Gavriel stayed beside Althea, holding her close every ti the convoy stopped to rest. He slept lightly, always half awake, as if his presence alone could keep her tethered to this world.
If magic and shifting were still possible, the Cross Clan would have already been buried beneath the earth by his hands. The banner of Althea’s bloodline should have been raised over the House of Aetherion by now, restored to where it belonged.
He did not know how many days had passed anymore. Ti blurred on the road. Yet one thing was clear to him. His patience had grown in ways he never thought possible.
Before, he would have demanded answers, forced outcos, crushed anything that stood in his way. Now, he simply watched her chest rise and fall, steady and quiet, and told himself that it was enough.
Althea was still breathing. And that mattered. More than power. More than crowns. More than war.
During the long march, realizations ca to him one by one, heavy but honest. Stripped of his Lycan strength, of the power he once believed defined him, he was just a man. Flesh and bone. Vulnerable. Mortal. For the first ti, he understood how easily everything could be taken away.
He had always thought himself invincible. A king by right of blood and force. But without his powers, without the beast within him, he was nothing special at all. And strangely, that truth did not break him. It humbled him.
Now he understood.
Strength was never truly his to begin with. Authority, power, even the crown he wore were not his own creations. He had been given everything. And just as easily, everything could be removed.
As he held Althea closer, his forehead resting against her hair, Gavriel finally let go of the illusion that he was in control. All he had left was faith. Faith in the One who created him. Faith that there was a purpose in this suffering. Faith that light still existed, even when everything familiar had been stripped away.
If this was what it ant to be truly strong, then he would endure it...
“We’re almost there, my love. I will make sure you’ll wake up soon again,” he murmured against Althea’s lips, giving her a brief, gentle peck before closing his eyes once more.
The days that followed passed so quickly. The land slowly changed as they traveled near into Velmora. Forests grew denser, the air heavier.
Althea remained unconscious, but her breathing had grown steadier, and that alone gave Gavriel the strength to keep moving forward. He rarely left her side, entrusting her only to lva for the brief monts when he had to attend to the march.
On the fourth morning after his words to her, Elior asked the convoy to stop.
The old man chose a clearing where the wind moved softly through the trees and the ground felt strangely still. He gathered stones into a simple circle and placed a small bowl at its center, filling it with water drawn from a nearby stream.
He bowed his head, murmuring words no one else could fully hear, not spells, not chants, but more like he was praying.
When he finished, Elior turned to Gavriel and Zander. “From this point on,” he said, “you must no longer rely on what you once were. Power born of flesh, magic, or bloodlines will not carry you through what is coming.”
Zander folded his arms, listening intently, while Gavriel stood still, his gaze unwavering.
“Fast,” Elior continued. “One full day and night. No food. No indulgence. No distractions. Lay down your pride, your fear, and your hunger for control. Surrender everything to the Almighty and ask Him to guide your steps.”
Silence followed his words.
Gavriel was the first to nod. “We will do it.”
For so reason, being around Elior gave him a sense of peace instead of weariness. The old man was filled with wisdom and steady, grounding words. Simply speaking with him, Gavriel found himself learning more than he had in a long ti.
Zander hesitated only a heartbeat before agreeing. “If this is the path forward, then we walk it.”
The fast was harder than either of them expected. Without magic or enhanced strength, hunger clawed at their bodies by midday. By nightfall, exhaustion pressed heavy on their limbs. Yet in that weakness, sothing shifted.
Gavriel prayed for the first ti not as a king demanding victory, but as a man asking for wisdom. Zander sat in quiet reflection, surrendering his thirst for vengeance and acknowledging the darkness he had carried for too long.
At dawn, Elior approached them once more.
“The Almighty has heard,” he said calmly. “If you place your trust in Him and do not turn back to the ways of darkness, the House of Aetherion will be delivered into your hands. Not through cruelty. Not through deceit. But through righteousness and resolve.”
That sa day, the border towers of Velmora finally ca into view.
The main gate of the House of Aetherion lood tall and imposing, its massive walls draped with banners bearing the sigil of the Cross Clan, fluttering against the sky. Velmora had five direct access points, each leading to one of the five great houses. The House of Aetherion’s main gate guarded the southern part border of Velmora.
Gavriel ordered the convoy to halt within sight of the walls. Warriors spread out in disciplined formation, shields raised, weapons ready, but no one advanced.
Gavriel stepped forward alone, his voice carrying across the field without the aid of magic.
“Hear , House of Aetherion,” he declared. “I am Gavriel, Alpha King of the Kingdom of Lunaris. We did not co to slaughter your people, nor to burn your lands.”
A murmur rippled across the battlents.
“Our quarrel is with the Cross Clan alone,” he continued. “They seized leadership through corruption and dark ans, stealing what was never theirs from the Ivanov bloodline.”
The gates creaked slightly as figures gathered above, watching.
“I demand Archon Lemuel Cross present himself,” Gavriel said firmly. “I challenge him to single combat.”
His eyes hardened with resolve. He and Zander had already discussed this plan to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, especially since most of their n were ordinary humans. Between the two of them, Gavriel was better suited to face the fighting head-on—he had been trained for battle since childhood.
“If I win, the Cross Clan surrenders their entire bloodline and relinquishes all claim to Aetherion. If he wins, we will withdraw and accept defeat.”
The air went still.
Zander stepped up beside Gavriel, his presence calm but dangerous. “This is your chance,” he added. “End this without dragging innocent lives into the abyss.”
For a long mont, there was no response.
Then the gates began to open. Slowly and heavily...
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Author’s Note January 1, 2026:
Happy New Year to all. I pray for more blessings, good health, and a truly prosperous year ahead for everyone. Stay healthy and strong in the coming year, and keep safe always.
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