Chapter 240: Bonus Chapter

The grimoire was old. Not damaged, no. Just ancient. Bound in leather faded by time, adorned with nearly-erased lunar runes, it sat on one of the shelves of the Sacred Moon Alpha’s private sanctuary. It was never locked, but it commanded instinctive respect, as if every fiber of its binding still held the memory of those who had walked before.

Jax stood on his tiptoes, reaching out with small clawed fingers. He must have been what—seven? Barely. His ears were a little too pointed, his eyes a pale, almost glowing blue, and that perpetual curiosity of his always pushed him to break the unwritten rules of the palace. Like not rummaging through the Alpha library, for example.

But he had heard that name. Again and again. Kaelan. The Ardent Heir. The hero of a thousand stories, of old songs and illustrated scrolls studied at school with stars in their eyes.

“Dad?” he whispered, his fingers brushing the cover.

A warm hand rested over his, gentle but firm. “I figured this day would come.”

Jax looked up. His father, Dante, stood there in black, calm and composed. A massive wolf with dark brown hair streaked with silver, and eyes deep and dark like the earth beneath the stars.

“This book,” Dante said as he knelt, “is all that remains… of him.”

“Great-grandfather Kaelan?” Jax asked in awe.

“Yes. Your blood still carries the memory of his flame.”

He carefully took the grimoire, holding it like a sacred treasure, then went to sit by the large armchair in front of the palace’s tall windows. The rising dawn brushed the glass with golden light.

“Do you want to know what he really looked like? Not the statues. Not the carvings. What he was actually like?”

Jax nodded frantically and nestled against him. Dante opened the grimoire slowly. A fine dust rose into the air, like a sigh from the past.

On the first page, elegant handwriting with amber undertones still shimmered faintly: "Observations on the Ardent Heir – by Myrria, direct witness and imperfect scientist."

Dante slowly turned the first page, revealing a finely hand-drawn illustration: a man standing in the shadow of a forest, straight-backed and calm in posture. And yet, one could almost feel the danger coiled in his every gesture.

“That’s him,” Dante whispered. Kaelan. “Your great-grandfather.”

Jax sat up a bit, eyes wide. “He was… tall.”

“Six-foot-three. Muscular, solid… but that’s not what people remembered.” He traced a finger over the drawing, where golden streaks ran through the black hair of the fallen king.

“He had deep black hair, but some strands were naturally golden. As if fire had never completely left his mane.”

“And his eyes?” Jax asked.

“Moonlit blue. Almost opalescent. They glowed in the dark like twin stars. He didn’t need to raise his voice. One look was enough to silence even the oldest wolves.”

Jax frowned slightly, curious. “Was he scary?”

“No,” Dante replied with a soft smile. “He inspired respect. He had this way of entering a room… like a calm predator. Silent, confident. He never tried to dominate. He didn’t need to. A single step made the walls shake in the hearts of those who still doubted.”

“And was he a good king?”

“The best. Merciless in battle, but just. He loved his people. His family. He fought for the pack, for the kingdom. He made our world prosper without ever giving in to arrogance.”

Dante turned another page. This time, there were two figures side by side. One, Kaelan—serene and upright. The other, slightly shorter, with light curls and a mischievous smile.

“And that’s Loric?” asked Jax, eyes shining.

“Yes. His Beta. His adoptive brother, but more than that: his anchor. Where Kaelan was calm and distant, Loric was flamboyant and bold. He was his sword, his laughter, his voice in the storm.”

“Did they fight?” “All the time. And yet, no one ever doubted their loyalty. Their bond was stronger than blood. Together, they built a reign still sung about in every song, remembered in every heart.”

Jax traced the drawing gently. “I miss him,” he said simply.

Dante looked at him for a long moment. “So do I.” He gently closed the grimoire. “But he’s here, in your veins. In your flames too, even if they’re still small.”

“I want to see the other forms,” Jax whispered. “The ones everyone talks about.”

Dante smiled. “Then let’s turn to the next one. The one enemies feared most.”

He reopened the grimoire to an older page, worn with time but covered in ink still vibrant. At the center, a majestic lupine figure drawn with near-mystical precision.

“And here… is Thyrr.”

Jax was speechless. “He’s… huge.”

“Colossal,” Dante corrected gently. “Bigger than any wolf born since the first packs. Even Caleb, his own father, looked small beside him.”

The child ran a finger over the thick lines showing the wolf’s black mane. “He’s black…”

“Yes, but not just any black. His fur was deep charcoal with ashen highlights, as if a lunar fire had left its ashes on every strand. Some elders said his coat carried the memory of his ancestors’ celestial battles.”

“And his eyes? They don’t change?”

“No. Even as a wolf, Kaelan’s eyes remained moonlit blue. Hypnotic. They said he could see through the past… and freeze even ancient monsters with a single glance.”

Jax looked at his father, hesitant. “And the… the horns? Is that normal?”

Dante chuckled. “Not at all. But Kaelan was never ‘normal.’ He had two black horns, smooth and curved backward like those of ancient dragons. No one knew if it was a gift of blood or fate.”

He slowly turned the page. Faintly drawn in the background behind the giant wolf, two vast membranous wings stretched in a fluid motion.

“He had wings?!”

“Moonlit blue, like his eyes. Supple, powerful. But they weren’t always visible. Thyrr only unfurled them in specific moments: in deep rage, during lunar rituals, or when Kaelan took to the skies to defend his kin. The rest of the time, they were invisible, folded into another plane of perception.”

Jax shivered. “He was like a spirit.”

“Exactly. His gait was silent, flowing. People said he slipped between worlds, between realms. As if he belonged to the earth, the air… and something else entirely.”

A silence fell for a moment. Then Jax asked softly: “And did he talk to Thyrr? Like Caleb with Handres?”

“Yes. They lived together in the same mind. But while Caleb had a clear duality between man and wolf… Kaelan had fused with Thyrr very early on. They were one being, two minds woven together. And sometimes, in his eyes, you’d see something even older… like Thyrr was looking through him.”

Dante paused, his gaze lost in memory. “Their bond was unique. Even among the Ancients, few had witnessed such harmony. He didn’t need to shift to feel Thyrr’s presence. Sometimes, his gaze would shift slightly, a paler glint, or a ripple in the air… and everyone knew the Ardent Dawn was watching.”

Jax frowned. “And me? Will I… one day… hear Thyrr too?”

Dante gently placed a hand on his son’s head. “You’ll have your own wolf, Jax. Maybe Kaelan will guide you too, in his own way. But you… you’ll walk your own path.”

The child nodded solemnly. “And now?” he asked, voice trembling with excitement.

Dante smiled. “Now we’ll discover what the dragons feared most… Kaelan’s draconic form.”

Dante slowly turned to the last illustrated page of the grimoire. An ancient painting, made with ink and crushed mica, revealed the immense silhouette of a dragon, its moonlit blue scales almost liquid, bathed in twilight radiance. Jax sat upright on the cushions.

“Woooow… that’s him?!”

“Yes. Kaelan’s draconic form. The pinnacle of his two heritages… and what we became, thanks to him.”

The young wolf didn’t dare blink. “But… he’s not just a dragon.”

“No. He never was. Look closely at his posture.”

Jax tilted his head. The dragon was neither quadrupedal nor bipedal. He moved with feline grace, yet every step seemed weighted with sovereign gravity.

“He looks like he’s floating… like a lion-king…”

“Exactly. Kaelan didn’t walk. He moved like a certainty. A promise. His massive frame was both fluid and imposing. A fusion of sky, earth… and pure instinct.”