---
As Neil stormed away from Evans and Ruth, their heated words still gnawed at the edges of his mind. He wasn't in the mood to linger on it, though. Not now. Not when something else—a strange, unwelcome weight—had settled in his chest.
Natalia.
By now, it would be over.
His boots barely made a sound against the stone floors as he approached the grand doors of the chamber. He hesitated, fingers grazing the cool handle. Why did he feel... uneasy?
Taking a slow breath, he pushed the door open.
The room was silent. Still. The heavy scent of magic and something darker—something raw and unnatural—clung to the air. Neil stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the dimly lit chamber until it landed on her.
Natalia.
She was sprawled across the floor like a discarded doll, her body lifeless. The transformation had stolen every trace of color from her skin, leaving it cracked and ghostly. Her rich brown hair had withered into dull, lifeless strands, and her once-bright eyes were sunken, blackened voids.
Neil's heart sank.
He exhaled sharply, shoving down the disappointment that clawed at his insides. He had thought—hoped—that maybe she'd be different. But she looked the same as the others.
Damn it.
Shaking his head, he rose to his feet, ready to leave and declare yet another failure. But—
A hand.
A cold, clammy grip latched onto his wrist.
Neil froze.
His eyes snapped downward, locking onto the frail, trembling fingers curled around him. Natalia's grip—despite its iciness—was strong. Unnaturally strong.
And then... she looked at him.
Not in the empty, vacant way the others had. No.
There was something there.
A flicker of recognition. A silent scream buried in the abyss of her darkened eyes. A desperate, clawing grasp at existence itself.
Neil's breath caught. His hesitation shattered.
Without another thought, he dropped to his knees, scooping her into his arms. Her body was weightless—too light, too fragile—but she was still there. Still breathing. Light and between pauses.
Still alive.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he spun on his heel and bolted out of the room, his grip tightening protectively around her frail form.
His voice boomed through the corridor.
"Auntie Ruth!" His breath came in ragged bursts as he sprinted forward. "She survived! She lives!"
---
Ruth's eyes widened as she rushed toward Neil, who burst through the door with Natalia limp in his arms. His chest heaved, his voice breathless yet filled with raw urgency.
"I think she survived, Auntie Ruth! I think she survived!"
Ruth wasted no time, ushering them swiftly down the corridor. "Quickly, in here."
The door swung open, revealing her chamber—a sanctuary of white. Flowers bloomed in every corner, their delicate petals swaying with the gentle draft. The air was thick with the scent of life, an ironic contrast to the motionless girl Neil carried.
Neil laid Natalia down onto the plush white bed. Her body was still, cold, trembling. A corpse that refused to settle into death.
Ruth's sharp gaze flickered between Neil and the girl "Neil… I don't know..." Her voice was laced with skepticism. "She looks no different from the others."
Neil's eyes never left Natalia. His fingers twitched, as if recalling the feeling of her cold grip.
"She held my hand," he murmured. "I felt her… she's still in there"
A snort shattered the silence.
Evans.
Standing near the door, arms crossed, his lips curled into a mocking smirk. "Maybe it's just an after-effect, Neil. Another failed experiment. Look at her—does she look alive to you?"
"Not again Evans" Ruth said but it was already too late.
Neil's jaw ticked. His entire body went rigid, his breath slowing into something dangerous.
Without warning, he lunged.
A thud echoed through the room as Neil fisted Evans' collar and slammed him back against the wall. Hard. The impact rattled the shelves.
A strangled grunt left Evans' lips, but that damn smirk? It remained.
Neil's voice was low, seething. "You're getting on my nerves, Evans. One more word."
Evans didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Didn't yield.
Instead, he stared straight into Neil's burning gaze, a silent challenge. His eyes gleamed with something unreadable, something that dared Neil to do it.
Neil's grip tightened before he shoved him back roughly, releasing him.
The tension crackled.
Neil turned back to Natalia, ignoring the way Evans straightened his collar as if nothing had happened. His focus was set, his voice steady when he spoke next.
"We'll keep her body here." His eyes flickered to Ruth. "We won't cremate her. We won't bury her. I know she lives."
Silence.
Ruth said nothing, simply watching Neil—watching the way his hands curled into fists, the way his jaw locked as if daring anyone to question him.
Evans exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he muttered under his breath. But this time, he held his tongue.
For once.
---
The tension deepened between both Clans, King Viktor's face hardened as he leaned on the table, his fingers intertwined with the others.
The words dropped like a stone into the silent chamber.
