Chapter 203 Old memories

Chapter 203 Old memories
Lazarus's POV
Morning had always belonged to my pack.
Before the arguments.
Before the patrol reports.
Before politics and impossible decisions.
Morning belonged to bread baking in stone ovens, children chasing chickens through dew-soaked grass, and smoke curling lazily from chimneys into the pale blue sky. The stream that cut through the center of the village caught the first light of dawn and scattered it across the cobbled paths like shattered glass.
Normally, that sight settled my wolf.
Today...
It made me uneasy.
Because peace could be deceptive.
I stepped out of the cabin quietly, pulling the door shut behind me without waking Nova. She'd finally fallen into a deep sleep after everything that had happened with her sister. I stood on the porch for a moment, letting the cool air clear my head.
Through the bond, I felt her.
Warm.
Safe.
Resting.
Good.
I needed her to have one uninterrupted morning.
Even if I couldn't.
The village was already awake.
Women carried baskets of fresh herbs toward the kitchens. Young warriors sparred with wooden staffs near the training field, their laughter carrying across the clearing. Somewhere, someone was arguing passionately about whether honey belonged on morning bread.
A normal morning.
Almost.
Until I noticed where everyone was looking.
The Moon Oak.
The oldest tree in the territory stood at the center of the square, its silver-gray trunk so wide that five wolves could barely wrap their arms around it together. Generations of Alphas had carved their names into its bark. My grandfather's mark sat near the roots. Mine rested higher, carved the day I'd become Alpha.
Magnus's carving sat between them.
Weathered.
Impossible to ignore.
And beneath that tree...
He was smiling.
I stopped walking.
He wasn't addressing the pack.
He wasn't making speeches.
He was simply talking.
That was somehow worse.
Around him stood four of the oldest wolves in the territory.
People who had known me since before I could walk.
People who had known him long before he'd become a ghost.
Elder Agatha laughed first.
The sound startled me.
She was sixty-eight now, her silver hair braided neatly down her back, her warm brown eyes creasing whenever she smiled. Those hands—rough from decades of grinding herbs and stitching wounds—had delivered me into this world.
She swatted Magnus lightly on the arm.
"No," she laughed. "Tell it properly."
"I'm telling it exactly properly."
"You've already changed half of it."
Magnus placed one hand dramatically over his chest.
"I am deeply offended."
Elder Rowan barked out a laugh loud enough to scare two birds from the branches above.
Seventy-two years old.
Broad as an ox despite the cane he now carried.
His thick white beard bounced as he laughed.
"You're leaving out the part where you almost lost your eyebrows."
"I did not."
"You absolutely did."
"You've been exaggerating that story for thirty years."
"And I'll exaggerate it for thirty more."
The small circle burst into laughter.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard Rowan laugh like that.
Then Magnus delivered the line that made my stomach tighten.
"You only burned down half the forge because you were trying to impress Clara."
Rowan groaned.
"I was sixteen."
"Exactly."
Agatha laughed harder.
"You wrote her a love letter."
"I did not."
"You carved it into a horseshoe."
"I was young."
"You were an idiot."
The laughter returned.
Comfortable.
Easy.
Familiar.
For one impossible moment...
It looked like nothing had ever happened.
Like Magnus had never abandoned them.
Like my mother had never cried herself to sleep.
Like I had never spent years wondering why my father chose another life over ours.
I hated how convincing it looked.
Someone noticed me.
Elder Mirelle's knitting needles stopped moving first.
She always noticed everything.
Sixty-five years old, amber eyes sharp enough to cut through lies, gray curls escaping the scarf around her head.
She remembered every birth.
Every wedding.
Every funeral.
If someone sneezed on the western border, Mirelle somehow knew before sunset.
Her eyes met mine.
The smile slipped from her face.
Everyone turned.
The laughter died.
An awkward silence settled over the square.
Rowan shifted on his cane.
"Alpha—"
The word caught.
Just slightly.
Long enough for me to wonder.
Had he meant me?
Or Magnus?
He corrected himself immediately.
"Lazarus."
But I'd already heard the hesitation.
Magnus heard it too.
Of course he did.
He didn't smirk.
Didn't gloat.
He simply looked at me with an expression that almost resembled sympathy.
That irritated me more than arrogance would've.
I walked toward them.
"Good morning."
Agatha recovered first.
"Morning."
She cleared her throat.
"We were just remembering old stories."
"I noticed."
Magnus folded his hands behind his back.
"Your elders have excellent memories."
I looked at him.
"They're my elders."
His smile didn't change.
"I know."
A younger warrior hurried across the square carrying a stack of folded chairs.
He stopped beside us.
"Alpha."
His eyes flickered nervously between me and Magnus.
"We're setting up breakfast outside."
"Where should the extra chairs go?"
Before I answered—
Magnus pointed toward the longer table beneath the oak.
"Leave room at the end."
His voice was calm.
"For the children."
The warrior's body reacted before his mind did.
He took one step.
Then froze.
His eyes snapped to me.
Waiting.
The moment lasted barely a heartbeat.
But everyone saw it.
I kept my expression neutral.
"Put them at the end."
"Leave room for the children."
The warrior exhaled.
"Yes, Alpha."
He hurried away.
Magnus said nothing.
He didn't need to.
The damage was already done.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
Exactly the kind of crack he'd always known how to create.
Breakfast spread slowly across the square.
