanding answers as she looked over at the silver wolf.

Lyra hesitated for a moment before responding, her tone low and filled with uncertainty. “We hunted, Ma’am,” she replied, but the weight of her words hung in the air, leaving much unsaid.

“Lyra, I need you to tell me exactly what happened to Master Bracton,” Director Staroko demanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife.

I turned my attention to Lyra as she began to recount the events, each word tightening the knot in my stomach. She detailed how Cayro had found them, led the wolves into battle, and finally, how he had brutally gutted one man and then slowly, methodically, ripped the heart out of another. By the time she finished, my hands were trembling, covering my mouth in horror as tears welled up in my eyes. This wasn’t like the last time when Cayro had gone feral—this was something far worse. I stared at him, lying motionless on the table, trying to reconcile the man I loved with the monster Lyra had just described.

“So, he initiated the Call of the Hunt?” Director Staroko asked, his tone calm, though I could sense the weight behind his words. There was an underlying gravity in his voice, something ancient and primal.

“Yes, Sir,” Lyra responded, her voice steady but submissive.

“That would explain the bloodbath he and your group left behind,” he continued, his tone measured.

“Yes, Sir,” she repeated, her gaze fixed on the floor.

“And after the battle, he ended up like this?” Director Staroko asked, nodding towards Cayro’s limp form.

“Yes, Sir,” Lyra answered once more, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank you, Lyra. You may go now,” he said, dismissing her. But as he turned towards Cayro and Doctor Volkova, she hesitated.

“Sir, I would like to stay and help my Alpha, if I may,” she asked, her tone filled with a mixture of respect and determination.

Director Staroko slowly turned back to her, his expression shifting to one of irritation and barely restrained anger. I could see his left eye twitching as he regarded her.

“What do you mean by your Alpha, Lyra?” he asked, his voice dropping into a dangerously low register.

“He is my Alpha, Sir, and she is my Luna,” Lyra replied, pointing at me before instinctively cowering under the Director’s intense gaze.

“Fuck…” Director Staroko spat out, turning to look at me, his frustration evident.

“Star, it’s up to you if she stays or not,” he said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“What do you mean it’s up to me?” I asked, confusion lacing my words.

“Cayro initiated the Call of the Hunt during a time of hardship, and she answered it,” Doctor Volkova explained, stepping forward to stand beside the Director.

“I have no idea what that means,” I admitted, looking at her, searching for answers. Her eyes shimmered with a soft amber glow, reflecting the gravity of the situation.

“The Call of the Hunt is an old and largely forgotten Lycan tradition,” Doctor Volkova began, her tone patient yet serious. “It was once used by alphas to summon submissive wolves during times of great need, especially when no dominant wolves were available to lead. By the sheer force of his will, Cayro has inadvertently made Lyra a beta wolf. Since you are his mate, that makes you her Luna.”

“What’s a Luna?” I asked, the term unfamiliar and strange.

“The female alpha of a pack,” Doctor Volkova stated bluntly, her words hitting me like a physical blow.

“Oh…” was all I could manage, the weight of the situation settling heavily on my shoulders.

“Yeah… ‘Oh’ is an understatement,” Director Staroko snarled, clearly displeased with the turn of events.

“She can stay as long as she doesn’t hurt Cayro,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

Director Staroko let out a huff, his frustration evident, before pointing to a chair for Lyra to sit in. When she didn’t move, his lip began to curl in irritation. Sensing the tension, I looked into Lyra’s eyes and gave her a small nod towards the chair. She quickly obeyed, quietly taking a seat. I sighed, turning my focus back to Cayro, desperate to understand what had happened to him.

A silhouette of Cayro’s body appeared on the outer edge of my helmet’s HUD sitting on the table as Scuzball began his diagnostic. One by one, the implants in Cayro’s body lit up, changing from orange to green with a checkmark next to each one, starting from his feet and working upwards. Everything seemed normal until Scuzball reached Cayro’s neural implants. Suddenly, the display shifted to three different charts. The first was labeled "Neural Net," the second "Active Brain Patterns," and the third "Subconscious Brain Patterns." My heart sank as I saw that both the Neural Net and Active Brain Pattern charts were nearly flatlined, while the Subconscious Brain Pattern chart was erratically bouncing all over the place.

“What are we looking at, Scuzball?” I asked, my voice tight with anxiety.

“Essentially, Cayro is in a catatonic state,” Scuzball explained, his usually lively tone now somber as it echoed through my helmet’s external speaker. “He’s experienced something so traumatic that his brain has gone into a state of shock, causing him to retreat into himself.”

“Will he be okay?” I asked, the question coming out more like a plea, my nerves fraying at the edges.

“In the short term, yes,” Scuzball replied. “But this could last anywhere from a few hours to several months. It all depends on whether he can pull himself out of it.”

I closed my eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath. It wasn’t as bad as I feared, but the uncertainty gnawed at me, keeping the worry fresh in my mind.

“Thank you, Scuzball,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady.

“You’re welcome, Star,” he responded, his voice softening with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

I glanced over at Director Staroko and Dr. Volkova, both wearing expressions of deep concern that mirrored my own. The weight of everything that had happened pressed down on me, making it hard to think straight. I swallowed the lump in my throat, waiting for them to decide our next steps.

