Semua Bab SEALED FATE: Bab 41 - Bab 50

Darkness stretched endlessly in the chamber where Caveen sat, strapped to a cold iron chair. The room smelled of old stone and burning herbs, laced with something far more ancient—magic. Faint runes etched into the floor pulsed with dull light, casting shadows that danced like spirits on the walls. Caveen’s wrists and ankles were bound with enchanted cuffs, not to restrain him physically—he could’ve broken those—but to bind the very essence of him, to suppress the confusion of energies swirling in his blood. He couldn’t tell how long he had been there. Time passed in odd ways. Sometimes the lights flickered and the room grew silent. Other times, the council members entered in a flurry of whispers, robes trailing behind them like smoke. They never spoke to him. They only observed, studied, prodded. They’d taken his blood. His hair. A piece of his broken necklace. He didn’t scream when the magic needles pierced his skin, but the truth was—he wanted to. Not from pain, but from fear.

The moon hung low, casting silver beams through the thick veil of trees. A fire crackled softly in the clearing, shadows flickering across worn faces. The night was hushed, as if nature itself held its breath.Carl sat on a fallen log, his broad shoulders sagging with exhaustion and relief. Just beyond the fire, Maika knelt in the grass, arms wrapped tightly around the small, trembling boy she thought she’d never see again.“Caveen…” she whispered, cradling his head to her chest, tears soaking into his hair. “My son… my precious boy…”Caveen clung to her, fingers digging into her cloak as though afraid she might vanish if he let go.“I knew you’d come,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “I kept dreaming about you. I didn’t forget…”Carl turned to them slowly. His amber eyes, usually sharp and proud, glistened with unspoken emotions. Every heartbeat felt like thunder in his ears. He had searched, fought, and bled for this moment. Now, it sat before him, fragile and real.Maika looked up at hi

The dense forest parted like a curtain as the stone path wove upward to the Lycan Alpha's estate—Carl’s stronghold, fortress, and once, his lonely haven. Now, it was alive with footfalls and laughter, voices echoing down the corridors that hadn’t heard joy in years.Carl stood at the entrance, his eyes watching Maika and Caveen as they stepped over the threshold. The morning sunlight spilled across the great archway and onto their faces—warm, golden, and full of new beginnings.“It’s bigger than I remembered,” Maika whispered, her hand brushing over the ivy-wrapped railing of the stairway.“That’s because the last time you were here, you were human,” Carl replied softly, moving beside her. “It hasn’t changed. But you have.”Maika glanced at him, her smile faint, uncertain. “Maybe I’m still changing.”“Then we change together,” Carl said.Caveen ran ahead, the light in his eyes clearer now. There was no council, no chains, no cold stone labs. Just rooms full of old paintings, a garden

The chamber of the High Council lay cloaked in an unnatural silence, disturbed only by the flickering of floating orbs that lit the obsidian walls. Tension crackled in the air like static before a storm. High Chancellor Elowen stood at the center of the ancient circle, her silver robes billowing slightly from the energy that had begun to thrum through the floor. Her eyes gleamed not with hatred—but fear. “She is nearing term,” Elowen said, her voice cold and grave. “The child grows… unlike anything we’ve encountered. Its aura now breaches wards across the continent. This cannot be allowed to continue.” Magister Kaelen stepped forward, resting both hands on the stone table etched with blood wards. “If the child is born unchecked, her power could awaken every slumbering relic from the First Age. She is not just vampire or witch… she is something ancient. Something... destined.” Elder Thalor’s usual calm was gone. “I warned you,” he muttered, hands trembling as he clutched a scroll.

The clink of silver and the soft rustle of silk filled the grand dining hall of the Delacroix estate. Candles flickered in crystal sconces, their golden light dancing off gilded walls and polished wood. The long banquet table gleamed under its opulent feast—roasted pheasant, candied apples, honey-glazed carrots, cheeses wrapped in fig leaves, and goblets filled with spiced red wine. Yet none of it could distract from the woman seated at the Duke’s right hand. Seraphine sat stiffly, back straight, hands resting gently in her lap. The soft gold gown she now wore—borrowed hastily from Celestine’s old wardrobe—clung to her like borrowed skin. Her hair had been loosely pinned by Nana Elspeth’s trembling fingers, but no amount of grooming could prepare her for the icy glares burning into her from across the table. Celestine’s smile was the most brittle of all. Lady Jane, seated beside her favored daughter, wore a mask of strained politeness. Her fingers clutched her wine goblet tight