Chapter 265

Chapter 265
Iris's POV

Mother led me away from the chaos of the central plaza, her hand firm yet gentle around my wrist. My heart pounded against my ribcage as we walked in silence, leaving behind the murmurs and stares of the North European pack members. I couldn't believe this was happening—this woman, whom I'd mourned and missed for so many years, was alive and walking beside me.

We entered a small stone cottage at the edge of the compound. Mother closed the heavy wooden door behind us, shutting out the outside world. The room was lit by several candles, their warm glow illuminating ancient wolf totems carved into the walls. I stood frozen by the door, unable to process the reality before me.

This woman—my mother—whom I believed had died years ago, was standing in front of me, alive and well, apparently holding answers to all the mysteries that had plagued my life.

"Sit down," she said softly, gesturing to a wooden chair.

I didn't move. Too many emotions were battling inside me—shock, joy, confusion, and beneath it all, a current of resentment I couldn't ignore.

"Why?" My voice came out hoarse, strained by suppressed emotion. "Why did you let Dad and me believe you were dead? All these years... do you have any idea what we went through?"

Mother's eyes flashed with pain. She reached out toward me, but I instinctively stepped back. I saw the light in her eyes dim slightly at my rejection.

"Iris, I know I owe you an explanation. A complete explanation." Her voice was both familiar and foreign, triggering childhood memories while carrying the weight of years I'd never witnessed.

"Not just an explanation," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "You owe us fifteen years of time. You owe me my childhood. You owe Dad countless nights he went to bed alone." I hadn't planned to be so direct, but the words poured out like a flood I couldn't contain.

Mother slowly sat down, folding her hands in her lap. She took a deep breath. "You're right. I owe you too much—perhaps more than I can ever repay. But I need you to understand that leaving wasn't a choice, but a necessity. If I had returned, I would have brought deadly danger to your doorstep." Her eyes met mine directly. "If there had been any other way to keep you safe, I would have taken that path without hesitation."

Looking into her determined yet sorrowful eyes, I felt the anger in my chest begin to subside. Finally, I walked over and sat across from her. "I need to know everything. From the beginning."

"Do you know the origin of the Lowell surname?" Mother began unexpectedly.

I shook my head. Despite carrying the name my entire life, I'd never delved into its history.

"Lowell in Old English means 'little wolf,'" Mother explained, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Our family history goes back centuries, always playing the role of 'bridge builders' in werewolf society, connecting different packs to each other."

This information surprised me. "So our family has always had connections to werewolves? Not just because of you and Dad?" This revelation shifted my understanding of my own identity.

Mother nodded. "The Lowell family is almost as old as werewolf history itself, though we're not pure-blooded. Our ancestors chose a different path—not to lead a single pack, but to serve as messengers and mediators between all packs. In werewolf society, this is a unique and respected position."

She reached out to touch the stone wall beside her, pointing to an ancient symbol carved there. "See this mark? This is the Lowell family crest. You can find it in territories of all major packs. It represents neutral ground, peace negotiations, and fair mediation."

I studied the mark carefully—a wolf's head outline surrounded by ancient runes. Now that I thought about it, I had seen similar patterns in some of my father's old books, but I'd never asked about their meaning.

"The North European pack is one of the oldest and most powerful werewolf packs," Mother continued. "The friendship between them and the Lowell family dates back centuries. But my personal friendship with Njord and Freyja—the Alpha and Luna of the North European pack—began twenty-five years ago."

"Twenty-five years ago," Mother's voice took on a nostalgic tone, "I was sent as a Lowell family representative to attend the annual werewolf tribal summit in Norway. Your father, as the newly appointed Alpha of the Stone pack, was also invited. We arrived on the same day and were assigned adjacent accommodations."

This coincidence surprised me. "So you and Dad met in Norway? He never told me this." I recalled the complex expression my father always had when mentioning mother, now understanding how much untold history it contained.

"Probably because what followed was too dangerous to share," Mother said quietly. "He always wanted to protect you from worry." She continued describing how they had been trapped by an unexpected blizzard in the mountains, coincidentally with Njord and Freyja.

"Four people, stuck in a small cabin for an entire week," Mother's expression became animated, as if transported back to that time. "Initially, we were all wary, especially your father and Njord. The tension between two Alphas was almost suffocating. But survival necessity forced us to cooperate."

I found myself drawn into this story, imagining four young werewolves forced to coexist in harsh conditions. "What changed them from adversaries to friends?" I asked curiously.

"Danger and honesty," Mother replied, her eyes sparkling with memories. "On the third day, Njord and your father went out searching for food and encountered a pack of actual wolves. In that critical moment, they fought back-to-back, protecting each other. When they returned, they were covered in blood but laughing like children."

I could picture that scene—two powerful Alphas, setting aside their differences when facing a common threat, finding connection through battle. That was the essence of werewolf nature—forming the most genuine bonds in moments of danger.

"By the time the blizzard cleared, we had become friends. And this kind of friendship, crossing pack boundaries, was extremely rare in the werewolf world." Mother's voice carried pride. "From that moment on, the four of us formed a special bond that transcended traditional pack boundaries and Alpha rivalries."

"In the years that followed, we were frequently invited to the North European pack's territory," Mother continued, her voice softening. "Your father and Njord became inseparable friends, while Freyja and I developed a deep friendship of our own."

Mother described the beautiful homeland of the North European pack, the joyful times they shared, and the traditional ceremonies they participated in. I listened intently, these stories filling in the missing pieces of my childhood—about my parents' love story, about my origins.

"It was during these visits that your father and I gradually fell in love," Mother's eyes glowed with warmth. "Your father was so brave, honorable, and full of wisdom. His smile could light up an entire room, and his voice could calm the wildest spirit."

The way she described my father, full of love and pride, reminded me of all the times he raised me alone—never once speaking ill of my mother, even in the most difficult moments. Now I understood why—their love had never died.

"We confessed our feelings after a full moon running ceremony," Mother continued, her voice gentle with memory. "Njord and Freyja were the first witnesses to our love. They performed an ancient Northern European bonding ceremony for us, even though traditionally, such ceremonies were reserved only for pure-blooded werewolves."

A warmth spread through my body as I imagined my young parents pledging their love under moonlight, surrounded by their closest friends' blessings. "Was I... was I born here?" I asked quietly.

Mother shook her head. "No, we returned to your father's territory. But when I became pregnant with you, Freyja was the first to know. She immediately flew over to see me and performed a traditional Northern European blessing ceremony for you." Mother's gaze became distant. "During the ceremony, she had a vision—a bright North Star, guiding lost wolf packs. She said you would become a bridge between two worlds."

This revelation stunned me. "So my name... Polaris... she gave it to me?"