“Let’s get the two of you up to your room for the night,” Doctor Volkova finally said, her voice calm and measured. “All we can do now is wait and hope he pulls through. Today has been incredibly stressful for all of us. Stephan has a lot to manage, and I need to tend to the dozens of SkyTeam members who require medical care.”

I nodded, though the thought of leaving Cayro like this made my heart ache. I started to gather the various parts of Cayro’s suit, intending to carry them up to our room, but Director Staroko gently stopped me.

“You can leave those here, Star,” he said kindly. “I’ll have one of the house staff collect them, clean them, and bring them to your room.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I reached for Cayro, but before I could lift him, Lyra jumped out of her chair and hurried over.

“Luna, I will carry him for you,” she said in a subservient tone, lifting Cayro into her arms as if he weighed nothing. She cradled him gently, her movements careful and reverent. It grated on me that she was treating me with such deference, but I didn’t have the energy to confront it right now. I simply nodded and turned to lead the way out of the room.

We made our way to my bedroom in silence, the weight of the day pressing down on us. Once there, I directed Lyra to lay Cayro on the floor so we could remove the rest of his blood-soaked armor. With his suit finally off, Lyra carefully placed him on the bed, and I draped the blankets over him, tucking him in as if that simple act could somehow protect him from whatever horrors he was facing in his mind.

Afterward, I showed Lyra to Cayro’s room and offered it to her for the night. She accepted gratefully, closing the door behind her as I left. During our brief conversation on the way up, I learned she was fairly new to the company and didn’t have a permanent place to stay yet. She had been living with one of the other wolves while she searched for a home. Re-entering my bedroom, I shut the door behind me and began stripping off my own suit, tossing the pieces into a corner without care. Exhaustion weighed on me as I turned out the lights and crawled into bed beside Cayro. I molded myself around him, resting my head on his chest, finding some comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. At least it was strong and enduring. I silently prayed that he would come back to me soon. As the day’s events finally caught up with me, my eyes grew heavy, and I drifted off to sleep.

Three days passed, and Cayro remained unresponsive. The first day without him was the hardest. I didn’t want to leave his side, afraid that I might miss the moment when he woke up. Scuzball had promised to monitor him while I helped with the cleanup, but his assurances did little to ease my worry. It was Lyra who helped me through that first day. She stayed by my side in her wolf form, quietly assisting with anything I needed. Though she didn’t speak much, her presence was a comfort I hadn’t realized I needed. Doctor Volkova checked in on us regularly, taking time away from her work to ensure we were both holding up. Director Staroko, on the other hand, was largely absent, likely overwhelmed with the responsibilities thrust upon him. I was relieved to learn that Lyra was the only one affected by Cayro’s Call of the Hunt. The thought of leading a pack amidst all this chaos was daunting, and I was grateful I didn’t have to shoulder that burden—at least not yet.

Day two passed in a blur. We continued the grim task of cleaning up, but at least all the dead had been collected and sent to the hospital for storage as preparations began for the burial ceremony. The men captured during the attack were placed in holding cells within the headquarters building. Director Staroko had decided to delay the interrogations until everything else was in order. We all had a pretty good idea of who sent them, but Director Staroko wanted to extract every bit of information he could from them. As for what he planned to do with the men afterward, I wasn’t sure. A dark part of me hoped they wouldn’t make it out alive, but I knew that wasn’t right. The Captain would have taken prisoners and abandoned them somewhere remote, leaving them to figure out how to survive on their own. I remembered a similar situation from years ago when a trade deal had gone bad. That evening, we gathered for a large dinner at the mansion, sharing a meal with the survivors. We had lost nearly a third of the company staff during the battle. The attack had hit us at the worst possible time, catching everyone gathered together, which led Director Staroko to suspect a leak. The timing was too precise to be a coincidence.

That evening, I asked the house staff to bring Lyra’s belongings to the mansion. Together, she and I set up Cayro’s room as her own. By the time we finished, it was well into the night. Lyra hadn’t shifted back to her human form, and when I asked her why, she chose not to answer. I didn’t push the issue, sensing she needed space to process everything in her own way.

Day three was the funeral. A cold front had moved in, and dark clouds filled the sky as everyone gathered in the same hangar bay where we’d held the luncheon just days ago. I wore a black dress that I had found hanging on my closet door the night before. Doctor Volkova had brought it for me when she came to check on Cayro. She also brought a dress for Lyra that would fit her even in her six-and-a-half-foot wolf form. I have to admit, seeing Lyra in a dress while still in her wolf form was oddly comical, though I kept that thought to myself. She wasn’t the only one who hadn’t shifted back—several company members remained in their wolf forms, standing solemnly beside their human counterparts. During the ceremony, I noticed Cameron sitting next to his father. The bullet that had hit him missed his heart, passing straight through his body. He was one of the first to reach the hospital, which ultimately saved his life. His wounds had already begun to heal, allowing him to attend the funeral. Unfortunately, two members of Team Balfour weren’t as lucky. They were found dead outside the stadium, having died while trying to help others escape. The funeral lasted several hours, a somber reminder of the cost we had all paid.

