Chapter 74
The air in the forest was humid, clinging and shrouded with mist, as suddenly, after weeks, Lowell opened his eyes fully for the first time. His body protested; his muscles felt stiff and heavy. But whatever pain he might have felt was compared to the stone pressing deep in his chest. He remembered bits and pieces: of being carried, the fire, the bite of silver in his veins. But now, there was only silence.
He blinked, and the first face he saw was the old man, his father's Beta. The man’s visage was austere, a witness to decades of loss, yet his eyes were steady. Next to him stood a younger man, broad shouldered, with his arms folded. He was familiar-too familiar; that was the very face he had caught fleeting looks of in moments of half consciousness. Every time he managed to open his eyes,he saw that face briefly.
“You’re awake,” the old man says, his voice low but firm.
Lowell tries to sit, but a wave of dizziness forces him back.
“Don’t push it,” the old man warns.
The younger man steps forward. “I’m Nathan,” he says. His voice is deep but calm. “You’ll hear my name often. I was supposed to be at your side a long time ago.”
Lowell’s throat is dry. “My side?” His voice cracks.
Nathan nods. “I was born to serve as your Beta. But… things didn’t go as planned.”
The old man exhales slowly. “You have a long way to go, Prince. You’ve been in that cave too long. Your body is weak, but the world out there is cruel. Marco’s men are still searching. They won’t stop.”
Lowell’s hand trembles as he presses it against the bandage on his side. He feels the sting beneath, the lingering burn of silver.
“We’ll start slow,” Nathan says. His tone is gentle, but his eyes are sharp. “But you need to stand. Today.”
Lowell looks between them, his chest tightening. “I can barely breathe.”
Nathan crouches beside him. “Then we’ll start with breathing.”
For the next hour, the old man watches as Nathan leads Lowell through simple exercises — breathing deeply, holding it, releasing. Every movement is met with resistance from Lowell’s battered body. But Nathan’s patience doesn’t waver.
“Again,” Nathan says.
Lowell groans. “I can’t.”
“You can,” Nathan says firmly. “You’re still alive. That means you can.”
Lowell’s jaw tightens. He forces himself to inhale. His body shakes. He exhales slowly, sweat already forming at his temple.
The old man steps forward. His voice is low. “Do you know why we saved you?”
Lowell meets his gaze, his vision still blurry.
“We could’ve left you. It would’ve been easier. But we didn’t,” the old man continues. “We’ve waited years for this. You were meant to lead. You still are.”
Lowell swallows hard. He feels the pressure in the room — expectations heavier than the weight of his own body.
Nathan stands. “Tomorrow, you walk.”
Lowell shakes his head. “I won’t be ready.”
“You will,” Nathan answers without hesitation.
The old man turns away, but before leaving, he speaks once more. “No one is coming to save us. We save ourselves. You need to remember that.”
The door shuts, leaving Lowell and Nathan alone.
Nathan kneels again. His voice softens. “I know it feels impossible. But every step you take is a step away from what they tried to make of you. You don’t belong in chains. You belong in front.”
Lowell’s eyes sting. He clenches his fists. “I’m not who I was supposed to be.”
“Neither am I,” Nathan says quietly. “But here we are.”
The night is restless. Lowell lies awake, staring at the ceiling of the wooden cabin. He hears the crackle of the fire outside, faint whispers of men planning, voices filled with anger and hope.
At dawn, the old man returns, his face unreadable. Nathan follows, holding out a hand.
Lowell hesitates, then grips Nathan’s hand tightly. Nathan pulls him to his feet. His legs wobble, nearly giving out, but Nathan steadies him.
“Good,” Nathan says. “Now, move.”
Lowell stumbles forward. His steps are heavy, clumsy, but he doesn’t stop. Nathan follows behind, offering quiet encouragement. The old man says nothing, only watching.
By midday, Lowell is drenched in sweat, his breaths ragged. He collapses onto the wooden bench outside the cabin.
Nathan hands him water. “That’s enough for today.”
Lowell gulps down the water, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He feels weak. Pathetic. But he also feels something else — determination.
That night, they sit by the fire. The old man speaks, his voice gravelly.
“Your father… he was a great man. But he wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes. We all did. But he believed in you.”
Lowell stares into the flames. “I barely remember him.”
“You will,” the old man says. “In time, you’ll remember more than you think. And when you do, you’ll understand why we’re here.”
Nathan pokes at the fire. “Tomorrow, you train with me. Not just walking.”
Lowell looks at him, exhausted. “What kind of training?”
“The kind that will make you strong,” Nathan replies. “Strong enough to face what’s coming.”
The next day is brutal. Nathan doesn’t hold back. Lowell falls, again and again, but Nathan doesn’t let him rest for long. He teaches him how to balance, how to react, how to move despite pain.
“Faster!” Nathan barks as Lowell struggles to dodge a wooden staff swinging toward him.
Lowell stumbles but manages to duck just in time.