Viktor's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face."I don't understand."
He leaned back up his fingers tightened on the gilded armrest.
"What do you mean, you cannot take part?"
King Kilroy's shoulders tensed, his next words spoken with careful precision.
"Our kind has young girls, Viktor. We are doing our part to protect them. As you know… our history with the Lycans is complicated."
His voice hardened."We cannot accept an offer to fight against our own kin."
Silence.
Cold. Deafening.
King Viktor's stare bored into them, his fangs just barely visible between parted lips. His grip on the throne's armrests turned knuckle-white.
Then, a quiet laugh.
A bitter, humorless chuckle as Viktor leaned back against his throne. His crimson eyes gleamed with something sharp—something dangerous.
"Your kind?" he repeated, his voice dangerously smooth. "Your kind? Kilroy, tell me—when the Lycans came in the dead of night and stole your women away, where was this unwavering loyalty to 'your kind' then?"
The words struck like a blade.
Kilroy flinched—but only slightly. Sofina's hands tightened on the folds of her gown, her nails pressing into the fabric.
Viktor leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His voice dropped lower, colder.
"This is not about history. This is not about bloodlines. This is about power."
His eyes flickered with restrained fury. "And you are too much of a coward to admit it."
A flicker of something in Kilroy's gaze. Not anger. Not indignation.
Guilt.
Queen Sofina lifted her chin. Her voice was steady, but Viktor did not miss the slight waver beneath it.
"We acknowledge what has been done to your kind, King Viktor."
Viktor scoffed. "Do you?"
A beat of silence.
Sofina's lips pressed together, but she did not falter.
"But we cannot afford to turn our blades against the Lycans." Kilroy spoke up
"Afford?" Viktor repeated, and this time, his laughter was low and lethal.
"You think war is something you buy, Queen Sofina? It is something that arrives—unbidden. And when it does, the only choice is whether you meet it on your feet… or on your knees."
Neither Kilroy nor Sofina responded. Because they knew he was right.
But knowing it did not mean they would act.
Viktor inhaled deeply, sitting back once more. His eyes burned with quiet rage.
"Very well."
His voice was like the final snap of a closing casket.
"Go back to your Empire. Lock your doors. Pretend this will not touch you."
His lips curled, fangs glinting.
"But when the Lycans come for your daughters next, Kilroy…" He tilted his head, voice mocking.
"I wonder, will your kin save them?"
Kilroy's jaw tightened.
But he said nothing.
And that silence?
It was deafening.
---
The atmosphere in the room grew thick with tension, the air crackling with unspoken words. The guards stiffened, hands resting on their weapons, their eyes darting between the two kings. Lady Frieda sat stone-faced, her fingers subtly tapping against the table—an unspoken tell of her own barely contained frustration.
King Kilroy's face flushed red, his lips parting as if to retort, but Queen Sofina's hand on his forearm stilled him. She met his gaze, her expression unreadable, before shifting her attention back to King Viktor.
With practiced composure, she stood gracefully, her voice cool and measured.
"I think we've heard enough, King Viktor. This meeting is not going anywhere. Perhaps we should take our leave.."
The words were polite, but the undertone was clear—this was a conversation neither side would yield on.
King Viktor's grip tightened against the armrest of his throne, his knuckles turning white. For a brief moment, rage flickered behind his dark eyes, but he forced himself to swallow it down. Instead, his lips curled into a humorless smirk.
"Yes. Perhaps you should." His voice was low, edged with disdain.
King Kilroy exhaled sharply through his nose, his shoulders tense. He wanted to say something—anything—to salvage the dignity stripped from him in that room, but Sofina was already turning toward the exit.
The Therianthia guards fell into step behind them as they strode toward the massive doors, their boots echoing through the cold expanse of the hall.
Queen Irina remained silent through it all, watching as the werewolf rulers departed. She could feel the storm brewing behind Viktor's composed exterior.
Only when the doors slammed shut behind them did Viktor let out a slow, measured breath, his fingers drumming against the throne's armrest. His gaze flickered to Frieda, who finally allowed herself to exhale.
---
Back at the Lycan Empire...
Ruth nodded, her gaze never wavering from Neil's face. She saw it—the shift in his demeanor. His anger had cooled, but something heavier had settled in its place. Something unspoken.
Neil rose to his feet with that same quiet control, his movements precise, deliberate.
"I'll be in my chamber now," he said, his voice measured.
He turned toward the door but stopped.
Without looking back, he spoke.
