Devon chuckled, shaking his head. "No, little one. Just imagination."
But even as he said it, his hand brushed the edge of the needle, and a single drop of blood fell onto the fabric. He didn't notice it at first. Then, faintly, the rune beneath his skin shimmered.
The curtains fluttered, though the windows were closed. The toy wolf in Elias's hands gave a faint, silvery glow.
Devon froze. His heart stopped.
Elias gasped in awe. "Devon! He's glowing!"
Devon quickly stood, his pulse racing. "Elias, don't..."
Before he could finish, the child laughed, tossing the toy into the air, and it floated. For a single, impossible heartbeat, it hovered in midair, spinning slowly in the golden light.
Devon's breath caught. He reached out instinctively, and the rune beneath his palm flared. The toy drifted gently back into his hand.
Elias clapped, eyes wide with wonder.
"You do have magic!" he exclaimed, his small voice filled with delight. "You made him fly! Do it again!"
Panic rose in Devon's chest.
"No," he said quickly, forcing a smile, hiding the tremor in his hands. "It wasn't magic. It was… just the wind, see?"
"But there's no wind," the boy said, blinking.
Devon's throat tightened. He crouched down, brushing Elias's blonde hair from his face gently. "You mustn't tell anyone what you saw, alright? Not your father. Not anyone."
Elias frowned in confusion. "But why? It was beautiful."
Devon hesitated, his voice low, trembling with both fear and guilt. "Because sometimes… beautiful things scare people. They don't understand. Promise me, Elias."
The boy hesitated, then nodded solemnly. "I promise."
Devon smiled softly and hugged him, though his heart was beating painfully in his chest. He could still feel the faint pulse of magic under his skin, the warmth lingering from the spell. He had never meant to use it. He had sworn to himself he would keep it buried, locked away where no one could see. But the rune had reacted on its own. To his fear. To his blood. To Elias.
Later that evening, when the child had fallen asleep in his arms, Devon stared out the window toward the dark forest beyond. The crescent moon hung low, pale and sharp. His reflection in the glass shimmered faintly, silver eyes glowing with quiet, unspoken power.
He whispered to himself, "What am I becoming?"
But no answer came, only the soft hum of the wards around the mansion, responding faintly again to his presence.
What Devon didn't know was that Lucien, in his study across the hall, had paused mid-sentence. The faint surge in the mansion's protective barrier, a flicker of wild magic, brushed against his senses like a pulse. And this time, it was stronger than before.
Lucien's gaze shifted toward the direction of the nursery, his eyes narrowing.
"…Devon Albert," he murmured. "What exactly are you hiding?"
Night fell swiftly over Ravenmoon, the forest beyond the mansion whispering under the weight of the moonlight. Most of the pack slept, the corridors empty except for the faint flicker of enchanted lamps.
Lucien did not sleep.
He stood on the balcony outside his study, eyes turned toward the east wing, where the faint pulse of magic had stirred earlier that day. The wards woven into the mansion's stone had trembled, reacting to a force not seen in generations.
That kind of power couldn't come from an artifact. It came from something living. Something within. And every trace led to one person.
Devon Albert.
Lucien descended the stairs silently, his movements cautious and predatory. The guards stationed near the east hall bowed as he passed, but he didn't speak a word. His presence alone silenced them.
He reached the servants' quarters, following the faint echo of magic only he could sense, a soft hum in the air, like threads of light pulling him closer. Then he heard it, a faint thud from one of the rooms.
Lucien's hand went to the dagger at his belt as he pushed open the door.
The scene that greeted him stopped him cold.
Devon was on the floor, his body trembling violently, sweat slicking his skin. A half-drawn rune glowed faintly beneath his palm, its symbols smoldering with pale silver light. Drops of blood smeared across the floor, feeding the spell that pulsed like a living heart.
"Devon," Lucien said sharply, crossing the room in two strides.
The omega didn't respond. His lips moved soundlessly, eyes half-open but unfocused, caught between pain and exhaustion. The air around him shimmered, heavy with unstable energy.
Lucien knelt and pressed a hand to Devon's shoulder. The instant their skin touched, the magic crackled violently, a surge of raw power snapping between them. Lucien's eyes widened. His wards, his strength, everything within him, recoiled for a heartbeat, as if the mansion itself recognized the connection. Then the glow died. The rune collapsed, and Devon went limp.
Lucien caught him before his head hit the floor, lowering him gently onto the rug. Devon's skin was cold, his breathing shallow. There was no mistaking the faint trails of light still running under his veins, threads of magic that didn't belong to any wolf Lucien had ever seen. For a long moment, Lucien just stared at him.
The omega looked fragile, breakable, but the magic radiating from him told another story. A dangerous one. Rowan's earlier words echoed in his mind. If he really is Lunaris-born… his power could rival even yours.
Lucien exhaled slowly, shaking off the thought.
"You fool," he muttered under his breath. "What are you doing to yourself?"
He gathered Devon into his arms, light, far too light, and carried him through the dim hallways toward the infirmary wing. No one dared to stop him.
When the pack healer came rushing forward, Lucien's sharp voice cut through the air. "Say nothing of this to anyone. Not the servants. Not even Rowan."
The healer nodded quickly, trembling. "Y-Yes, Alpha."
Lucien laid Devon carefully on the bed, watching as the faint light beneath his skin slowly dimmed. He stood there for a long time, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in thought.
Whatever Devon had done, it had nearly drained the life out of him. And yet, Lucien could feel the mansion's wards settling, stronger, steadier, as if the structure itself drew strength from Devon's existence.
That was no coincidence.