“Good,” Nathan says, breathing hard. He tosses the staff aside. “You learn fast.”
Lowell collapses onto the ground, panting. “I don’t feel fast.”
Nathan chuckles. “Speed comes later. For now, control.”
As night falls, they sit again by the fire. The old man leans forward.
“Marco’s men will not stop searching. They will come close. But we’ve laid false trails. You have time.”
Lowell nods. His muscles ache, but his mind is clearer.
Nathan glances at him. “You’re not alone anymore.”
Lowell looks up at the stars, feeling the weight of those words.
The sun rises slowly over the rogue camp, its light cutting through the morning mist. The air is thick with anticipation. Today is different. Today, they will see what he’s made of.
Lowell stands in the center of the training ground. His breath is steady, though his heart pounds beneath his chest. The rogues circle him, their eyes cautious, curious. These are not just outcasts; they are men who have been broken, betrayed, and left to fend for themselves. But the old man promised them something — a home, a pack, a future.
Only if Lowell proves worthy.
Nathan stands by the side, arms folded across his chest. His gaze is sharp, watching every movement. He has trained alongside Lowell, felt his strength, but even he does not yet know the full measure of the Lycan prince.
The old man steps forward, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd.
“Today, he proves to you that he is not just a lost heir. He is your Alpha. Fight him. Test him. And when you fall, you will rise as part of something bigger.”
Lowell takes a slow breath. His body still carries the weight of recovery, but the fire in his veins burns stronger than ever.
One of the rogues steps forward. A large man with thick arms and scars on his face. He cracks his knuckles and sneers.
“Let’s see if you’re worth following, Prince.”
Lowell doesn’t answer. He shifts, his bones creaking as his form begins to change. His body expands, fur sprouting from his skin, his jaw lengthening into a powerful muzzle. His Lycan form towers above them, easily twice the size of the man in front of him.
Gasps echo around the camp. Even those who doubted now take a step back.
The rogue lunges. But Lowell is faster. With one powerful swipe of his massive paw, he sends the man crashing into the dirt.
Another comes from behind, but Lowell twists, grabbing the man by his collar and tossing him aside like a rag doll.
Two more leap at him together. Lowell roars — a sound that shakes the trees — and they falter. But it’s too late. He charges forward, knocking them down with one strike.
The others hesitate. Nathan watches in awe, a slow smile forming on his lips.
“He’s holding back,” Nathan whispers to himself.
Five more men attack at once. Lowell meets them head-on, his claws slicing through the air. He doesn’t kill. He doesn’t need to. His strength is overwhelming. He knocks them to the ground, one by one, his movements precise and powerful.
The old man stands proudly, his heart swelling. He had waited for this moment. The moment when the boy they saved would become the leader they needed.
Lowell’s breathing is steady. Twenty men surround him now. The strongest of the rogues.
Nathan steps forward, raising his hand.
“Let them come,” the old man says quietly.
They attack. All twenty of them.
Lowell roars again, shaking the earth beneath them. He moves like a storm, a force of nature. Bodies fall around him. Dust rises. The camp falls silent, save for the sound of heavy breaths and the occasional groan of a fallen man.
Nathan’s heart pounds. He has trained with warriors all his life, but he has never seen strength like this. Not even in the legends.
Lowell stands tall in the center of the field, twenty men on the ground around him. Some groan, trying to rise. Others lie still, staring up at the sky in shock.
Slowly, one by one, they get to their knees. Heads bowed.
“We will follow you,” the first rogue says hoarsely.
Lowell shifts back into his human form, sweat glistening on his skin, his breath heavy. His eyes meet theirs.
“I don’t ask for blind loyalty,” he says quietly. “But I will give you something worth fighting for.”
Nathan swallows hard. He steps forward, placing a hand on Lowell’s shoulder.
“You did more than prove yourself today.”
The old man clears his throat.
“They will follow you now. And they will fight for you when the time comes.”
Lowell looks around, meeting each man’s gaze.
“Thank you,” he says.
The rogues rise to their feet, slowly forming a loose circle around him. No words are spoken, but the message is clear. They are his now.
Later that evening, the camp is quiet. Fires burn low, and the men sit in small groups, tending to their bruises and cuts. But their eyes are bright.
Nathan sits beside Lowell.
“You took down twenty men.”
Lowell exhales slowly. “I didn’t even feel the need to go all out.”
Nathan chuckles softly. “Good. You’ll need that strength soon.”
The old man approaches, sitting across from them. His expression is thoughtful.
“They will talk about today for a long time,” he says.
Lowell looks into the fire. “It’s only the beginning.”
Nathan nods. “They trust you now. But trust is fragile. You’ll need to keep proving yourself.”
“I will,” Lowell answers. His voice is steady.
The old man leans forward.
“You’re more than just the lost prince. You’re the hope they’ve been waiting for.”
Lowell doesn’t respond. He watches the flames flicker and die.
Tomorrow, the real training begins.