Lycaon stopped just outside the bars, his shadow spilling into the cell.
Cassius didn't move, but there was something in his expression, too calm for someone who should be broken.
"Strange night," Lycaon said, voice like steel. "Armies fall. Clans bleed. And yet… here you sit."
Cassius tilted his head, studying him. "Do you think I had a hand in it?"
"I think you've survived far too long for a creature in your position," Lycaon replied, taking a slow step closer. "And survival… usually has a cost."
Cassius's lips curved into the faintest, tired smirk. "And you think I'm the one collecting debts?"
"I think you know more than you're saying," Lycaon said, leaning just close enough for the faint hum of alpha power to press against the vampire's senses. "And I intend to find out—whether you want to tell me or not."
For a heartbeat, the silence between them felt heavier than the chains. The vampire didn't flinch."Careful, Lycaon… sometimes the truth you dig for is the very one that buries you."
Lycaon's eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—anger, maybe curiosity—passing through them. He didn't speak at first, letting the warning hang in the air like a blade between them.
Finally, he said, voice low and deliberate, "I will bear the truths that must see the light. You, vampire… tend to the truths that must remain in shadow."
The vampire's gaze lingered on Lycaon, as if measuring the weight behind his words. The faintest curl of a smirk touched his lips, though it was hard to tell if it was defiance… or something far more dangerous.
The dungeon seemed to grow colder, the air heavy with unspoken things. Lycaon straightened, his shadow stretching long across the silver-bound walls, and turned toward the door.
But just as he reached it, the vampire's voice followed him, quiet but sharp enough to cut through the silence."You think you're the one holding the leash, Lycaon. But tell me—"A pause, deliberate."When the chains break… will you still believe that?"
Lycaon froze for a heartbeat, then left without a word, the echo of the vampire's voice following him up the stone steps like a whisper he couldn't quite shake.
Outside the cell, the torchlight seemed dimmer, the shadows longer. And somewhere in the distance… a wolf howled.
Lycaon stepped out of the dungeon's heavy doors, the cold bite of the early dawn air brushing against his skin. The howls in the distance still lingered in his ears, but it was the presence ahead that made him slow his steps.
Alvric stood there, half-shrouded in shadow, his expression unreadable. The dim light caught the lines on his face—lines carved not by age alone, but by choices that had cost too much.
"Be wary of what you bring to the surface, son," Alvric said quietly, his voice low as if the stones themselves might overhear. "Some truths don't rest… even when buried."
Lycaon didn't answer. The weight of the vampire's words still clung to him, mixing with his father's warning into something that felt like a storm brewing behind his ribs.
Before he could press further, the sharp echo of boots on stone broke the moment. Another guard rushed toward them, his breathing ragged, grief etched into every line of his face.
"The west army…" he panted, pausing only long enough to gather the courage to say it aloud. "They've fallen. Completely. Both our wolves and the vampires—dead."
The words seemed to hang in the air, heavy, final. The dawn's first light broke over the horizon, but it felt less like a beginning… and more like a reckoning.
The news rang through the palace like a curse carried on the wind. Grief spread across the faces of those gathered—shock settling into their bones as if winter itself had crept inside.
In the great hall, the Black Alphas and Grey Alphas stood in grim silence, their presence a wall of steel and sorrow. Each had been summoned, each chosen, for what would now be a march into death or redemption.
Lycaon's gaze swept over them, their eyes avoiding his. They all knew—leading this mission was more than duty. It was sacrifice.
He stepped forward, his voice cutting through the silence. "We leave for the West. At once."
Armor clinked, heads bowed. No one dared question him.
As the warriors gathered their arms and prepared for departure, Alvric and Kaelen stood apart at the edge of the hall. Their roles were different now—guardians of the city and its borders, anchors to the home that might never see its sons return.
Lycaon spared them only a fleeting glance, but in that moment Kaelen's eyes burned with something unspoken—fear, loyalty, and the weight of a promise neither of them had voiced aloud.
Then, without another word, Lycaon turned and led the chosen into the fading night, the torches flickering like fragile hope behind them.
Kaelen couldn't falter now. Not as Lycaon's friend, not as the second heir, and certainly not as the Supreme Commander. The weight of the capital rested on his shoulders—its walls, its people, its very heartbeat. He had to protect what Lycaon loved most.
Alvric stood still, silent, as he watched his son's figure vanish into the gathering dark. His chest ached with a fear he had carried once before, the fear of sending someone he loved into a battle that may not return him.
The past was repeating—he could feel it in his bones, in the chill of his blood. And yet… this time, he had no choice but to trust. Trust that his son would rise above fate's cruel games. Trust that he would protect, endure, and return.
But the silence left in Lycaon's absence was louder than any war cry.
Cassius lay chained, his body slumped against the stone wall, half-dead from the relentless burn of silver and the merciless glare of light. Every breath dragged through him like fire, every heartbeat slowed by the curse that no vampire could ever overcome.
The commanders who once came to monitor his cell were gone now, stripped away by order or fear—leaving him in utter solitude.
No shadows. No silence. Only the blinding brightness that gnawed at his flesh and spirit alike.
He was not imprisoned by walls alone. He was imprisoned by light, by pain, by a curse older than his own blood.
And in that cruel brightness, even the thought of darkness began to feel like mercy.