Chapter 2

I gripped the travel satchel tighter. Inside it, the moonstone urn felt heavier than it should have, as if Evander’s silence itself had weight. I nodded slowly.

“Evander’s—”

A sudden impact slammed into me before I could finish. A child ran straight into my path, and I fell hard onto the stone floor. Pain shot through my wrist. The urn nearly slipped from my arms.

I caught it just in time.

“Watch it!” I snapped.

The boy was Elric—Nyra’s son.

He stood over me, glaring without fear. “You watch it! Why are you even back here?” he shouted.

A low growl rumbled through the hall. Viktor.

“That’s enough, Elric,” he said sharply. Then, to me, colder, “Elowen, he’s only a pup. Don’t start trouble.”

Nyra stepped forward as if she belonged beside him, resting her hand lightly on Viktor’s chest, her gaze soft and familiar.

“Don’t be angry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry… Elric and I will leave.”

Viktor’s jaw tightened. Then he pointed at me.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “She did.”

The words split something open in me. Not pain anymore—something worse. Absence. Like I was already being erased.

Then Elric lunged again.

“What’s in your bag? I’m hungry!”

The urn slipped. It hit the floor with a heavy crack of stone.

“No!” I gasped. “Don’t touch that!”

Elric reached for it anyway, his hands careless. “What is it? Is it food?”

I shoved him back without thinking. I didn’t care anymore. I had nothing left to protect except this.

Viktor’s voice thundered through the hall.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? He’s just a pup!”

Elric grabbed my hair and pulled hard. Pain exploded through my scalp. I bit back the sound rising in my throat.

“It’s Evander’s,” I whispered shakily. “It’s his—”

Nyra gently pulled Viktor back, her voice soft as silk. “Let it go. If it belonged to Evander, then Elric shouldn’t touch it.”

Viktor scoffed. “This is my hall. I decide what belongs where.”

I bent down, gathered the urn with shaking hands, and walked past them without another word.

Behind me, I heard him laugh under his breath, as if I were nothing more than a passing storm.

He escorted Nyra and her pup away like they were honored guests.

That night, I packed my things.

The urn stayed beside me.

I stared at it until dawn.

**

That night, I dreamed of Evander again.

He was wandering through a long, endless hall of glass and moonlight. His small feet were bare, his voice echoing as he called out—

“Father? Father, where are you?”

He wasn’t looking for me.

He was looking for Viktor.

My chest cracked in the dream. I ran, but I could never reach him. Every time I got close, he drifted further away, his tiny hands slipping through the air like smoke.

I fell to my knees.

“I’m sorry, my child… I’m so sorry.”

Again and again.

“I should’ve taken you away. I should’ve protected you.”

When I woke, I was on the floor beside the bed.

My hands were still clasped like prayer.

The estate around me was silent—Viktor’s glass-built stronghold of stone and cold light. Beautiful, empty, lifeless. A place built for power, not for children, not for grief.

I curled my arms around myself.

My pillow was soaked. My chest felt hollow, as if something had been carved clean out of me.

And I remembered.

How Viktor’s warmth had slowly disappeared once Nyra returned.

How he began praising Elric like a future heir.

“Elric is strong,” he once said. “Disciplined. Worthy.”

Not like Evander.

He never said it directly.

But I heard it anyway.

Because before Evander fell ill, Viktor looked at me and said—

“Sometimes I wonder if that child is even mine. If he is, he’s too weak to inherit anything. That kind of blood cannot lead a pack.”

I couldn’t speak.

I had spent years trying to earn his love—thinking if I endured enough, stayed soft enough, loyal enough—he would return to me.

I never thought he would abandon our son too.

Evander loved him.

Worshipped him.

He used to bring him drawings, carved wooden tokens, little wolf charms he made himself.

Viktor never looked.

And when Evander became ill, truly ill, Viktor was preparing a feast for Elric’s naming celebration—music, banners, imported wine, a carved wooden wolf throne no child needed.

My son died without his father beside him.

Only me.

Only silence.

Only the echo of his last question tearing through my sleep—

“Father… where are you?”

And I hate myself most because I still wonder.

If I had taken him and run sooner… would he still be alive?

But I didn’t.

And now there is only grief.

Then I heard footsteps outside.

Unsteady. Drunk.

I opened the door slightly.

Viktor was there, leaning heavily on Nyra, his breath thick with liquor and exhaustion.

“Viktor,” she murmured softly, “are you sure you want to go to her room? It’s late…”

He let out a low, bitter laugh.

“Why would I go to her?” he said. “She humiliated Elric today.”

Nyra guided him away. Toward her chambers.

The door didn’t close fully.

I heard everything after that.

Her voice. His. The shifting bedframe. The sound of them choosing each other without hesitation.

I did not move.

I did not cry.

I just sat in silence, like a forgotten shadow pressed into the wall.

In the morning, I made hangover broth as I always did.

I placed it on the table.

Viktor came down later, rubbing his temple, avoiding my gaze.

“I came back late,” he said. “I slept in Elric’s room.”

I nodded.

“Okay.”

No questions.

No anger.

That was what he expected of me now.

Then I slid a parchment across the table.