Chapter 175 The Western Crown Prince Julian

Chapter 175 The Western Crown Prince Julian
The giant stared at me for a long, silent moment. His chest rose and fell, his large, scarred fingers tightening around the stubby pencil until the wood creaked under the pressure.

Suddenly, a small, wet noise broke the solemnity of the moment.

Winter had woken up. He blinked his golden eyes against the harsh halogen light, rubbed his nose against my shoulder, and looked over at the workbench. He didn't see a scarred, terrifying rogue prince; he saw a giant man with a lot of interesting metal tools.

Winter squirmed down from my arms, his fleece pajamas hitting the oil-slicked floor. He marched right up to Julian's boots, looked up at the massive mechanic, and reached into the pocket of his pajamas. He pulled out his ragged, half-chewed stuffed grey wolf and held it up toward the prince.

"Broken," Winter said, pointing to the stuffed toy's floppy ear. "Fix it, giant man."

Lyric let out a sudden, startled snort of laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. Kael smiled warmly from the corner, while Rayder simply closed his eyes and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Julian looked down at the tiny boy, then at the ragged toy. Slowly, deliberately, the legendary Crown Prince of the West dropped down onto one knee on the dirty stone floor,the second giant to kneel before us in twenty-four hours and gently took the stuffed wolf from Winter’s hands. He inspected the floppy ear with the same meticulous care he had used on the drone wing, before pulling a small piece of copper wire from his pocket and neatly securing the ear back into place.
He handed it back to Winter with a silent, solemn nod.
"Tractor?" Winter asked, hopeful.

Julian let out a silent, chest-shuddering laugh, patting the boy's head with his massive, grease-stained palm.

The brief, domestic warmth of the workshop was shattered in a single, devastating second.
A sharp, high-pitched electronic wail erupted from the front of the cave system. It wasn't the standard rogue siren; it was the high-frequency pulsing alarm of a military-grade perimeter sensor.

Kael instantly stood up from his wooden stool, his gentle gray eyes turning sharp and cold as his hand dropped to the receiver at his hip. "Lyric! The northern ridge sensors just went red. We’ve got high-tier thermal signatures entering the gorge."

Lyric cursed under her breath, her tattered cloak billowing as she lunged toward the canvas partition. "How many, Kael? Did the border patrol track the grand-tourer’s crash site?"

"It’s not the border patrol," Kael said, his voice tight as he read the data scrolling across his handheld screen. "The signal frequency... it's the Western vanguard. Specifically, the elite vanguard of the Third District. 

That's Garrick's personal guard."

My blood ran cold. "Garrick."

"The jackal," Lyric hissed, turning to look at Julian, who had instantly stood up, his face pale beneath the grease and scars. "He must have had a tracking grid set up on the border to monitor any high-value Alliance vehicles. When Rayder’s car stopped working, the signal drop flagged our coordinates."

"How long do we have?" Rayder asked, his body already beginning to shift, his shoulders expanding as his Lycan aura began to leak into the cold air of the cave.

"Four minutes," Kael said, his hand already reaching for the heavy hunting rifle slung across his back. "They're bringing scout drones and heavy kinetic sweepers. If they breach the camouflage netting, they’ll see the generator signature within seconds."

"We can't fight them in these tunnels with the children," I said, my voice rising with a sudden, sharp panic as I scooped Winter back into my arms. The toddler, sensing the immediate danger, wrapped his arms tightly around my neck, his stuffed wolf pinned between us. 

"Lyric, where is the back exit?"

"The old mining shaft leads down to the lower creek, but it’s a sheer drop," Lyric said, her fingers frantically checking the chamber of her automated rifle. "We can hold the throat of the tunnel, but if they drop thermite charges from the ridge, the cave will turn into an oven."

Julian didn't join the frantic rush. He stood perfectly still beside his workbench, staring at the small notepad in his hand. Slowly, he tore the top sheet off, crumpled it into his fist, and walked over to the heavy iron weapons rack.

He didn't reach for a modern kinetic rifle or a rogue stun-grenade. He reached behind the rack, pulling out a long, heavy object wrapped in oil-stained canvas.
With one smooth, heavy pull, he stripped the canvas away.

It was a broadsword—a massive, ancient piece of Western steel, the hilt wrapped in faded blue leather, the crossguard shaped like the wings of a hunting hawk. It was the ceremonial blade of the Crown Prince, the weapon his brothers had supposedly "lost" in the pass.

He gripped the hilt with both hands, the weight of the steel looking perfectly balanced in his scarred arms. He looked at Rayder, then at me, his single golden eye burning with a light that hadn't been seen in the West for four years.
He didn't need a voice. The steel spoke for him.

"Kael, take the children," I commanded, my voice cold and flat as I handed Winter over to the gentle Omega. 

"Take Joanne, take the backup supplies, and get to the lower shaft. Do not stop until you hit the treeline of the southern valley."

"Selene—" Rayder began, but I cut him off with a single, sharp look.

"I’m not leaving my son in a cave that's about to be hit with thermite, Rayder," I said, my fingers wrapping around the silver handle of my dagger as I pulled it from my boot. "And I’m not running from a pack of Western jackals who think they can hunt on my border."

Rayder’s face broke into a dark, terrifying grin, his silver-and-black fur fully covering his chest now, his golden eyes glowing like twin lanterns in the dim cavern light. "That’s my Luna."

He turned to Julian, who was already marching toward the canvas tarp, the heavy broadsword resting against his shoulder. "Julian. If we survive this... you’re buying me a new car."

Julian didn't look back, but the unscarred side of his mouth twitched upward in a silent, grim agreement.

We ran through the dark tunnels, the sound of the alarm growing louder, a rhythmic, deafening scream that vibrated the loose shale from the ceiling. The scent of ozone and burning pine was stronger now—the scout drones were already clearing the camouflage netting at the entrance.

As we reached the final bend of the tunnel, the bright, harsh light of the morning sun broke through the dust.
Through the shattered remnants of the camo netting, I could see them.

Dozens of black-armored Western vanguard soldiers were stepping onto the rocky ledge, their kinetic rifles raised, their silver visors reflecting the gray cliffs of the gorge. In the center of the formation, standing on the hood of a heavy tactical transport vehicle, was a young man with sharp, aristocratic features and a cruel, arrogant sneer.

Garrick. The younger brother who wanted a crown of ashes.

"Clear the caves!" Garrick shouted, his voice amplified by a collar-mic. "If the rogue princess is inside, bring me her head! And if the Southern Alpha is still alive in that wreck, tell him his alliance ends today!"

Beside me, Julian stepped out into the light. They must have smelled Rayder. An Alpha's scent was impossible to ignore.

The wind from the gorge caught his tattered canvas overalls, his long, gray bandages fluttering around his scarred neck like battle-torn ribbons. He raised the massive broadsword, the polished Western steel catching the morning sun, casting a blinding, brilliant reflection directly across the silver visors of the vanguard soldiers.

The arrogant sneer on Garrick’s face instantly vanished, his skin turning a sickly, hollow white as he stared at the ghost of his older brother.

"J-Julian?" Garrick stammered, his voice cracking through the amplifier.

The first shot rang out from the ridge, and the gorge exploded into fire.