Power of Life and Death, Should Be in Your Grasp

(Eliza's POV)

Elder Morgan stared at me, her eyes widening with shock. The silence that followed my bold suggestion stretched between us like a physical thing.

"What did you just say?" she finally asked, her voice dangerously quiet.

I took a deep breath, gathering my courage. "I asked if you would consider returning to the Morgan Pack with me, Grandmother."

She rose from her chair with surprising agility, her tall frame towering over me where I still knelt. Anger flashed in her dark eyes.

"You dare to suggest that I return to that place?" Her voice trembled with emotion. "After thirty years of peaceful existence here?"

I remained kneeling, my head bowed respectfully. "I meant no disrespect, Grandmother."

"No disrespect?" She laughed bitterly. "You know nothing of what you ask!"

Despite her anger, I pressed on. I needed her support if I was to survive what awaited me at the Morgan Estate.

"Is this truly what you want, Grandmother?" I gestured at the sparse chamber around us. "This isolated existence? This... exile?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch your words, child."

"Forgive my boldness," I said, "but is it truly contentment you feel here, or resignation?"

I raised my eyes to meet hers. "You were betrayed by those who should have honored you most. Your son James, your husband's mistress Donna Dennis, the entire Morgan Pack—they all failed you."

Elder Morgan's face hardened with each word I spoke. I could see old wounds reopening in her expression.

"Is your honor satisfied with this arrangement?" I asked softly. "The glory, the power, the control over life and death of the Morgan Pack—all should belong to you."

My grandmother's hand trembled slightly as she gripped the back of her chair. My words had struck deeper than I'd anticipated.

"You know nothing of glory or power," she said, but her voice lacked conviction. "Those things bring nothing but pain."

"Yet they rightfully belong to you," I insisted. "Not to Donna Dennis, who stole your husband and alienated your son. Not to James Morgan, who rejected his own mother for a servant."

Elder Morgan turned away sharply, but not before I glimpsed the pain in her eyes.

"You speak of matters you do not understand," she said, her voice low and strained.

"Perhaps not entirely," I admitted. "But I understand injustice when I see it."

She faced me again, her expression unreadable. "What would you know of injustice, child? You've barely lived."

I lowered my eyes, allowing vulnerability to show on my face. This was no time for pride.

"I know I'm presumptuous," I said softly. "But my situation is desperate, Grandmother. I need your protection."

She studied me intently. "Explain."

I chose my words carefully, aware that my future hinged on this conversation.

"The Morgan Pack has shown little regard for blood ties," I observed. "Otherwise, they wouldn't have treated you the way they did. And now they're doing the same to me."

I described how Katherine had been embraced wholeheartedly while I, the true daughter, had been treated with disdain.

"William ordered me dragged back like a disobedient dog," I said, allowing genuine hurt to color my voice. "My own brother who's never even met me."

Something shifted in Elder Morgan's expression—a flicker of recognition, of shared pain.

"Everyone loved Katherine," I continued. "They accepted her without question, while I—their flesh and blood—am treated as an unwelcome intruder."

Elder Morgan moved to the window, gazing out at the sanctuary grounds. Her reflection in the glass showed a woman lost in painful memories.

"I know what it's like," she said quietly, "to fight for the love of those who should love you unconditionally."

She turned back to me, her eyes piercing. "Do you truly believe my presence would change anything?"

"You are Eleanor Morgan of the Blackthorn bloodline," I said with conviction. "Your mere presence commands respect. With you beside me, they would not dare treat me with such cruelty."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "You are quite the strategist for one so young."

I bowed my head. "I am merely trying to survive, Grandmother."

She studied me for a long moment, then sighed heavily. "Your words have... merit. But I need time to consider this request."

She gestured toward the door. "Leave me now. I must think."

I rose and bowed deeply. "Thank you for hearing me, Grandmother."

As I reached the door, her voice stopped me. "Eliza."

I turned back. "Yes, Grandmother?"

"You are either very brave or very foolish," she said, her expression softening slightly. "Perhaps both."

I smiled. "I've been called worse."

After leaving Elder Morgan's chambers, anxiety gnawed at my stomach. Had I pushed too hard? Had I offended her with my bold suggestion?

I needed to distract myself, to channel my nervous energy productively. Returning to my room, I sat down with brush and ink, practicing calligraphy with fierce concentration.

