Chapter 56 Victory's Coast

Chapter 56 Victory's Coast
Erick’s POV

The crown glowed intensely on Deborah's head, and Erick's heart constricted. Not from pride, nor from relief. But from fear.

She appeared otherworldly, a figure born of light and darkness, too grand and potent to be truly his. The radiant light in her hair highlighted her features, gorgeous, awe-inspiring, and seemingly beyond his grasp. 

For a brief moment, he lost all sense of their connection, as if the crown had elevated her to a place he couldn't reach.

Then her legs gave way. Erick reacted instantly, catching her as the wolves around them voiced their mingled triumph and sorrow. Her body rested against his firm, substantial, and their connection forcefully reasserted itself, nearly making him lose his balance. 

A profound weariness flowed through their link, heavy and oppressive, combined with a pain that caused his own body to ache in response.

"I have you," he whispered near her temple, unsure if she could hear him above the clamor. "I have you."

Her fingers gripped his shirt, and that small action settled a frantic feeling within him. She was still present. Still, his partner, whether she wore the crown or not.

But for how long? The question arose spontaneously, unwanted, and he pushed it away as he helped her to her feet.

Around them, the battleground was shifting from a scene of conflict to one of sorrow. Wolves in both human and animal shapes moved through the destruction, searching for the deceased, and the initial cries of triumph were already giving way to a more profound emotion.

Wailing began near the eastern edge of the clearing, a she-wolf's sorrowful cry that pierced the darkness. Others joined in, creating a collective lament that made Erick's throat constrict. He had heard that sound before, after the attack that killed his parents. 

It was the sound of groups fragmenting, of connections broken by mortality.

"How many?" Deborah's voice was raspy, almost inaudible.

Erick didn't want to respond. He didn't want to count the bodies being carried from the field, wrapped in damaged garments and stained clothing. But he could sense her need for an answer through their bond, intense and clear.

"Too many," he said finally.

She moved away from him, and he compelled himself to release her. The crown still shone on her head, creating shifting shadows across her face as she looked over the scene. 

Her radiant energy had burned the ground in a perfect circle around where she had stood, leaving the earth darkened and smoldering. 

Beyond that circle, the bodies of Matthias's followers lay strewn like discarded figures.

And beyond them, they have fallen.

Erick recognized Marcus first, the young wolf from the Clearwater Pack who had joked about finally getting to fight alongside the renowned mixed-blood. He lay on his back, eyes open to the stars, with a large cut across his throat. 

Sarah from the Northern Ridge Pack was being carried past by two of her packmates, her body so still it made Erick's chest tighten. 

There were numerous others, faces he had seen around the fires during their planning sessions, individuals who had trusted Deborah enough to sacrifice their lives for her.

The connection between them throbbed with Deborah's deep sorrow, and Erick experienced it as his own. Her grief was a tangible presence, tearing at his emotions, making it difficult to breathe. He reached for her hand and found it shaking.

"They chose this," he said quietly. "They chose to fight."

"They chose to follow me." Her voice broke. "And I guided them to their demise."

"You led them to victory." He held her hand, hoping she would sense his conviction through their link. "Matthias would have destroyed everyone. You saved..."

"Don't." She turned to face him, and the crown's light made her eyes appear empty. "Don't try to glorify this. Seventeen wolves are dead because I lacked the strength to resolve this earlier. Because I paused, because I."

"Because Matthias was a brutal individual who instigated this conflict." Erick held her face gently, feeling the warmth from the crown's glow against his skin. "This is his fault, Deborah. Not yours."

But he could feel her uncertainty through their connection, dense and suffocating. He could feel the burden of the crown on her, more oppressive than any physical load. 

She was withdrawing from him even as he held her, retreating into an internal space dominated by responsibility and regret, a place he couldn't access.

The fear he'd been holding back returned, stronger than before.

He had nearly lost her to Matthias's weapon. He had almost seen her perish before him, unable to intervene. And now, with the crown shining on her head and the groups forming around her as if she were revered, he was losing her in another way.

To responsibility. To power. To the burden of all those expectations.

"Erick." Her voice brought him back. "I can feel you descending into despair."

Of course, she could. The connection functioned both ways, and his fear was likely transmitting as plainly as her sorrow. He tried to control it, to be the strong person she required, but she shook her head.

"Don't," she said. "Don't hide from me."

Around them, the groups were starting to organize. Callum was instructing wolves to collect the deceased, his voice hoarse with restrained feeling. 

Others were caring for the injured, and still others stood in small groups, watching Deborah with looks that varied from reverence to doubt. The Blackwood wolves appeared proud. 

