Chapter 180

Chapter 180
Tiberius‘s pov.

“Just let the younger one lead, trust him, and here we are again—chasing after our mate like rabid dogs.”
The thought twisted in my skull, sour and sharp. My fists clenched around the reins until the leather squeaked. The horses sensed my mood; even Dante gave me a sidelong look, his jaw tight.
“You need to cool the fuck down,” Dante muttered, his tone low, but firm. “Everyone around can see it. Another second and you’ll be lunging at Dorian’s throat.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” I snarled through gritted teeth. My jaw ached from holding it shut too long.
Dante sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, maybe because he’s the reason you’re standing here instead of rotting in a ditch? Because if you kill the king, we’re all fucked? Pick one.”
I opened my mouth to spit something back, but Calipsa’s voice sliced through like cold steel.
“We’re close,” she said. Her eyes glittered, a strange fever in them. “Closer than I thought. I was right—they are heading into the Obsidian Valley.”
Dorian cursed, dragging a hand down his face. “So that’s it. She wants Reyna and Hera back. Gods damn it, Freya, why the hell wouldn’t you tell us?”
Calipsa didn’t flinch. Her voice was calm, too calm. “ The valley is not what it once was. My coven’s whispers tell of change. Once it dealt in fair trade, equal exchange. Now… it takes more than it gives. It has turned hostile.”
A bitter laugh tore from my chest. “Like everything else in this rotten world.”
Dorian’s head snapped toward her, eyes blazing. “Then Freya’s in danger.”
“Worse than danger,” Calipsa replied, her expression hardening. “She may not walk out at all if she bargains wrong.”
Dorian swore again, spurring his horse forward. “Then we don’t waste another fucking second.”
We pressed harder, hooves pounding the dirt like drums of war. My muscles burned, but I didn’t care. The rage, the fear—it all fueled me. Every jolt of the saddle was another reminder of how close we were to losing her. Again.
After what felt like endless miles, the air thickened. The horses balked, ears flicking back, and before us shimmered something like heat haze. A wall of nothing, yet undeniable.
“The barrier,” Calipsa murmured. Her hand lifted, pale fingers tracing the invisible ripple. “It will not let us through without tribute.”
Dorian swung off his horse. His voice was a growl. “Then use your magic. Break it.”
Calipsa closed her eyes, whispered strange words, her hands weaving in the air. Sparks danced, shimmered, then died. She opened her eyes and shook her head, breath ragged. “No. It will not yield. The valley demands sacrifice. Always sacrifice.”
I muttered under my breath, low and dark. “When this is done, I need the longest damn vacation anyone’s ever taken. Somewhere without magic, wolves, or cursed valleys. Gods, just a quiet bed.”
“What do I do?” Dorian snapped, his patience fraying. “Tell me, Calipsa.”
She looked at him, her eyes sharp, calculating. “Step forward. Let the valley in. It will feed on your thoughts, your emotions. It will spin you illusions—sweet lies, beautiful dreams. We’ll drag you back once we’re inside. Trust us, my king.”
Dante smirked, shaking his head. “You always did like your pleasures, Calipsa. No wonder you’re so comfortable describing this shit.”
She ignored him.
Dorian straightened, jaw set. “Fine. The sooner I start, the sooner this is over.”
But nothing happened. He stood before the barrier, fists clenched, chest heaving. The air shimmered, flickered… then stilled.
“What the fuck?” he growled. He tried again, pressing his hands into the invisible wall, forcing his will against it. Still nothing.
“I don’t understand,” Dorian spat. “Why isn’t it working?”
While he raged, I studied the barrier. Every so often, a faint shimmer rippled—like light catching a blade. Something inside me pulled, a low hum in my bones. I stepped closer, ignoring the others.
My hand rose, almost of its own accord, and pressed to the unseen wall.
The world cracked open.
I was a boy again. Small hands, scraped knees, standing alone in the cold courtyard. My father loomed above me, stern eyes, voice like iron. “Stand straight, Tiberius. You are my son. Weakness will never be tolerated.”
But no mother. Never a mother. Just the shadow of what should have been.
The vision shifted. Freya’s face—smiling, laughing, radiant—and then bleeding, broken, slipping through my fingers. The agony tore through me fresh, like the wound had never healed.
And then—her.
A woman’s voice, soft as lullabies I had never known. I turned, and there she was. My mother. Not a phantom, not a dream. Her face was gentle, her touch warm as she cupped my cheek.
“My sweet boy,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I should never have left you. Forgive me.”
The ache in my chest cracked wide open. Tears I hadn’t shed since childhood burned my eyes. My body shook, but then her voice wrapped around me like a blanket.
She whispered sweet, soothing words—promises that I was safe now, that nothing would ever hurt me again. I felt small, fragile, like a boy clutching at the one thing I’d always been denied. Her hands smoothed my hair, her tone soft as dawn, and for the first time in my life I let myself sink into the warmth of a mother’s love. The tight knot of rage and loneliness in my chest loosened, replaced by a dizzying relief, a trembling sense of safety I hadn’t even known I craved.