The Play-Toy Of Three Lycan Kings Chapter 372: Night Discussions V

SAGE

Visions?

The word sat wrong in my chest. Like a lie dressed in sothing holy. If what I had seen were visions, then death had a cruel sense of narrative.

Because the only ti the world had ever opened itself to like that—the only ti reality bent and peeled back its skin—was when I was dying, or felt depressed enough.

I laced my fingers together. Visions... No. I had struggled. I had fought my way back from the edge with teeth and instinct and sothing deeply unnatural screaming inside my ribs.

Blood had been the first thing. Always. The thirst. Not gentle. Not poetic. It tore at , burned from the inside out until there was nothing but hunger and the certainty that if I did not feed, I would beco sothing far worse than dead.

And the dead...

I swallowed. They had sward in those monts between breathing and nothingness. Hands dragging. Voices whispering through my bones. Eyes that watched with the accusation of things I did not rember doing.

I had fought them. Ripped myself out of them.

I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and exhaled slowly.

If those were visions, then I hated the word.

But it hadn’t ended there.

I lifted my gaze to the dirt-stained floor of Makeh’s hut and continued speaking anyway.

"There were others," I muttered.

Makeh didn’t interrupt.

Darius stayed quiet too, though I could feel his stare like weight on my face.

I clenched my jaw. "I’ve seen a woman," I said. "A queen. Not this one. Another. The first."

My voice went slightly thinner. "She never speaks, except to the people about her. She doesn’t have to. She just... looks at like I’m a story that went wrong."

Makeh inhaled softly.

I didn’t stop. "And then there are the beasts."

"Not animals," I added quickly. "Not fully monsters either. They talk. They recognize . And I don’t know why. They are the Queen’s beasts. Surely, you must know about them."

Makeh gave a nod.

"They swear to ," I whispered. "To serve . Like it’s obvious. Like it’s already happened and I’ve just forgotten."

Silence swallowed the hut. I glanced at Darius without aning to. He was sitting very still, eyes locked on like I’d undone sothing inside him without asking permission. I wished he wasn’t here.

Wished I could rewind ti to before he folded his stubborn Ancient bones into my ss.

Makeh read the thought anyway. "You may speak freely," she said gently. "Darius can be trusted."

I snorted under my breath. "The gods are getting generous with their trust, apparently."

She didn’t rise to it. "Of anyone alive," she said, eyes cutting briefly to him, "he is the one you should trust even now."

That didn’t sit well with . But I spoke anyway about the blood visions. And when I finished, the quiet didn’t return. It deepened instead.

Darius’s mouth was hanging open. Like the world had kicked in his ribs. I resisted the urge to tell him to close it.

Makeh, for her part, looked... unsettled. Just slightly. Which was terrifying.

She folded her hands in her lap and waited a mont longer before speaking.

"It appears," she said, slowly, carefully, "that you have been seeing pointers to what you are becoming."

My breath snagged. "What I am..."

Makeh nodded once. "Yes."

I laughed weakly. "That’s—no. That’s not possible. I’m not changing into sothing. I’ve always been—"

"What?" Darius broke in.

I scowled at him.

He leaned forward suddenly. "What you are becoming," he repeated, gaze locked on my face.

Then, without hesitation...

"You’re Ancient."

The word cracked through . I froze so hard my bones felt stunned.

"No," I whispered. "I can’t be. I can walk under the sun without the ring..."

"Your blood craving—"

"Stop," I snapped.

Makeh lifted one hand. "No."

We both swung toward her.

She shook her head. "She is not Ancient."

Relief burned too cold in my veins. Then dread filled the emptiness it left behind.

"Then what am I?" I whispered.

Makeh studied closely. Then she smiled. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Knowing. "You are like the boy."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

Makeh exhaled. "You are what we call a rare human."

Darius and I exchanged glances.

"What the hell is a rare human?" I asked.

Makeh didn’t answer imdiately. She laced her fingers together tightly, and turned to Darius. "Are you not over eighty in your race?"

He nodded once. "Yes."

"And you’ve never heard the term before?"

"Not spoken," he admitted. "Only hinted at."

Makeh nodded. "They are rare," she repeated softly. "So rare that so generations pass without producing even one."

She faced again. "Rare humans are chosen," she said. "Handpicked by the gods for an unbearable purpose."

My spine prickled.

"They are born carrying gifts not ant for mortal bodies," she continued. "They exist as checks and balances when gods grow distant."

I inhaled sharply.

"Their role," she said, "is jury."

Darius went still. "Executioner too?"

Makeh t his gaze. "When necessary."

My throat closed.

"Rare humans are ant to stop supernatural wars before they devour the world," she said. "They are bridges when peace still breathes. Blades when it does not."

I whispered, "That’s insane."

Makeh didn’t flinch. "So can shift their forms to reflect power. Others wield old magic capable of tearing nations apart."

Her gaze flicked briefly inside my chest like she could see everything beating wrong. "And you," she said, "carry dual blood."

My body went numb. "Ancient strength," she said. "Witch inheritance."

I exhaled shakily. "That doesn’t make sense—"

"It explains the bloodlust," Darius said quietly.

I shot him a look. "That’s just in my dreams!"

Makeh shrugged. "You will experience it soon... reason why you need Darius around."

I scoffed. I didn’t need anyone.

"And the queen you saw," she murmured. "She was one of you."

A pause. "The first rare human," Makeh continued. "It is why she appears to you. You are seeing echoes. Transfer of mory. Of responsibility."

I dragged a hand down my face. "If that were true... why is the boy here?"

Makeh looked away.

I stood. "We are two rare humans in the sa generation..."

Makeh faced again, face unreadable. "He is your replacent."

A slight pause. "If things go south," she said calmly, "he takes your place."

I laughed then—thin and ugly and too loud. "So that’s it," I muttered. "I’m not a chosen one. I’m a trial run."

Makeh stood too. "You are not disposable," she said firmly. "You are necessary."

"Then why is he here?" I demanded.

She hesitated. Then said quietly... "Because I failed the goddess. And now, she always prepares for the possibility that a chosen will fail."