The Clearwater Pack seemed cautious. The Northern Ridge wolves were too consumed by sorrow to display other feelings.

Unity, Erick thought with resignation. This was what unity truly meant: divided and delicate, bound only by weariness and the recollection of a shared adversary.

"We should address them," Deborah said, but she faltered as she spoke, and Erick caught her elbow.

"You need to rest."

"I need to..."

"Rest," he repeated, more firmly. "You can scarcely remain upright, Deborah. The groups can wait an hour."

She looked as though she wanted to argue, but another surge of weariness passed through their connection, so strong it blurred Erick's sight. He guided her away from the crowd, toward the edge of the clearing where a fallen log offered a degree of solitude. 

She sat down on it with relief, and he sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of mourning filled the air: quiet sobs, whispered supplications, the rustle of bodies being shifted. The moon hung overhead, unconcerned by the destruction below.

"I'm afraid," Erick finally managed, his words a struggle to deliver. "I'm afraid I survived the fight only to lose you regardless."

Deborah faced him, and in the glow of the crown, he observed the fatigue clearly marked on every part of her face. "You're not going to lose me."

"Am I not?" He motioned towards the crown, the forming groups, everything that now lay between them. "Look at you. You're no longer just my partner. You're their monarch, their unique leader, their."

"Yours," she cut in. "I'm still yours, Erick. The crown doesn't alter that."

But it did. He sensed it in the way their connection had faltered when she initially wore it, in how the other individuals now viewed her with awe and apprehension rather than simple regard. She was transforming into something greater than life itself, and he was simply... himself. 

A leader without his community, a male who had been unable to shield his own relatives.

"What if it's not sufficient?" The inquiry was uttered in little more than a murmur. "What if I'm not sufficient?"

Deborah's hand met his, her fingers entwining with his with natural ease. "You're the one who discovered me when I was adrift. 

Who had confidence in me when I didn't have it in myself. Who stood by me against insurmountable obstacles." She leaned her head on his shoulder, and the crown's radiance lessened somewhat, as though reacting to her feelings. 

"You're not just adequate, Erick. You're everything."

Their connection thrummed with the honesty of her declarations, comforting and unwavering despite the tiredness. 

Erick shut his eyes and permitted himself to sense the bond that had endured conflicts and deceptions, that had grown more resilient with every trial they'd encountered.

"I can't lose you a second time," he declared. "When Matthias placed that weapon at your neck, when I imagined" His voice failed him. "I can't experience that again."

"You won't have to." She raised her head to face him, and despite the fatigue, despite the sorrow, her gaze was resolute. "We're connected, Erick. Permanently. Nothing, not Matthias, not the crown, not the burden of guiding these communities, nothing will alter that."

He desired to trust her. Wanted to let her assurance dissolve his dread. But he had witnessed too much demise tonight, had sensed her life energy faltering through their connection when Matthias assailed. He understood how delicate everything was, how swiftly it could all be taken from them.

"Vow to me," he stated. "Vow to me you won't offer yourself for them. For the communities, for the crown, for..."

"I vow." She then kissed him, tenderly and gently, and for an instant, the world contracted to only the two of them. No crown, no fallen, no watching creatures. Just Deborah and Erick, spouses and allies, clinging to each other in the wake of the conflict.

As they separated, Callum drew near, his demeanor serious. "We've concluded the count," he reported. "Seventeen of our people are gone, thirty-two injured. Matthias's adherents... we halted the tally at fifty."

Deborah Rose and Erick got up with her, staying near enough to support her if she stumbled. The crown gleamed more intensely as she straightened, as if reacting to her conviction.

"Assemble everyone," she instructed. "It's time to..."

She ceased speaking mid-sentence, her eyes expanding. The crown's luminescence sputtered, wavering like a torch in a draft. Erick felt a sudden surge of concern through their link, acute and swift.

"Deborah?"

She faltered, and this time when he supported her, her skin was chill despite the crown's warmth. 

The silvery luminescence was receding, fading like extinguished coals. Her eyes, which had glowed with strength moments earlier, were reverting to their regular hue.

"Something's amiss," she murmured, and then her legs completely gave way.

Erick supported her as she fell, the crown sliding crookedly on her head. Nearby, others were observing, their demeanors transforming from awe to worry. Their connection was now wavering, throbbing irregularly like a weakening pulse.

"Deborah!" He gently jostled her, but her eyes were rolling backward, her breathing labored. "Deborah, stay conscious!"

The crown's glow entirely vanished, leaving only frigid metal against her skin.

And through their connection, Erick perceived something alarming, a profound, vacant emptiness where her capabilities should have resided, as though employing the crown had consumed something vital within her. Something that might not restore itself.