Chapter 37: The Awakening

 

Life at the palace fell into a comfortable, albeit chaotic, routine.

Saturday mornings were for combat training. Killian insisted on teaching Lucian himself in the private training grounds behind the Forbidden Wing.

I sat on the veranda, sipping tea, watching my handsome husband teach my golden son how to throw a punch. Nyx sat at my feet, drawing in a sketchbook with black charcoal.

"Again, Lucian," Killian instructed patiently. "Don't just use your arm. Use your core. You are a Royal; your power comes from within."

Lucian, sweating and determined, threw another punch at the heavy sandbag. It flew off its chain and crashed into the stone wall, cracking the masonry.

"Oops," Lucian grinned, rubbing his tiny fist.

"Better," Killian smirked, pride radiating from him.

It was a perfect, peaceful Saturday. Until it wasn't.

The air shifted. The birds stopped singing.

A new guard, hired just last week to patrol the perimeter, suddenly broke formation. He wasn't looking at Killian. He was looking at Lucian with a gaze filled with fanatical hatred.

"Death to the false Savior!" the guard screamed, pulling a jagged dagger coated in a shimmering green liquid—Wolfsbane poison.

He lunged. Not at the Alpha King, but at the five-year-old boy.

"Lucian!" I screamed, dropping my tea.

Killian roared, shifting mid-stride into his half-wolf form, launching himself to intercept. But the guard was closer. Too close.

Lucian turned, his blue eyes wide with surprise. He raised his small arms to block, golden light flaring defensively.

SLASH.

The poisoned dagger clipped Lucian’s forearm.

A few drops of bright red blood hit the white training mats.

Lucian cried out—a sound of pain and shock.

The world seemed to stop. Killian reached the attacker a second later, his claws ready to tear the man apart.

But someone else was faster.

From the veranda, a sound erupted that was not human, nor wolf. It was a high-pitched, terrifying shriek of pure, unadulterated rage.

Nyx.

I looked down. My quiet, doll-like daughter was standing up. Her charcoal stick had snapped in her hand. Her violet eyes were glowing with an intensity that rivaled the sun, but dark. So unbearably dark.

SNAP.

The silver suppressor bracelet on her wrist shattered into dust.

"HE HURT HIM!" Nyx screamed.

The shadows of the palace—the long afternoon shadows cast by the pillars and trees—suddenly detached themselves from the ground.

They didn't just move; they swarmed. A tidal wave of living darkness rushed past Killian, slamming into the assassin before he could strike Lucian again.

The man didn't even have time to scream. The shadows wrapped around him like a cocoon of obsidian vines. They lifted him ten feet into the air.

The darkness squeezed.

We heard the sickening sound of breaking bones. Then, the shadows invaded his nose, his mouth, silencing him, suffocating him.

It wasn't a fight. It was an execution.

The man went limp. The shadows unceremoniously dropped his broken body onto the grass.

The training ground was dead silent. The dozen other guards stood frozen in terror, staring at the five-year-old girl on the veranda.

The violet glow faded from Nyx's eyes. She looked at her hands, then at the unmoving man on the grass, then at Lucian’s bleeding arm.

Her lower lip trembled.

"Daddy?" she whispered, her voice tiny and scared. "I... I made a mess."

Killian didn't look at the dead assassin. He rushed to Lucian first, checking the wound. It was shallow; his golden aura had blocked most of the poison.

Then, Killian was on the veranda in a single leap.

He dropped to his knees in front of Nyx, who was shaking uncontrollably.

"Look at me, Shadow," he commanded gently, taking her small, cold hands in his massive warm ones.

"I broke the bracelet," she sobbed, tears spilling from her violet eyes. "I'm sorry. The bad man hurt Lu, and the darkness... it just came out."

"You protected your brother," Killian said firmly, pulling her into his arms and burying his face in her hair. "You did exactly what a Blackwood is supposed to do."

He stood up, holding his terrifying, weeping daughter against the tattoo on his chest—the tattoo that was now pulsing with a satisfied, deep rhythm.

Killian looked down at the terrified guards below. His eyes were cold gold.

"Clean this up," the Alpha King ordered. "And if a word of what happened here leaves these walls, the shadows will pay you a visit tonight."

He turned to me, his expression grim.

"Elena, take Lucian inside to Vance. Get the antidote."

"What about you?" I asked, my heart pounding as I looked at the immense power rolling off my little girl.

"I need to take Nyx to the Archives," Killian said, holding her tighter as she clung to him. "The bracelet isn't enough anymore. The Destroyer is awake. We need to teach her how to control it before she levels the entire kingdom by accident."

The peaceful days of kindergarten drama were over. The war had begun. And our daughter was the ultimate weapon.