Semua Bab Hiding His Heir: The Rejected Luna’s Return: Bab 21 - Bab 30

The Great Hall of the Blackwood Pack was no longer a place of warmth and ale. It had been transformed into a cold, efficient nerve center. Shadow Claws in dark tactical gear stood at every entrance, their presence a silent, looming threat to the regular pack warriors who were still trying to process the events of the previous night.Lyra sat at the head of the long oak table—the same table where her father had once shared wine with Silas while discussing her "disposal." She was reviewing the land-deeds, her obsidian blade resting on the table beside her."The pack elders are demanding a meeting," Malakor said, standing to her right. "They are claiming that the contract you signed with Silas is invalid because it was signed under duress."Lyra didn't look up from the parchment. "Duress? Their Alpha bit his thumb and pressed his blood-print onto that contract while the vampires were at their gates. If they want to argue validity, they can argue it with the B

The rainy season had arrived in the Silver Peaks, a constant, grey drizzle that turned the pack lands into a sea of mud and mist. For Silas, the weather was a perfect reflection of his internal state. He had moved his belongings to the North Tower—a drafty, high-ceilinged stone structure that was usually reserved for the pack’s archives. He lived in a state of self-imposed exile, watching the keep from a distance.Every morning, he would wait at the gates of the South Wing, hoping for a glimpse of Kaelen. Sometimes, he was allowed to see the boy under the watchful, lethal eyes of Nyx. He would bring Kaelen small gifts—a carved wooden wolf, a polished stone from the river, a silver-threaded ribbon.Kaelen was always polite, but he was always distant. He looked at Silas with curiosity, but never with the instinctive, soul-deep recognition that Silas craved.One evening, Silas caught Lyra in the gardens. She was standing by a cluster of frost-blooms, her coat

The blizzard was not a natural occurrence; it was a physical manifestation of the Blood-Moon King’s malice. It screamed through the jagged passes of the Silver Peaks, a wall of white ice and freezing wind that sought to strip the warmth from any living thing. Lyra stood at the prow of the lead transport, her eyes glowing with a sapphire fire that cut through the gloom. She was no longer a woman; she was a storm in human skin.Beside her, Silas Blackwood sat on a crate, his face pale and etched with a grim, unwavering focus. His mangled shoulder was braced in a leather harness, and he was periodically drinking a dark, bitter tonic Hokan had prepared to keep the silver-poisoning at bay. He didn't complain about the pain. He didn't even look at his own wounds. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, searching for the silhouette of the Old Citadel."The wind is shifting," Silas said, his voice a low vibration that struggled against the roar of the gale. "The vampires are u

While the upper floors of the Citadel were a theater of war, the basement was a place of cold, preserved misery. Silas and Hokan moved through the flooded tunnels, the water up to their knees, the surface covered in a thin layer of crystalline ice. The air here smelled of stagnant water and a scent Silas recognized—the metallic, sharp tang of ancient Silver-Crest magic."The prison is just ahead," Hokan whispered, his ember-eyes scanning the darkness. "It’s guarded by a 'Blood-Lock.' It can only be opened by someone of the Blackwood line or the Star-Born.""Then I’m the key," Silas said, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.They reached a massive iron door, its surface covered in intricate, weeping runes. In the center was a circular depression—the mark of the Alpha. Silas didn't hesitate. He bit his thumb, the copper scent of his blood filling the narrow corridor, and pressed his palm into the depression.The runes flared with a dull, red l

The golden light didn't fade; it became the world. Lyra found herself standing in a field of silver-lilies, the sky a deep, bruised purple filled with stars she didn't recognize. Kaelen was still in her arms, but he was no longer a child. He was a young man, dressed in the robes of a King, his stormy sea eyes watching the horizon with an ancient, weary wisdom. "Where am I?" Lyra asked, her voice echoing in the vast, silent space. "You are in the Between," a voice said. She turned to see the man with the liquid-gold eyes. He was sitting on a throne made of fallen stars. Beside him sat her mother—the Silver-Crest Queen—her silver eyes full of a deep, sorrowful love. "Mother?" Lyra whispered, stepping forward. "You did well, Lyra," the Queen said, her voice like the sound of a distant mountain stream. "You brought the Shadow back to the light. But the price was higher than we anticipated."