CHAPTER FIVE: RUNNING AWAY

Tatsumi’s POV

The next morning, I didn’t return to my duties.

Maya had whispered something about covering for me, but I didn’t trust the palace rumor spreaders. With a castle so huge, secrets didn’t last long, especially not ones that involved the cursed name of Alpha Storm Thorn.

My only plan now was to disappear. For the rest of the summit.

I spent the day sneaking through the servants’ corridors and storage rooms. I slept behind crates in the laundry chamber, bathed in the kitchens after hours, and ate the scraps Maya managed to sneak me.

I avoided the Southern Wing entirely. It was too risky; Liora could have asked about the "mute girl" and Storm was definitely still looking.

And I wasn’t ready for another confrontation, especially not with him.

My mark ached now, not constantly, but in gentle pulses that came in the quiet hours. I didn’t want to think about it. The gods had marked me once before, trusting a destiny that led to a dagger in my heart.

Look where that got me.

The castle was buzzing with preparations for the Full Moon Festival. It was the last, grandest event of the summit. Nobles gathering in the courtyard, music and wine flowing, the moonlight painting the stone walls with silver.

Magic always stirred stronger during the full moon, and everyone could feel it already in the air. Including me.

The night of the festival, I did the only thing I knew to do.

I ran. Not far, only to the furthest edges of the castle grounds.

The main courtyard was too risky, filled with guards, light, and the cackle of noble laughter. I crept through the back gardens, past the wells and forgotten archways, until I found a rarely used storage terrace that stretched over the cliffside.

No one came here. There were no torches lit and no footsteps but mine.

I sat against the cold stone wall, trying desperately to calm the erratic thumping of my heart. I pressed my fingers to my left shoulder where the mark pulsed beneath my skin. It had been burning earlier, like a hot iron pressed too long to flesh, but now... now it burned.

I let out a strangled cry, collapsing onto my knees.

The pain erupted like a raging fire. My body arched off the ground, breath hitching in my throat as something ancient and wild awakened inside me. My veins felt like they were boiling, my vision blurred, and I clawed at my skin as if I could physically rip the agony out.

Then came the vague images, flashes, memories that weren’t mine but felt utterly familiar.

A giant silver wolf stood alone in a field of bones, holding a sword bathed in moonlight. Then I heard a voice, low and commanding, resonating deep in my skull: “You were never supposed to die... my little one.”

Then, everything went dark.

I don’t remember collapsing. Just the sharp crack of my skull hitting the stone and the sound of my own breath fading into a faint nothing.

“Hey, hey! Wake up!”

The voice was rough, deep, and completely unfamiliar. I groaned, barely able to move. My body was still trembling, my limbs unresponsive, as though they no longer belonged to me.

I blinked slowly, my vision adjusting to the figure hovering above me.

He was a man, tall and imposing. His dark, thick long hair fell against his dark skin, and his green eyes were as sharp as ice. His aura screamed Alpha power, but it wasn't Storm, and definitely not Caius.

He looked wild and untamed, lacking the polish of the nobles. He was rugged, almost wild looking, which, despite my pain, made him look dangerously captivating.

“Where the hell did you come from?” he muttered, lifting my head gently. I was cradled in his arms, and I could feel the lingering tremor in my chest.

“I… I don’t…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. My throat was dry, and my words slurred.

He examined me carefully, his fingers brushing the silver mark on my shoulder. “You’re marked.”

I flinched back instantly. “No, please don’t.”

“Easy,” he said, his brow pulling together in a serious frown. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

I tried to sit up, but he held me down gently. “Don’t move. Whatever happened, it wrecked your system, and your mark is emitting some sort of energy.”

“I’m fine,” I croaked.

“You’re not fine,” he snapped, before instantly softening his tone. “You’re burning up.”

I looked into his eyes. They were clear green, assessing me, yes, but there was no malice in them, only confusion and a flicker of something I couldn’t quite place.

“Who are you?” I whispered, barely able to speak.

“Alpha Lucian Vale of the Rogue Pack.”

The Rogue Pack? That was one of the outer territories, far north, isolated. They rarely participated in these events. I knew they were fiercely traditional, highly committed to old magics.

“Why are you here?” I asked, confused.

“Because something pulled me here,” he admitted. His gaze didn’t waver. “A force, a flare of raw power, and then I found you.”

I struggled to sit up again, and this time he let me. I winced, clutching my side.

“I have to go,” I said, anxiousness overriding the pain. “No one can see me.”

He studied my face in silence. “Why are you hiding?”

My silence was his only answer. He didn’t press further.

But he did stand, then offered me his large, warm hand. “Come. I know a healer. She won’t ask questions.”

I hesitated. This could be a trap; another test, another knife to my back when I wasn’t looking. But the burn in my mark hadn’t fully stopped. My skin was still hot, my limbs weak. If I stayed out here much longer, I'd risk dying again.

With the little trust I had left, I placed my hand in his.

The healer stayed in the Western Wing of the castle, tucked deep into the older stone architecture. Lucian moved like a shadow beside me, guiding me past guards and avoiding all attention. He didn’t ask questions, and for that, I was grateful.

The healer, an elderly woman with grey braids and moonstone earrings, took one look at me and hissed.

“She’s not just marked,” she murmured. “She’s awakening.”

I froze. “What does that mean?”

The woman exchanged a look with Alpha Lucian, then looked at me, softer now. “The mark you carry... it's been triggered by something. Maybe fate, maybe vengeance. But it’s burning through your blood because you’re not accepting it.”

“I didn’t ask for this mark!” I hissed, frustrated.

“No one ever does,” she said gently. “But it chooses. And now, it’s waking you up. You either embrace it, or it burns you alive.”