Syrus groaned awake, his injuries still aching and uncomfortable even as they slowly healed where he lay on the cold forest floor.
He felt filthy—part of him afraid, the other vengeful and grateful for the opportunity given to him by the wolves' Alpha, even if it wasn't guaranteed.
He dragged himself upright, resting against the bark of the nearest tree.
The atmosphere was tense, nearly dark—only thin streaks of daylight pierced through the thick canopy above.
At least the scent of earth and leaves was tolerable, not as pungent as it had been amongst the wolves.
He looked around, unsure how long he had been asleep but from the fading lights filtering through the leaves, he could tell twilight was near.
A sudden rustle in the darker bushes snapped his attention toward it.
He turned abruptly, startled—his fear reminding him of the tree that moved amongst the others.
The one that spoke, its eyes dark and hollow like the abyss.
That fear dragged his thoughts back to the Ancient—the perfect fusion of man and demon.
A power no one dared defy or control.
No one…except him.
A faint whispering laugh echoed from the shadows around him.
Syrus swallowed hard, clutching a piece of his scattered equipment as though he could squeeze the fear out of himself.
Destiny was calling.
His desire for power was not ordinary.
To him, the proof was escaping death twice.
His rise would be heroic, his climb to absolute power.
And he could not afford to remain weak.
"Even better than I thought," a whisper came.
Syrus turned toward the voice—again, nothing but darkness.
Then a vine beside him shifted and he scrambled away from it, dropping his equipment in his panic—fear he could no longer suppress.
The laughter returned, stronger this time.
For a moment his fear twisted into shame.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, forcing himself to steady his nerves.
"Your wounds don't seem soothed by the magic you wield," a hoarse female voice said, louder now, effortlessly dominating the space.
Syrus kept his eyes shut, still battling his terror. "P-please…it needs more time. The magic will—"
"I offer help," she cut in. "Mage."
"W-why?"
"One destined for greatness wouldn't ask questions," she replied smoothly. "Would they?"
His eyelids trembled. Sweat broke across his skin despite the cool air.
Could she read his thoughts?
He was too unsettled by her presence to accept the offer.
"I'm certain in three days I'll be—"
"Coward!" Her voice slithered into both his ears.
Syrus swallowed again.
"The only thing keeping you from advancing," she continued, "is the illusion of independence. Control you will never gain unless you bow…or die trying."
Her words struck deep.
He clenched his jaw, realizing how fragile his belief in controlling such power truly was.
"The call of absolute power…" her voice drew closer and goosebumps rose across his skin, "maybe reaching the wrong man."
His heart dropped.
Was he really about to miss his chance? To rise beyond being a mere tool—respected for his spells, yet never truly valued?
His eyes opened.
He saw nothing but darkness, but now it matched the thoughts swirling inside him.
Movement drew his attention again—vines slithering slowly around him.
This time he didn't recoil.
He watched in awe.
He wanted more.
"A vow," she whispered, "to keep my interference between us."
Syrus hesitated.
Wasn't she aligned with the wolves?
"Silence is not an answer. Pathetic mortal," her voice flared and Syrus shook.
"Y-yes," he stammered, nodding too.
"Lay still."
He obeyed.
The cold earth met the back of his head as he stared upward, watching the light traces of daylight vanish—replaced by moonlight.
The vines returned.
Closer.
The ground echoed their slow approach as his dread grew.
"Men would never expect the chaos destiny has designed through you," she murmured.
Then pain followed as he felt a sharp intrusion into his injured leg.
Before he could scream, three vines forced their way between his lips, muffling his voice.
The pain deepened, and his fear surged back as darkness began to creep into his vision.
"Calm yourself," she whispered. "You must be brought low…to rise."
His vision dimmed further.
The last thing he saw was a tree bark above him—cracking into something that almost resembled a smile.
**
"Should I help you up, good sir?" the nurse's voice broke into Zane's thoughts as he lay in his hospital bed, staring upward.