Long wooden tables filled with warm bread, honey, roasted apples, fresh cheese, and steaming pots of herbal tea.
The scent reminded me of childhood.
Back when mornings had seemed simple.
Children darted between benches while their parents called after them.
A little girl climbed onto Garrick's knee without asking.
He pretended to grumble while secretly helping her steal an extra honey roll.
Elder Garrick caught me watching.
Seventy-six.
Scar across his cheek from a war fought before I was born.
His walking stick was carved with dozens of tiny wolves—one for every warrior he'd buried.
He beckoned me closer.
"I need to tell you something."
I sat beside him.
His voice stayed low.
"Don't mistake memory for betrayal."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
He looked toward Magnus.
"We followed him for twenty-three years."
"I know."
"I watched him carry dying boys home on his back."
He swallowed.
"I watched him rebuild houses after storms."
Another pause.
"I also watched him leave."
His grip tightened on his cane.
"Both things are true."
I looked at the old warrior.
"You still care about him."
"I care about the man I thought he was."
His voice cracked unexpectedly.
"I've spent years trying to bury him."
He looked toward Magnus again.
"It's difficult."
His eyes returned to mine.
"When the dead start talking."
The sentence sat heavily between us.
Nearby, Agatha joined us.
She rested a hand on Garrick's shoulder.
"He's right."
She looked at me.
"I'll never forgive him."
She glanced toward Magnus.
"But forgiveness isn't the same as forgetting."
Rowan snorted.
"Speak for yourself."
"You've already laughed three times."
"I laughed at the fool who nearly burned my forge."
He pointed his cane toward Magnus.
"I wasn't laughing because I like him."
Mirelle finally spoke.
"Memory isn't loyalty."
We all turned toward her.
She continued knitting without looking up.
"It's simply memory."
Silence settled.
Then Rowan muttered,
"Still hate it."
"So do I."
Agatha sighed.
"But pretending we never loved our former Alpha would be another lie."
I stared at the breakfast tables.
At the villagers.
At the old wolves trying to reconcile two different versions of the same man.
The Alpha who had protected them.
And the man who had abandoned them.
No wonder they looked confused.
I found Magnus alone a few minutes later beneath the Moon Oak.
His fingers rested lightly against the carved bark.
Near his old mark.
"You came here on purpose."
He didn't turn.
"I used to stand here every harvest."
"Not what I meant."
He smiled faintly.
"I know."
I stopped beside him.
"You wanted them to remember."
"They were already remembering."
"You helped."
"I talked."
"You performed."
He finally looked at me.
"Did I?"
"You know exactly what you're doing."
A breeze stirred the branches overhead.
Sunlight filtered through silver-green leaves, scattering shifting shadows across the ground.
Magnus looked up into the canopy.
"You were barely tall enough to reach your first carving."
I followed his gaze unwillingly.
My first knife mark still sat near the base.
Crooked.
Childish.
"You stood on my shoulders."
The memory hit unexpectedly.
I hated that I remembered it.
"I remember."
His voice softened.
"You kept insisting you could reach."
"I couldn't."
"No."
A quiet chuckle.
"But you refused to admit it."
I looked at him.
"Stop."
His eyes met mine.
"Stop what?"
"Talking like you earned nostalgia."
His expression changed.
Subtly.
"You think memories belong only to the innocent."
"No."
I stepped closer.
"I think you lost the right to hide behind them."
He studied me.
"You've become your mother."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
A flicker crossed his face.
Then disappeared.
"You think I came here for your Alpha seat."
"I don't."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I think you came here to remind everyone..."
I looked toward the square where older wolves kept stealing uncertain glances at him.
"...that you once sat in it."
Silence.
For the first time all morning...
Magnus didn't smile.
The rumble reached us before anyone spoke.
Not thunder.
Wheels.
Heavy wooden wheels crunching over gravel.
The sound rolled through the village slowly enough that conversations stopped one by one.
Children looked toward the northern road.
Warriors straightened.
Agatha lowered her teacup.
Rowan gripped his cane.
Even Magnus turned.
A carriage emerged between the pines.
Dark walnut wood.
Silver trim catching the sunlight.
Two chestnut horses pulled it steadily toward the square.
No banners.
No fanfare.
Just arrival.
The carriage stopped.
The driver climbed down first.
Then the door opened.
A little boy jumped out before anyone could help him.
Seven years old.
Dark hair falling into bright curious eyes.
He landed a little awkwardly, dusted off his trousers, and immediately started looking around with fearless fascination.
A smaller boy climbed down more carefully after him, clutching a worn stuffed wolf against his chest.
Five.
Shy.
He stayed close to the carriage.
Then—
Maris stepped down.
Nova's older sister.
She was beautiful in a quieter way than I remembered.
Dark hair pinned neatly back.
Travel cloak folded perfectly.
But her eyes...
Her eyes weren't calm.
The moment her boots touched the ground, they began searching.
Not the village.
Someone.
One hand remained on the carriage as though she needed it to steady herself.
Then another figure emerged.
Seth.
Nova's former mate.
He landed lightly beside Maris, broad-shouldered, dressed in the deep blue of Magnus's old pack.
His face was older now.
Harder.
His eyes swept across the square.
Past the elders.
Past Magnus.
Past me.
They stopped.
On the path leading toward my cabin.
Recognition flashed across his face.
Not surprise.
Expectation.
As though he'd come looking for one person.
And one person only.
Nova.
The entire square seemed to stop breathing.