Chapter 120 120
My gaze whipped toward the doorway the moment Zephyr spoke.
I hadn't even heard the man enter, yet suddenly he was there, standing just behind Zephyr like he had stepped out of the shadows themselves.
He was tall. Unnaturally tall and thin, like a tree stripped of leaves. Long gray hair fell past his shoulders in uneven strands, braided in places with bone beads and tiny charms. A mantle of wolf hide draped over his shoulders, the fur aged but well-kept, its glassy eyes still sewn onto the pelt as if watching the world of the living.
His presence shifted the air.
My instincts sharpened. Ezriel stirred but did not snarl, an odd sign of respect.
The man bowed low to me, slow and deliberate.
"Emperor," he said, voice rough like wind over dry leaves. "I greet you."
I did not return the pleasantries.
"Speak," I snapped. "My son…"
His pale eyes lifted to mine, calm in a way that grated against my panic.
"I bring good news and bad news," he said evenly. "Which do you wish to hear first?"
My jaw clenched.
Every second he spoke in riddles felt like a second stolen from Ares' life.
"All I want to hear," I said, my voice low and tight, "is that Ares is alive."
The Shaman studied me for a breath. Then he nodded once.
"He lives."
My knees nearly gave. I staggered back and dropped into the chair behind me without grace or dignity. I didn't care.
Alive.
Alive!
My son is alive!
A shaky breath left my lungs. My hands dragged over my face. For a moment, I let my eyes close.
Thank the gods!
Thank every spirit listening.
Thank fate for this one mercy.
Ezriel quieted, relief rolling through me in warm waves.
I looked back up at the Shaman. "You stopped it?"
"Yes," he said. "The curse was already rooting into his spirit, but I severed its teeth before it could consume his life."
"Then he will recover," I said quickly. "My son is strong. He will heal."
Silence followed.
Too long.
My relief began to thin.
The Shaman's expression did not change, but the room felt colder.
I straightened slowly. "You said there was bad news."
Zephyr shifted slightly beside him, his face grave. That was when true dread slid into my bones.
I forced the words out. "What is it?"
The Shaman stepped closer. His gaze was not cruel. Not pitying either. Simply… certain.
"The curse was meant to kill," he said. "When death is denied, it demands a price."
My fingers curled on the armrest.
"What price?" I asked.
His eyes held mine.
"The child will live," he repeated. "His heart will beat. His wolf will grow. His fate will continue."
He paused.
"But the shadow of the curse remains."
My voice dropped to a whisper. "Speak plainly."
"The curse passed through his eyes on its way to his soul," the Shaman said. "Though I drove it out, it scorched what it touched."
My pulse thundered in my ears.
"He will never see," the Shaman finished calmly. "The child will be blind for the rest of his life."
The world went still.
Blind?
My mind rejected the word.
Ares, who followed light, who stared at my crown, who tracked movement with those bright, curious eyes.
I saw him reaching for my face. Smiling at voices. Pulling my hair. Blinking at candle flames.
"No," I said quietly.
The Shaman did not look away.
"No," I repeated, louder now. "There must be a remedy. A counter-spell. A ritual. You are a shaman, fix it!"
"This is the fixing," he replied. "Without intervention, he would be a corpse by sunset."
My throat tightened painfully.
"A trade," he added. "Life for sight."
Ezriel shifted uneasily inside me.
"He is a child," I said. "He has done nothing to deserve a cursed fate."
"Curses do not measure innocence," the Shaman said. "Only targets."
Zephyr stepped forward before I could even gather my thoughts.
"Surely," he said, his voice edged with restrained urgency, "there must be another way. Eyes can be healed. Sight can be restored. We have seen strange recoveries before."
For the first time since entering, the Shaman looked almost weary.
He shook his head slowly.
"This is not a wound," he said. "It is a curse. And curses do not heal like flesh."
My jaw tightened. "Then break it."
"The curse has already been broken," he replied. "What remains is its scar."
I pushed off the chair and stood. Anger burned through my numbness, hot and desperate. "Then cleanse the scar. Draw it out. Transfer it. Place it on me!"
"If pain alone could mend it, Emperor," the Shaman said quietly, "I would carve your eyes myself and call it done."
The bluntness stole my next words.
My hands curled into fists. "You said death was denied, and it demanded a price. Fine. I will pay more. Name it."
The Shaman studied me in silence, as if measuring my resolve on some unseen scale.
"It is not that simple," he said at last.
Nothing infuriated me more than that phrase.
"Speak plainly," I growled. "I am in no mood for riddles."
He dipped his chin in acknowledgment.
"The child you call Ares," he said, "is not ordinary."
A strange chill slid down my spine.
"All children are extraordinary," I said flatly.
"This one is extraordinary to the moon," the Shaman corrected.
The room quieted.
Even Ezriel stilled, listening.
"The boy bears the Mark of the Moon," the Shaman continued. "It is rare. Ancient. A sign carried by wolves destined for greatness."
My heartbeat slowed, each thud heavy.
"He will grow powerful," the Shaman said. "More powerful than most Alphas. His spirit is vast. His will shall command. He is meant to lead."
Ares… my little river child… destined for power?
A flicker of pride rose in my chest, quickly tangled with grief.
"What use is greatness," I muttered, "if he cannot see the world he rules?"
The Shaman's pale gaze sharpened.
"The mark protects him," he said. "It is why he did not die immediately. The curse struck, but his fate resisted."
Zephyr exhaled softly beside me, as if that confirmed some old legend.
I stepped closer. "Then the mark can restore him."
The Shaman hesitated.
That hesitation was a blade at this point.
"Say it!" I demanded.
He bowed his head slightly.
"The mark ties his life not only to the moon," he said, "but to his blood."
A strange unease crawled under my skin.
"His mother," the Shaman finished.
The word hit like a distant thunderclap.
I went still.
"…His mother," I repeated.
"The bond between a pup and his mother is the first magic a wolf knows," the Shaman said. "Stronger than pack. Stronger than an oath. Stronger than the crown."
My throat tightened.
"The curse damaged what the moon gave him," he continued. "Only the source that helped shape his life can help restore what was lost."
My voice dropped. "You mean a ritual."
"I mean union."
The air thickened.
"If you find his mother," the Shaman said carefully, "and unite with her, as mates and as husband and wife, the bond between you three will call the moon's favor."
Hope flickered painfully in my chest before I could process the rest of his words. I didn't hear the part about finding his mother. How could I when I know….
"Ares will see again!"
"Only when you unite with his mother as your second chance mate," the Shaman said grimly.