Chapter 20 CHAPTER 20
The wind howled across the marble courtyard, carrying with it the faint, haunting whisper of voices Ethan, the Lycan king had long stopped chasing. Yet even now, seventeen years later, he still heard them - his mother’s gentle lullaby, his baby sister’s laugh faint echoes buried in the recesses of memory.
He stood before the balcony of the Lycan Palace, silver crown glinting under the morning sun, though he rarely wore it. Today, it sat abandoned on his desk. To him, being king had never been about the crown; it was about duty - and the ache of the promises he had yet to fulfill.
Every full moon since he’d taken the throne, he’d searched for them - for her – his mum, the former queen who had vanished with his baby sister the night their kingdom fell to witch fire. He still remembered the scent of blood and smoke that filled the night.
He had been only ten that night, small enough to fit inside the cedar-lined closet his mother had pushed him into. “Don’t make a sound,” she’d whispered, her eyes glistening in the faint blue glow of the torches. The heavy doors closed, and through the narrow crack between them he saw everything.
The castle burned in streaks of orange and green - witch fire that hissed and clawed along the stone like living serpents. Shadows screamed in the corridors. Steel clashed. The air itself seemed to bleed. He pressed both hands against his mouth to keep from crying out as the door to the royal chamber burst open and the witches poured in, their cloaks billowing like smoke, their eyes lit with cruel light.
His father roared - a sound that shook the walls - and shifted mid-stride, fur and fury taking form in one breath. The king fought like a storm, his claws cutting through the first two attackers before a spell caught him in the chest. The blast threw him back against the marble pillar; Ethan heard the crack before he saw the fall. His mother’s scream carved through the din, but the witches only laughed, circling her like wolves that had stolen the hunt.
Then came the cry - high, thin, terrified - his baby sister’s voice. Ethan watched as she rose into the air, tiny limbs flailing, caught in an invisible snare of magic. Her golden curls flickered in the witch light, her tears glowing like molten silver. “No!” their mother shouted, shifting halfway before another spell slammed her down. The smell of burning fur filled the chamber. Ethan’s fingers dug into the wood until they bled, every instinct in him screaming to run to them, to do something - anything.
But he couldn’t. He stayed frozen in the dark, trembling, listening as his sister’s cries grew fainter, carried away into the night. When silence finally fell, it was heavier than death itself - and ten-year-old Ethan understood what loss truly meant.
When he had become of age and made king, he had searched for his mother and sister but the elders had told him to stop searching, that no one could have survived. But the Moon Goddess had whispered otherwise, and Ethan had built his faith around that whisper.
Today was his weekly visit to the city - to the one person who still gave him hope. The one person who could hear the Goddess clearly.
By the time the royal convoy pulled into the city, the morning haze had begun to lift. Ethan dismissed most of his guards, keeping only three: Liam, his head warrior; and two others who followed quietly behind. The sleek black SUV came to a stop outside a narrow lane veiled in ivy. A discreet sign hung above the arched door: “Celestine’s Emporium.” To most, it was an old spiritual shop, but behind its beaded curtains lay the chamber of the Moon Goddess’s priestess.
“Stay close,” Ethan ordered softly as he stepped out. His voice carried authority without effort. Liam nodded and gave him a small bow before motioning to the others.
“Go find something to eat,” Ethan added. “I won’t be long.”
Liam hesitated. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
As the others departed toward the café they frequented each week, Ethan entered the emporium. The air was thick with incense, soft as smoke. Celestine, the priestess, awaited him near the altar - her eyes silver, her hair a river of white.
“You come heavy with questions, my king,” she said, her voice echoing faintly, as if two worlds spoke through her.
Ethan exhaled. “I need answers, Celestine. Every time I come, you tell me the same thing - that they’re still alive, that their spirits stir. But seventeen years have passed. I need more than hope. I need to know where to find them.”
Celestine smiled, her wrinkled face glowing with the kind of peace that only faith could bring. “The Moon is stirring,” she murmured. “The path is bending toward truth. Last night, the Goddess whispered again.”
Ethan stepped closer, the tension in his jaw betraying the weight of his restraint. “And what did She say this time?”
“That the blood of the royal line has not ended,” Celestine said softly. “That two threads remain - and one has already begun to circle back to you.”
Ethan’s heart stuttered. “Are you saying my mother and sister are alive?”
“The Moon does not name them,” she said, eyes distant, “but one stands closer than you think. Here, in this city.”
Ethan frowned. “That’s not enough. The city is vast, Celestine. Can you sense them? A direction? A scent?”
Celestine’s lips curved faintly. “The Moon never rushes what is divine. When the time is right, your paths will cross - and when they do, you’ll know. She carries your blood, Your Majesty. The Moon itself will sing when you meet.”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration tightening in his chest. “You’re telling me to wait again.”
“I’m telling you to trust,” she replied gently. “What you seek is already seeking you. And when it finds you… the kingdom will rise anew.”
For a long while, he stood in silence. The incense coiled around him like mist, heavy with prophecy and ache. Somewhere beyond these walls, one of his loved ones - if she truly lived - was breathing the same air, walking the same streets.
He drew in a breath, his decision final. “Then I’ll keep searching,” he said at last. “Even if it takes a lifetime.”
Celestine’s voice softened, almost a whisper. “You won’t have to wait that long.”
Ethan turned to leave, the weight of her words echoing in his mind. Outside, sunlight filtered through the city’s narrow streets, catching on glass windows and café signs. He didn’t know that only a few blocks away, destiny was already waiting - wearing an apron, her long black hair tied back, and her scent stirring ancient bloodlines awake.