บททั้งหมดของ Bankrupting the Alpha: Crowned by the Dragon King: บทที่ 41 - บทที่ 50

Samantha’s voice, though raspy, carried an ancient authority that made the room go still. She leaned forward, her violet eyes burning with a desperate warning. "The Altar of the First Flame is not just a pile of ruins," she whispered, her gaze darting between Sol and me. "It is an ancient legend, a site of resonance. It was built to awaken the Lost Queens and Kings who no longer have a throne—those whose blood is powerful but whose spirits have been sundered. It doesn't just grant power; it ignites it, burning away the human and the wolf until only the primal force remains." She gripped our hands, her fingers surprisingly strong. "I wasn't taken by a rogue pack," she continued, looking at the King with a pained expression. "I was kidnapped by the Eclipse Main Branch. Their goal was never to dispose of the Alphas. They don't want a graveyard; they want a kennel. They want to rule the Alphas by creating a puppet monarch with the power of the First Flame." As we turned to leave, Sama

The pain was an ocean, and I was drowning in it. It wasn't just physical; it was a flood of ancestral memory. I saw the centuries of blood spilled over borders that shouldn't have existed, the famine engineered to keep the packs weak, and the curses woven by the Eclipse to turn brothers against sisters. All of it—the thousands of years of suffering—just to feed the greed of a few men in gold robes.My wolf wasn't just howling; she was shattering. I could feel her bones lengthening, her fur shimmering with a heat that felt like molten silver. She was absorbing the Altar’s raw energy, feasting on the First Flame, and evolving into something that hadn't walked the earth since the first dawn.I was slipping. The "I" that was Aella was being burned away by the "Queen" that the Altar demanded. My thoughts were becoming a chaotic swirl of violet light and ancient history.I'm losing myself, I thought, the darkness at the edge of my vision beginning to close in.Then, a sharp, grounding press

The transition was instantaneous. One moment, the world was a crushing weight of falling stone and suffocating darkness; the next, the air was sweet, light, and impossibly warm. I blinked, expecting the sting of dust, but my eyes met a sky of brilliant, endless blue. Even though I knew we had been swallowed by the earth, the sun shone above us with a gentle, golden heat. We were in a meadow that seemed to stretch forever, the grass a vibrant green dotted with wildflowers that swayed in a breeze that shouldn't exist underground. I could hear the distant, melodic rush of a river and the soft, intricate songs of birds nesting in the ancient forest that bordered the clearing. I looked down at myself and gasped. The tattered tactical gear and the blood of the Eclipse were gone. I was draped in heavy, silken white robes that felt cool against my skin, shielding me from the sun’s radiance. Then I looked at him. Sol stood just a few feet away, similarly dressed, his golden skin glowing

There, guarding the rings were three spirits. The three spirits shimmered like moonlight on water, their presence filling the throne room with a warmth that felt like a mother’s embrace. They didn't speak with their mouths at first; they signaled with graceful, translucent hands toward the rings. It was as if our bodies moved on instinct, guided by an ancient rhythm. Sol reached out and took the Wolf Ring, his touch reverent as he slid it onto my finger. It felt like a circle of ice and starlight clicking into place. I followed, my heart hammering against my ribs, taking the Dragon Ring and sliding it onto his finger. The metal felt like a living pulse of heat. "Welcome, children," the three voices harmonized, a sound that felt like it was coming from the stones themselves. "Today you are invited, by love, family, and your bond. You stand together as monarchs should be. The children of the Lost Queens." I looked at the three of them, then at Sol, then back again. My voice was a me

The transition from "Ascended Monarchs" to "starving shifters" happened remarkably fast. For hours, we were buried in vellum and leather. We moved through stacks of ancient scrolls, but it seemed the Great Library of the Queens had a sense of humor—or a very mundane side. We found "The Little Dragon Who Lost His Spark," a three-volume set on the proper way to tax wool in the fourteenth century, and a surprisingly aggressive book on the ethics of herbalism. But it was the Compendium of High Court Delicacies that did me in. As I stared at a detailed illustration of honey-glazed venison and sun-berry tarts, my stomach let out a growl so loud it echoed off the vaulted ceiling. Sol looked up from a ledger on stone masonry, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Was that the voice of the High Wolf, or are you just happy to see the recipe for stuffed pheasant?" "The High Wolf is currently ready to eat the library furniture," I admitted, closing the book with a thud. "Now that the a