I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter 129: Shadows Lifted, Smoke Remains
Lucas's Perspective
By the time Lucas made his way back through the winding path to the Lockwood Estate, the ache in his shoulder had vanished entirely, as though it had never existed. Where only minutes earlier there had been torn flesh and searing pain, there was now smooth skin and a faint shimmer beneath the light. The puncture wound had sealed itself long before the gravel under his boots stopped crunching, leaving behind no trace of the injury except a lingering memory that his body refused to keep.
He stepped inside the grand, silent mansion. The air was cold, still carrying the chill of early morning. In the gilded washroom mirror, Lucas caught a brief reflection of himself — little pale, weary-eyed, streaked with dirt and blood that wasn't entirely his. He ran the tap until the water turned warm and watched crimson spirals fade down the drain, washing away the evidence of the death he left behind in the woods.
Beneath his skin, he felt it— the remnants of the foreign and unnatural presence — fading away, like a shadow drawing back into the dark. A reminder that even victories in Beacon Hills never came clean.
Hours later, when the sun had fully taken hold of the sky, the three of them gathered in Isaac's living room. The atmosphere was dim and heavy, shaped by unspoken thoughts. The curtains were drawn tight, keeping the sun out—or perhaps, trying to keep something else from slipping in. Malia leaned against the far wall with her arms folded, her expression unreadable but her posture tense. Isaac sat on the couch, his restlessness bleeding through in the way he twirled a pencil between his fingers—fast, then slow, then fast again. Lucas stood near the window, his silhouette outlined by the light. His eyes stared past the glass, into the distance, as if searching for something he knew he wouldn't find.
When he finally turned to face them, he didn't waste time. No dramatic buildup, no lingering suspense. Just the truth.
He told them everything.
The "mysterious figure"—the shadowy force that had been pulling strings from the dark, setting hunters and wolves against each other—wasn't a person at all. Not anymore. It had never been just a man. What they'd been chasing, fighting, fearing… was a parasite. Ancient. Sentient. A thing that latched onto the dead and wore them like suits of flesh. The man they thought they were fighting had died long before any of them ever laid eyes on him. What remained was a shell animated by something far worse—something cunning, hollow, and patient. A predator with no face of its own, content to use others as tools in its long, slow game.
When he finished, silence stretched across the room like static caught between lightning strikes. The only sound was Isaac's pencil, faintly tapping his knee before falling from his hand.
Isaac broke the stillness first. "So… it wasn't a person at all?"
Lucas shook his head slowly. "No. Just a parasite pretending to be one."
Isaac's brow furrowed as he tried to wrap his head around it. "But why? Why go through all that? Turning people on each other, igniting old blood feuds between the Hales and the Argents... it even killed three hunters just to keep the conflict going."
Lucas let out a long breath as he sank into the armchair, suddenly feeling the weight of everything he'd just said. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes closing briefly. "I don't know, Isaac. This isn't some TV drama where the bad guy pauses in the middle of a tense situation to monologue about his tragic backstory and master plan."
He let his head rest against the cushion, voice a little quieter. "Whatever its reasons were… it's gone now. And that's what matters. The game it was playing? It's over."
Across the room, Malia let out a breath through her nose—part sigh, part release of tension. "Good," she said, her voice edged with fatigue and something darker—anger, maybe. "That parasitic bastard did nothing but try to ruin our lives. Manipulating people, making us fight each other… I say we stop wasting our time trying to understand it and start thinking about what comes next."
She looked between the two of them, her gaze sharp. "The Argents aren't going to back off. Not after this. If they think we're a threat, they'll come for Isaac—and the rest of us too."
Lucas nodded slowly, his eyes still distant but focused now with purpose. "And when they do... we can't afford to be caught off guard."
No one spoke after that. The silence that followed wasn't tense, but it wasn't calm either. It was the silence that settles in after a long battle has ended—but before the next one begins.
Outside, the wind began to shift, and in that sound there was a premonition — that this day, though still, was only an intermission before the next act began.