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Chapter seventy- five
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2025-12-22 19:50:59
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Craving the alpha soldier Chapter seventy- five
Tyla’s POVThe world almost breaks on a Tuesday.Not the dramatic kind of breaking—the kind that comes with fire and prophecy and the clean satisfaction of knowing where to stand. This is a quieter fracture, a hairline crack running through something that has been held together by trust and exhaustion and the hope that people will keep choosing each other.It begins with grain.The western harvest fails.Not completely. Not catastrophically. Enough to matter. Enough to scare.A blight moves through the low fields with an intelligence that feels personal even when it isn’t. Yields drop. Prices rise. Rumors spread faster than the fungus itself. By the time the council receives the first consolidated report, the city has already started to lean inward, arms folding protectively around what it fears it will lose.Arthur reads the numbers without speaking.I watch his face—not for panic, but for the reflex. The old instinct to command, to ration, to secure borders and silence dissent befor
Craving the alpha soldier Chapter seventy-four
Tyla’s POVThe world does not thank us.Not properly. Not in the way stories insist it should.There are no statues raised in our likeness, no anniversaries declared holy. If there are speeches, they are small and badly timed, delivered in half-empty halls by people who don’t quite know who they’re addressing anymore.I think that might be the point.—The work settles into rhythm.Not routine—nothing is that neat—but pattern. Problems rise and fall like weather. Some weeks bring nothing heavier than a zoning dispute over market stalls. Other weeks carry grief that still tastes of ash.Arthur takes longer walks now.He maps the city the way a person maps a body they are relearning how to live inside. He learns which streets flood first in heavy rain. Which bakeries give bread away at dusk. Which corners hold arguments that never quite resolve.He is known now, but not watched.When people stop him, it is to ask opinions, not permission. He answers when he can. When he can’t, he says s
Craving the alpha soldier Chapter seventy-three
Tyla’s POVThe first crisis arrives quietly.No alarms. No horns. No breathless messenger pounding on the palace doors. It comes as a simple misunderstanding, layered and human and stubborn as stone.A river town upstream diverts its flow to repair a failing levee. Downstream, fields dry out. Accusations spread faster than facts. By the time the council hears of it, tempers are already bruised, words sharpened into something that remembers how to cut.Arthur reads the report twice, jaw tight.“I should go,” he says automatically. “I can fix this.”I don’t answer right away.The old world would have sent him without question. Authority like a blade—swift, decisive, unquestioned. The thought still fits him too easily.“You can go,” I say finally. “But not like before.”He exhales, slow and measured. “No orders.”“No threats.”“No promises I can’t keep,” he adds.I nod. “And you don’t go alone.”—The road to the river towns is uneven, newly mapped. We travel with two council delegates a
Craving the alpha soldier Chapter seventy-two
Tyla’s POVThe world learns how to be quiet.Not all at once. Not gently. Quiet arrives in fragments—missed alarms, unused watchtowers, doors left unlocked because no one remembers why they were ever barred. The kind of silence that feels wrong at first, like a held breath taken too late.I notice it in the mornings.The city wakes without urgency now. No horns calling shifts. No bells marking danger. The palace corridors echo in a way they never did before, not because they are empty, but because they are no longer braced for impact.Arthur hates the quiet at first.He doesn’t say it outright, but I see it in the way he wakes before dawn, restless, pacing the room like a storm trapped in a bottle. His hands still curl as if expecting a hilt. His shoulders tense at distant sounds that turn out to be nothing more than carts on stone or laughter drifting through open windows.The world is not ending.It simply isn’t asking him to stop it anymore.—We begin with small rebellions.Arthur
Craving the alpha soldier Chapter seventy-one
Tyla’s POVThe end of the world does not arrive.That is the strangest thing of all.No final test. No silver blaze splitting the sky. No moment where the Veil demands a last answer or reveals a hidden price hidden in the margins we were too tired to read.The world simply… keeps going.I realize this on an ordinary morning, standing barefoot in the kitchen while the kettle screams because Arthur forgot it on the fire again. He’s leaning against the counter, half-dressed, hair still sleep-tangled, staring out the window like the city might confess something if he watches long enough.“You’re burning the water,” I tell him.He blinks, startled back into his body. “Is that possible?”“No,” I say. “But you’re trying very hard.”He grins sheepishly and lifts the kettle, steam curling up like a reprimand. “Old habits.”“Letting things scream until they explode?”“Being needed,” he corrects softly.I cross the room and rest my forehead against his shoulder. His warmth is solid. Real. No hum
Craving the alpha soldier Chapter seventy
Tyla’s POVThe end of the world does not arrive.That is the strangest thing of all.No final test. No silver blaze across the sky. No moment where the Veil demands a last answer or reveals a hidden price we failed to read in the margins.The world simply… keeps going.I realize this on an ordinary morning, standing barefoot in the kitchen while the kettle screams because Arthur forgot it on the fire again. He’s leaning against the counter, half-dressed, hair still sleep-tangled, staring out the window like the city might confess something if he watches long enough.“You’re burning the water,” I tell him.He blinks. “Is that possible?”“No,” I say. “But you’re trying very hard.”He grins sheepishly and lifts the kettle, steam curling like a reprimand. “Old habits.”“Letting things scream until they explode?”“Being needed,” he corrects softly.I cross the room and rest my forehead against his shoulder. “You’re allowed to make tea without saving anyone.”“I don’t know how,” he admits.
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