By the time Lyra and I returned to the mansion, the sky had opened up, pouring rain down on us. The rest of the afternoon was spent playing card games with a few of the house staff, a welcome distraction from the weight of the day. Eventually, I decided I was ready for bed. As I lay on Cayro’s chest, I talked to him about my day, about how much I missed him. I told him how Lyra was becoming a close friend and how lost I would have been without her support. I spent hours just talking to him, sharing my thoughts and fears, hoping that somehow, my words would reach him. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I fell asleep beside him.

Now it was the fourth day, and I was lying in bed next to Cayro, reading a book by Ilona Andrews to him. It was a story about a woman who found her guardian dead and set out to investigate what had happened to him. I had woken up late, and for the first time in a long while, I didn’t want to do anything. I had told Lyra to take some time for herself while I spent the day with Cayro. I was a quarter of the way through the book when I felt Cayro’s hand twitch in my lap. My heart skipped a beat. Setting the book down, I leaned over him, my breath caught in my throat, hoping—praying—that this was the sign I had been waiting for.

“Cayro?” I asked softly, cupping his cheek, not really expecting a response. Over the past few days, he’d twitched a few times, but Doctor Volkova had assured me it was just involuntary movement—nothing to indicate he was waking up.

But then, without warning, I was thrown back as Cayro shot upright, screaming. The raw sound of fear filled the room, and I could feel it pouring off him in waves. Instinctively, I scrambled back onto the bed, straddling his lap and cupping his cheeks in my hands, forcing him to look at me. His eyes, still the dark sapphire blue, were wild with terror.

“Cayro! It’s okay! You’re safe!” I yelled, desperate to reach him.

His screams gradually died down, replaced by deep, shuddering sobs as he slumped against me, burying his head in the crook of my neck. His body trembled uncontrollably as hot tears soaked through my shirt and onto my skin. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him as tightly as I could.

“Shhh… It’s okay. I’m right here,” I whispered, trying to soothe him, my voice gentle despite the storm of emotions raging inside me.

The bedroom door flew open, and a figure burst in—a small wraith of a girl with long, silver hair and olive skin. Her face was a mask of shock, worry, and panic. She was no taller than five feet, with features that suggested South American descent.

“Lady Zaraki! Is everything okay?” she asked in a girlish, sweet voice that was oddly familiar, though I couldn’t place it.

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded, startled and not recognizing her from the house staff.

“It’s me… Lyra!” she replied quickly.

My mind stalled for a moment, struggling to process what she’d said. This was Lyra? I just stared at her, holding Cayro as he wept, unable to reconcile the image of this petite girl with the six-and-a-half-foot-tall, fearsome wolf that had towered over me. It didn’t make any sense.

Before I could question her further, a couple of house staff members poked their heads in, drawn by the commotion. I quickly waved them away, then turned back to Lyra. Cayro had gone silent in my arms, but his body still trembled against me. He’d wrapped his arms around my waist, clinging to me like I was his lifeline.

“Lyra… Can you please go find Dr. Volkova?” I asked in a soft whisper, trying to keep my voice steady. Without hesitation, she dashed out of the room. I looked down at Cayro, gently rubbing his back.

“Cayro?” I whispered, hoping for some sign that he was coming back to me. He only tightened his hold on me, still not responding.

“Cayro, talk to me. Please?” I begged, my voice trembling with the weight of my fear and helplessness.

Then, in a voice so raw and broken that it shattered what was left of my composure, he managed to croak out, “I want to go home.”

I felt a lump rise in my throat as I gently ran my hand up the back of his neck, trying to reassure him. “We can’t, the Autumn isn’t safe,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I want to go home to Virginia… where my grandparents are,” he corrected, his voice muffled against my shoulder.

“Oh, okay. We can do that,” I agreed, willing to do anything to ease his pain.

Closing my eyes, I held him close, my mind racing as I tried to figure out what to say. Over the past few days, I had spent hours talking to Scuzball, trying to understand what had happened to Cayro. Scuzball had run every diagnostic test he could think of, analyzing the video, audio, and biometric data from Cayro’s suit. But no matter how much I begged, he refused to show me the footage or share the details. He only told me it had been bad—bad enough that he was certain Cayro would have PTSD. He said it would take time for Cayro to heal, time to get back to the man I knew and loved. But how much time? And would he ever truly be the same?

“Will you look at me?” I asked patiently, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, but then, slowly, he loosened his grip on me and looked up. What I saw in his eyes broke my heart all over again. Fear, sorrow, panic, regret, and devastation were etched into every line of his face. It was like he’d seen something so horrific, done something so unimaginable, that it had hollowed him out from the inside. I reached out mentally, trying to connect with him through our bond, but all I found was a dark void where he used to be. It was like he was gone, leaving behind only the shell of the man I desperately loved.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared into his empty sapphire gaze. I had no idea how to help him, no idea where to even begin. So I did the only thing I could—I held him close, cradling him in my arms as the world continued to move around us, hoping that somehow, I could bring him back from the darkness that had consumed him.