He had tried to sit earlier but his ribs almost poked through his stomach before he could.
But he wanted to try again.
He was tired of lying still.
He turned his head toward the dark-haired nurse standing beside him.
"Promise it won't hurt," he said with a faint smirk.
Her brown eyes blinked before she flushed, looking away. "It might…hurt a little."
Zane closed his eyes and swallowed, his smirk fading.
A little dramatic for a soldier, but his injuries were, after all, not caused by war.
"Do you still want me to help sir?" the nurse's voice came again, concerned, and Zane opened his eyes.
"Yes."
She moved closer, her floral scent filling the space as she supported him, helping him sit up.
"Goddamn," Zane hissed as pain flared through him before he finally settled against the headboard, breathing heavily against the bandages around his ribs as the nurse let go and stepped back.
"Sorry," she said. "You've had your limit of pain medication today. But I can bring a call bell if you need help lying back down."
He exhaled slowly, actually considering her offer.
"Never mind…" he began.
"Leah," she completed with a smile.
"Thank you, Leah."
She nodded, returning to the side table where her attendance tray sat.
Zane's gaze drifted to the window beside him—memories as a soldier of Lumere resurfacing.
Before the war.
Before the wolves.
Before Azael.
The soft click of the door closing pulled him back, thinking he was alone.
"I swear I've seen you in better conditions during defense," Cara's voice cut into the silence.
Despite his stiff neck, Zane turned toward her.
Cara approached, more at ease in her type of attire.
Zane chuckled, remembering how much she had struggled in a dress.
"You look better," he said. "Now that you're back in your second skin."
She scoffed lightly. "My legs were in bondage."
Her weight sank into the bed beside him as she turned to face him with warm blue eyes.
"I'm glad you're awake," she added, trying to keep things light, but Zane wasn't interested in feeling at ease especially with the situation involving Azael.
"How is Elana?" he asked immediately, his shame in failing her resurfacing.
Cara hesitated. "She's recovering."
A pause.
"Besides her health." Zane pressed.
"Zane, let's get our eyes off that one," she said with an exhale. "We're back in Lumere, with a lot of other choices."
He scoffed, clenching his jaw.
Cara's tactic of ignoring Azael as a problem made him flare up.
"Do you seriously just want to ignore how wrong this whole thing is?"
"I'm going to be more direct," Cara said, frustration showing. "Do you remember what put you here and in this condition?"
"That's not the point."
"Honestly I'm losing sight of what the point is," she replied. "There is no strategy a human like you could use against someone like Azael. I don't even know the full extent of what he's capable of. The whole kingdom is at his mercy because of Elana, and somehow you still wanna play hero?"
Zane looked away. "Then at least if he kills me, Elana would know what he truly is."
"I don't think he cares," Cara said, rubbing her head. "And the sick part is I don't think Elana does either. At least that's how it looks to me right now."
"She's confused because of how unsuspecting she is," Zane snapped. "She's blind too, and that makes it worse."
Cara's shoulders sagged with resignation. "He saved us again."
"He killed Caesar."
Cara froze.
An unbelievable expression crossed her face.
Doubt.
"How do you know this?" she asked.
"How?" Zane asked and gave a bitter laugh. "You're already beginning to think twice about his character."
Cara stood up, folding her arms across her chest. "Well, you can't blame me. I'm only human and want to survive too, and I do not feel anything about Caesar's death except that he deserved it."
"Finally," Zane said, locking eyes with her. "You're finally and clearly taking sides now. Caesar was wrong, but not totally."
Cara frowned.
"Clearly you're still thinking like a soldier, a man fighting other men," she said. "It's a good thing you have time to recover. Also take time to reflect, because this is not the world you once knew. Even Lumere has changed, and I'd rather stay on the safe side, especially now that it's clear how loyalty is cheap and can be bought."
Zane boiled.
The pain of her words hit home but his ego was already fragile and outmatched by Azael.