The characters still looked awkward and childish despite weeks of practice. Frustration welled up within me.

In my previous life, I'd never mastered the elegant brushwork expected of a pack daughter. It had been one more failure used against me, one more reason I didn't belong.

Setting aside the ruined paper, I decided fresh air might clear my thoughts. The herb garden had become my sanctuary during my stay, a place where I could work with my hands and quiet my mind.

I found several spiritual advisors already there, harvesting moonlight herbs for healing remedies. They nodded respectfully as I approached.

"May I help?" I asked, kneeling beside an elderly advisor carefully cutting stems.

He smiled, handing me a small knife. "Of course, Miss Eliza. Your assistance is always welcome."

Working methodically, I let the rhythm of harvesting soothe my anxious thoughts. The earthy scent of herbs filled my lungs, grounding me.

As we worked, I subtly directed the conversation toward a topic that had intrigued me since arriving.

"I've noticed everyone seems concerned about disturbing someone in the Evergreen Mountain Rear Slopes," I said casually. "Who lives there that commands such respect?"

The advisors exchanged nervous glances. One by one, they found excuses to move away until only Gregory Weily remained beside me.

"Miss Eliza," he said softly, his voice stern but kind. "Some questions are better left unasked."

I kept my expression innocent. "I meant no harm. I'm merely curious."

Gregory's weathered face grew serious. "Curiosity can be dangerous when directed toward certain subjects."

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "The resident of Evergreen Mountain is not someone you should concern yourself with."

The warning in his tone was unmistakable.

"I understand," I said, nodding respectfully. "Thank you for the guidance."

Changing the subject, I gestured to our harvest. "These herbs would make a wonderful feast. Would you allow me to prepare something special for everyone?"

Gregory's expression lightened immediately. "You wish to cook for us?"

I smiled. "In the wilderness, I learned to make nourishing meals from whatever herbs and plants I could find. It would be my pleasure to share this skill."

In truth, these cooking skills had been hard-won during my years of starvation and neglect in the midwife's home. I'd learned to identify edible wild plants out of sheer necessity.

The kitchen staff watched skeptically as I began preparing a variety of herb dishes. I worked quickly, my hands remembering techniques I'd developed for survival.

A simple venison soup with moonlight herbs for healing properties.

Wild mountain greens sautéed with pine nuts for strength.

Herb cakes made from ground roots and seeds that would replenish energy.

The kitchen gradually filled with delicious aromas, drawing curious onlookers. The cook, initially doubtful, began asking questions about my techniques.

As I worked, the familiar motions calmed my mind. If Elder Morgan rejected my proposal, I would need another plan. Perhaps I could convince her to send her personal guards as my escort instead.

When the meal was ready, I arranged a portion on a tray for Elder Morgan. "I'd like to deliver this myself," I told Nanny Edwards, who had come to investigate the commotion in the kitchen.

She studied the beautifully arranged food with raised eyebrows. "You made all this?"

I nodded. "Please, let me take it to Grandmother. It would mean a great deal to me."

Nanny Edwards hesitated, then nodded. "Very well. But don't disturb her if she's resting."

I carried the tray carefully through the sanctuary, aware of the weight of my actions. This small offering might mean nothing to Elder Morgan, but I had to try.

Standing before her door, I took a deep breath before knocking softly.

After delivering the food and leaving without disturbing her further, I returned to the kitchen where the spiritual advisors had gathered to sample my cooking.

Their praise warmed me, but my thoughts remained with Elder Morgan. Would my words and actions be enough to sway her?

(Third Person's POV)

As darkness fell over Green Pine Sanctuary, a solitary figure moved silently toward the Evergreen Mountain Rear Slopes.

The spiritual advisor carried a basket of freshly made herb dishes, his steps hesitant as he approached the small courtyard nestled among ancient pines.

His duty was simple—deliver food and depart immediately without looking around. The rule had been strictly enforced for years.

Tonight, however, something went wrong.

As he placed the basket on the stone table, a sudden gust of wind caught the cloth covering, blowing it aside. The advisor instinctively reached to secure it.

In that moment, his gaze fell upon the courtyard beyond.

His blood froze in his veins.

Pools of dark crimson stained the stone floor. Bodies lay motionless, torn apart with inhuman savagery.