Chapter 34

Far beneath the roiling surface, in the shadowed depths around Misty Tower, Theo stood alone in a chamber carved from centuries-old stone. There, in the ocean’s ancient silence, a current of raw energy surged through him—an awakening so profound that he staggered, clutching a barnacled pillar for balance. Throughout the undersea stronghold, others reeled from the same invisible force, their senses heightened, nerves alive to the shift in power. It seemed as though the very bones of the ocean were singing with newfound strength, summoning secrets older than memory itself.

The tides beyond the thick, moss-blanketed walls churned as if in answer, and creatures in the deep paused in their endless migrations, attuned to something monumental unfolding. Theo drew a long, steadying breath, feeling each heartbeat echo in the watery gloom—a reminder that life in Misty Tower thrived even as chaos rippled from above. The awakening was not merely one of magic, but of an ancient purpose rekindled. Theo knew, with a certainty honed by years of solitude and vigilance, that this was no ordinary surge. This was a harbinger.

He opened his mind, letting power flow through him, tracing the intricate pathways of mystic wards and runes etched into the stone. Each one vibrated in sympathy, alive with the promise and peril of change. The awakening beckoned not just to the denizens of the deep, but to all whose fates were woven into the world above.

Theo’s thoughts turned, urgent and taut, to his granddaughter and daughter. He longed to search for them, to pierce the veil of uncertainty that separated him from their fates on land. Yet, with magic and power rising so fiercely, it would be perilous to leave the sanctity of the tower. Even the bravest hearts in Misty Tower knew to wait for the storm of awakening to pass before challenging the boundaries between sea and shore.

As the tide of energy ebbed and flowed through the halls, Theo closed his eyes, reaching out with senses honed far beyond mortal means. He could feel distant pulses—echoes of those he loved—somewhere out there, safe for now. But the world above would not remain unchanged for long; soon, he knew, the call to reunite would become irresistible. Until then, he prepared, gathering strength in the oceanic gloom, while above, old wounds and new beginnings waited for the next turn of fate. Lycan King's wife and child died near Silverstone; rumors suggest the Alpha was jealous and caused her death. The attack was near the Silverstone Pack, but no one reported it. Theo writes to the Lycan King, requesting an immediate audience, and hopes for a prompt reply.

Kathy opened the door for Sarah, who had her hair up and was in a dress, with Miles behind her; she then looked over Sarah's shoulder.

“Sarah, where is your husband?”

“He right here, Miles is my husband,”

“I didn’t know,”

"Yes, I'm surprised they didn't tell you."

“Thank you, come on sit at the table while I bring the bottle of wine,”

Anthony descended the staircase, his hair tousled in wild abandon as if he'd just woken from a tangled dream. He paused at the threshold of the dining room, taking in the sight of guests gathered around the table and the soft glow of lamplight glancing off polished glassware. His mate moved gracefully between them, a bottle of wine in hand, her presence anchoring the room with warmth and quiet confidence.

Anthony offered a lopsided smile, smoothing his hair as best he could with one hand, and made his way toward the table. As she uncorked the bottle and began to pour, the rich scent of wine drifted on the air, mingling with the aromas from the kitchen. Conversation ebbed to a hush, punctuated only by the gentle clink of glass against wood.

He nodded a welcome to Sarah and Miles, his gaze lingering on their easy familiarity, and then to Kathy, who gave him a small, knowing smile. For a moment, the worries of the world—rumors, loss, and the distant tremors of power—were held at bay, replaced by the comfort of company and the promise of stories yet to be shared.

Kathy attempted to playfully rub her foot up Anthony's leg, but he looked at her and then she felt his hand moving up her leg under her dress. She attempted to move his hand away. As everyone is enjoying their food and beverages, Anthony unexpectedly glances around the table.

“Everyone, I have something to say. I got a letter from The Lycan King and he wanted me to visit him,”

“The Lycan King, he lived all the way in Canada,”

“Who is The Lycan King?”

"King Frances Claymore, the Lycan King, rules over lycans and werewolves, but he tragically lost his wife, Queen Vanessa, and child many years ago.” Although," Miles said, "there's a rumor that King Frances's people never found the body. Some say the rogue killed her while she was going to see her sister, who's in a different pack, not this one."

Kathy leaned forward, her voice soft but pulsing with concern. “He must be so heartbroken, not knowing what happened to his mate and child. Anthony, do you remember when I came and saved you from your father—when he was beating you? It always seemed like he harbored so much resentment toward you. I know this may be hard to hear, but have you ever considered doing a DNA test on him secretly? I read somewhere that, sometimes, when a child comes from a different father, the man will mistreat the child their whole life.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths lurking in every corner of the candlelit room. “And like you said before,” Kathy continued, “When Noah arrived, your father Alpha Samuel seemed to push you aside, especially after your ex-lover cast that spell on you—the one that blinded you.”

Anthony’s hand stilled on the stem of his glass, the deep red liquid trembling minutely. He looked into the past; his eyes shadowed with memories. “I’ve thought about it,” he admitted quietly. “There’s so much that never made sense. I always hoped it was just the weight of his own regrets, not something deeper or darker.”

Kathy’s fingers traced an absent pattern on the linen, her gaze fixed on Anthony. “Sometimes, the past refuses to stay buried,” she murmured, her voice threaded with empathy. “But answers—no matter how painful—can be a kind of freedom.”

Around the table, the guests exchanged uneasy glances, the warmth of the gathering edged now with the chill of shared secrets and old wounds. The story of the Lycan King’s loss seemed to echo in the walls, mingling with Anthony’s own uncertain lineage, each mystery amplifying the other.

Anthony set down his glass, resolve flickering in his expression. “Maybe it’s time I stopped running from the truth. If I’m to face the Lycan King and his court, perhaps I should know, once and for all, who I truly am.”

The room held its collective breath, the promise of revelation trembling like candlelight—fragile, but ready to illuminate the shadows at last.