"I am human and not a coward," he gritted out.
"Then survive," she said. "This is not our war anymore."
**
Evren sensed the terror in the soldiers' faces as he and Thorne moved past them.
Ahead stood the bar where Eldric and the others had gone the night before—its door open, creaking faintly.
Thorne's nose twitched at the scent drifting from within. "Lycans," he gritted out.
"A bloody infestation," Evren said, ready and eager to eliminate.
"Lord Azael might have underestimated Fen," Thorne added.
Evren barred his fangs. "I'm just about done with reasoning."
"Citizens are around," Thorne warned, placing a hand on his shoulder. "We can't engage openly."
Evren's ears picked up the growling sounds from within, and his fingers sharpened, nails lengthening.
"After this," he said with a rough voice. "I'll hunt them properly as the barbarians they are."
It was bad enough that Fen had killed Trisha; now, he was spreading his vermin into Sirence?
Evren shrugged Thorne's hand off and advanced.
A strained, ragged panting sound reached him—close, pushing him further as he stepped into the bar.
Then—
A massive paw tore through his chest.
Evren staggered back a step, jaw tightening as he healed instantly from the attack.
The wolf stood ahead, ten feet deep in the shadows, growling—watching him with caution.
"Evren!" Thorne called from outside.
Evren moved first.
He lunged, catching the flicker of fear in the wolf's eyes before his fist drove down onto its snout with crushing force.
The creature barely had time to react before Evren's hand closed around its throat.
Without hesitation, his other hand drove into its chest and ripped its heart out.
Immediately the body slackened—shifting mid-grip back into human form before Evren tossed it aside without a glance.
His gaze swept through the room.
Bodies.
Torn.
Some still dressed in Sirence military uniforms.
Three more wolves lingered in the dark, their ambush broken—hesitation replacing confidence.
"Capable of speech," Evren said coldly. "Then turn human and I may spare you."
Their fangs barred wider, then one stepped forward.
"King Evren," it growled.
Evren stilled, flashing his fangs in response, his fingers still wet with blood.
"You speak," he said. "So this is intentional."
"There was always something more," the wolf continued. "Something about ruling from the shadows all these years. Forced to accept the existence of a regime that should have ended long ago."
Evren paused, a wolf that spoke.
He itched to attack but needed information especially on how Lycans had gotten into Sirence.
Was it also connected to Elana's escape?
"Your solution is to become pests and start a war?" Evren asked.
"The supernatural exists," the wolf continued. "If that is true, then there are gods too—gods that heard us and sent help."
"How?" Evren asked again, his patience stretched thin.
He couldn't afford this chaos spreading to other parts of Sirence.
The wolf gave a low laugh. "I asked how too," it said. "The kings of Sirence never cared to listen to us. They ignored us, even threatened that a protest through the loyalist streets of Lumere would result in certain death."
Evren drew his sword with his unbloodied hand.
Behind him—movement.
Another wolf creeping closer.
"But the problem we pose this time," the speaker continued, "even from a small bar in a part of the kingdom you don't deem worthy of your attention, has drawn both of you here."
Evren tracked the one behind him without turning.
"Surrender," he said.
A lie.
Even if the wolves did, they would die. He would make sure of it.
"I'd rather die an abomination like you," the wolf sneered, "than kneel."
The sudden sound of gunfire aimed at the wolf behind Evren distracted it mid-lunge, and Evren turned instantly, his sword slicing off its head.
The remaining wolves growled, and the one speaking began to step back again.
Evren's monochrome vision caught Eldric from where he sat up behind one of the larger tumbled bar tables—bleeding heavily from his arm, weak but still holding a gun.
He had fired to save him.
Outside, gunshots rang again, mixed with snarling.
Evren's jaw tightened as he moved closer to the wolves backing away, his blade dripping with blood.
This needed to end here.
Because if it didn't—
Sirence risked drowning in the blood of its own people.