"You're suspended."
The words dropped like a stone, solid, inarguable.
Evans' head snapped up, his face darkening, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
"You have no right," he hissed, his voice low and venomous. "You can't just—"
But Neil didn't wait for the rest. He strode out, leaving Evans' fury clinging to the air like a storm cloud.
---
"Neil."
Ruth's voice caught him before he could disappear into the corridors of the palace.
Neil stopped, but didn't turn.
"You wouldn't be this way if she was just another girl." Ruth's voice was gentle, but pointed. "Would you?"
Silence.
She sighed. "I've known you since you were a child, Neil. You may hide it well, but I know what guilt does to a person. I see it in you."
He bristled.
"And what, exactly, do you think I'm guilty of?"
Ruth tilted her head. "Aren't you the one who keeps telling yourself that Marshall will wake up if you just keep trying?"
Neil stiffened.
"How many times has it failed, Neil?" Ruth's voice softened, yet it pressed against him like a blade. "How many lives have you taken? And still, no answer."
His throat tightened.
"You're desperate," Ruth continued. "I can see it in the way you look at that girl."
Neil's hands curled into fists. "I don't have time for this."
"Then make time," she shot back, her tone sharp enough to cut through him.
Neil's fingers twitched.
"Let yourself wonder," Ruth murmured.
Her words dug in.
Neil turned away before she could say more, but the damage was done.
---
Neil's feet carried him before his mind had fully caught up.
His body moved on instinct, gravitating toward the one place that had never given him answers.
Marshall's chamber.
The door creaked as he stepped inside. The air was thick, the silence almost suffocating. The orb in the center of the room pulsed softly, casting eerie shadows across the walls.
He stared at it.
Felt the weight of his brother's silence.
"Brother." His voice barely broke the stillness. "It's me again."
Nothing.
Neil exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.
"I'm tired of this, Marshall." His voice wavered, just for a second. "Tired of taking lives. Tired of waiting for something that never happens."
His fists clenched at his sides.
"I don't know how to explain it, but..." His eyes locked onto the orb, as if willing it to respond. "I just hope that Natalia is the one."
A beat of silence.
The orb hummed, mocking.
Neil swallowed hard. "I've tried my best, but... I don't know if it's enough."
He stood there, waiting—foolishly, hopefully.
But the silence remained.
Marshall remained.
A quiet scoff left his lips. He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving behind the weight of his unanswered prayers.
---
As he strode back toward his chamber, his mind was racing.
Ruth's voice echoed in his head.
His jaw locked.
Would he keep going?...
Evans...was he right too?..
---
As Neil kept walking, his thoughts tangled and restless, the weight of everything coiled around his mind like a serpent. Something was wrong. Something about Natalia. Something about Ruth's words.
"She looks no different from the others."
No. She was different. She had to be.
But the thought gnawed at him. It burned.
Back in Ruth's chamber, Evans stormed out, his boots hammering against the stone floor as frustration rolled off him in waves. Ruth let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head as she turned her attention back to Natalia's lifeless body.
Her fingers dipped into warm water, wringing out a cloth before gliding it over Natalia's skin. Cold. Deathly so.
Ruth's brows furrowed. She had seen this before—too many times. The sunken eyes. The lifeless complexion. The stillness.
And yet... something whispered to her. A feeling. A flicker of unease that crawled up her spine and settled deep in her bones.
Her hands trembled slightly as she worked, her movements growing more desperate, as if she could wipe away whatever darkness had claimed Natalia. As if scrubbing harder would bring back the warmth in her skin.
Natalia was colder now. Her lips, almost blue. If it weren't for the faintest flicker of something—some lingering essence clinging to her like a whisper—Ruth might have given up.
But she had seen Neil's face.
The conviction in his voice.
"I know she lives."
A shaky breath left Ruth's lips.
She dipped the rag into warm water again, wrung it out, and pressed it to Natalia's chest.
For a moment, the chamber was silent.
Then—
A single, sharp gasp.
Natalia's body arched off the bed, her fingers clawing at the sheets.
Ruth jerked back, eyes widening.
Natalia's lips parted as if to scream, but no sound c
ame out. Her blackened veins pulsed violently beneath her skin, as if something dark was writhing inside of her, trying to escape.
Ruth lunged forward, pressing her hands against Natalia's shoulders to hold her down. "Breathe, child. Just breathe."
But Natalia's mouth opened wider—her pupils dilating, her entire body trembling.
And then–
Natalia's eyes snapped open..