Chapter 112 Hundred and seventeen
“Why are you following me?”
Ryder’s voice cut through the cold air, low and sharp, directed at the wolves trailing silently behind him through the pines. He didn’t stop walking. He didn’t need to. The authority in his tone rippled through the trees like the snap of an unseen whip, and the wolves hesitated, their paws shifting over the pine needles in uncertainty.
One of them, a tall, grey-furred nomad with scars across his snout, stepped forward cautiously. “We… we weren’t following, Alpha. We were just, ”
Ryder turned his head slightly, enough for the edge of his cracked mask to catch the moonlight. The wolf’s words died on his tongue. Ryder didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t bare his teeth. He simply stood there, radiating a pressure they could feel in their bones.
“Don’t call me that,” he said, the words quiet but unmistakably dangerous.
The nomad swallowed. “What should we call you, then?”
“Nothing.” Ryder resumed walking, the forest swallowing his footsteps, the mask hiding every flicker of emotion that crossed his features. “I walk alone.”
The wolves exchanged glances, uncertain, but none of them left. They followed him anyway, padding behind him like shadows given form. He felt them, felt their eyes, their breaths, their cautious awe.
He also felt the curse beneath his skin, crawling slowly like molten silver through his veins.
A younger wolf, barely grown, whispered to the scarred one, “He saved the children by the ravine last night. You saw it. He could’ve let the Council hunters take them. But he didn’t.”
“He doesn’t want credit,” the scarred wolf murmured. “He just wants to disappear.”
Ryder heard every word. He ignored them.
The path narrowed, winding between ancient pines older than any living Alpha. Moonlight filtered through their branches in fractured patterns that danced across Ryder’s shoulders and mask, turning him into a shifting mosaic of shadow and silver. He didn’t look back, but he sensed the wolves’ confusion growing with every step.
They didn’t understand why they followed him.
Neither did he.
A sudden rustle broke the tension. A lone wolf darted from the bushes, limping, its flank bleeding from a deep gash. It collapsed at Ryder’s feet, panting weakly.
Ryder knelt in one fluid motion. “Who did this?”
The wolf’s breath trembled. “Council scouts… they found us… said we were traitors for defending the Queen’s banner… we barely escaped.”
Ryder’s jaw tightened behind the mask. “How many hunters?”
“Five,” the wolf whispered. “Heading south… toward the river camp.”
The nomads behind him stiffened. The river camp housed families, children, the elderly, those who had refused to swear loyalty to Renna or Zane. They were defenseless.
Ryder stood.
The curse flared inside him, warning him away from anything that touched Sienna’s realm. The pain struck his ribs first, quick and sharp. He grit his teeth, forcing himself to breathe through it, because the alternative was to watch innocent wolves die.
The young wolf called out, “Alpha, ”
Ryder spun, his voice cutting like ice. “I am not your Alpha.”
But the moment the words left his mouth, the world shifted.
A howl echoed in the distance, no ordinary howl. It vibrated through the earth itself, ancient and commanding. The nomads stiffened, their ears lifting, their heads tilting slightly as if answering a call older than their bloodlines.
Another wolf stepped from the darkness, a black-furred giant with eyes like burning coals.
He bowed his head.
“Ghost Alpha,” he said, reverent. “We come to kneel.”
Ryder froze.
Two more stepped out. Then five. Then a dozen.
They surrounded the clearing quietly, some shifting into human form, others remaining on four legs, all bowing, not out of fear, but recognition. Respect. Devotion.
The black wolf spoke again, lifting his head so Ryder could see his face clearly. “Nomads. Scattered packs. Wolves without a land, or banner, or god who claims us. We’ve survived alone for years.” His voice roughened with emotion. “But we follow strength. We follow honor. And we follow the one who protects without demanding obedience.”
Ryder shook his head slowly. “You know what I am.”
“We do,” the black wolf answered, stepping closer without lowering his gaze. “You walk with a curse. You bleed under it. And still you fight for a realm that no longer claims you.”
Ryder’s breath caught, torn between fury and disbelief. “I can’t protect you. I can’t lead anyone. The goddess punishes me when I step near the queen’s borders. She shows me visions, her dying because of me.”
“We know,” another wolf murmured. “Some of us saw you break under them.”
Ryder flinched despite himself. His hand clenched slowly at his side.
The scarred wolf stepped forward. “But even wounded, you saved us. You never let the Council take our lands. You never let Renna’s men touch our children. You stand between us and every monster in these woods.”
“And you put your life down for Sienna even after she renounced you,” another whispered.
The words hit him like a blade between the ribs.
Ryder turned sharply. “Enough.”
The wolves lowered their heads but did not withdraw.
“You want a leader?” Ryder demanded, his voice darkening. “Find someone whole. Someone with a future. Someone who doesn’t carry death like a shadow at their back.”
The black-furred wolf stepped closer until he stood directly before Ryder, their breaths mingling in the cold air. He bowed deeply, pressing his forehead near Ryder’s boot.
“We follow you,” he said quietly. “Because strength that wounds itself to protect others is the rarest kind. Because you don’t ask for loyalty. You earn it.” He raised his head. “This isn’t a crown you take. It’s a name we give.”
Ryder exhaled slowly, his breath turning white in the freezing night. “I don’t want your kneeling. I don’t want devotion.”
“Then don’t take it,” the scarred wolf replied softly. “But we will still give it.”
Ryder’s voice fell to a whisper. “Why?”
The answer came from the youngest wolf, the one who had bled for his people and still limped forward, bowing shakily.
“Because a ghost may walk alone,” he whispered, “but a king never does.”
Ryder’s throat tightened. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the weight of their loyalty to sink against the edges of his battered soul. He didn’t accept it. He didn’t reject it either.
He simply breathed through it.
The black wolf lifted his head. “Say the word, and we will hunt the Council scouts before they reach the river camp.”
Ryder opened his eyes. The pain flickered through him again, Sienna dying in his arms, blood from a vision that wasn’t real. He forced it back with sheer will.
“Save the camp,” he said quietly. “No Council hunter leaves that land alive.”
The wolves bowed as one.
A silent vow. A chosen allegiance. A kingdom rising from exile.
Ryder didn’t watch them leave. He didn’t need to. Their faith in him pressed into the air like a storm that had finally found its center.
When the last wolf vanished into the pines, Ryder stood alone again. But the forest felt different now, as if the shadows themselves waited for his next breath.
He lifted the cracked mask slowly and whispered into the quiet night, “I don’t want this.”
But the forest whispered back.
It’s already yours.
And something deep within him knew it was true.