Syrus shook under the uncertainty of his surroundings—the almost-muddy earth, the foreign vines that seemed to creep when he wasn't looking, the tree before him.
It's kind foreign, though inanimate, it stirred a deep fear.
Moonlight bathed the leaves, as if reverencing the tree's existence.
The chains that bound him were just reinforcement; how could he escape this place, except through magic?
His wounds were barely healing, probably infected, leaving his body too weak even if magic would boost him.
What could the werewolves possibly want if not to transform or consume him?
Heavy footsteps approached. Syrus' heartbeat increased as the alpha came into view, still in his human form, standing before the tree.
Blonde hair fell over his strong bare back, moonlight illuminating his ivory skin.
"A sorcerer joining a war," the alpha began. "You and your kingdom's army were aware of Azael's power before going to war with him."
Syrus paused to comprehend, realizing that Azael was the Ancient.
"Y-yes," he replied, voice cracked.
"Your life will be spared," the alpha continued, turning to face Syrus. "In exchange for your devotion to assisting my purpose."
Hope flared in Syrus' chest, but curiosity held him back.
If this Ancient needed him, it might be better to ask why than accept blindly.
"W-what do you need of me?" Syrus asked hesitantly, staring into the alpha's gray-tinged eyes under the moonlight.
"Your expertise with magic—and its result," the alpha said. "Your confidence in raging war against Azael proves your capability. Your mastery against demons."
Syrus lowered his gaze. "I was defeated by him," he admitted.
Honesty was safer. Over-trusting his extents had already brought consequences, still lingering after the war.
The alpha scoffed. "The merging of a demon and a human."
Syrus' eyes widened.
That practice was very old, rare, and dangerous.
Soul incompatibility could kill a human vessel instantly.
The act was seemingly abandoned.
He had only stumbled across the spell but found it pointless to act on, probably because demons were not as easy to get as humans.
Lumere certainly hadn't given him that much freedom to exploit human test subjects for that either.
Why would the alpha need it? He was clearly already a demon—or were werewolves not?
"It's a very old practice," Syrus said.
The Alpha smiled. "And you're aware of it."
Syrus seethed internally, hating how easily the alpha read him, but he composed himself. This was proximity to a different level of power he could exploit for his gain.
"I am," he said, gaze lowered. "But the war left me stranded. Most of what I own and control is still in Lumere."
"Can you perform the spell, mage?" the alpha asked, his smile fading into sternness.
"Y-yes," Syrus replied. "But I'll need…"
"I heard you the first time," the alpha interrupted. "I will send for what you need in Lumere.
But understand this: failure will bring consequences worse than death."
Syrus trembled where he sat, but he couldn't let his fear overwhelm him—not now that he could use this opportunity to evolve his magic to tame undefeatable forces like Azael.
"I understand…" Syrus began.
"I am Fen. Owner of these mountains."
The vines beneath Syrus began to move, making him flinch as another wave of fear overtook him.
The vines moved backward toward where Fen stood, his eyes still trained on Syrus.
The bark of the tree behind him stirred, followed by a faint cracking noise, as two black voids formed instantly in its trunk—eyes?
Syrus could not contain his horror.
"Please! Have mercy!" he shrieked, shrinking with his hand over his head from the sight, the scent of its leaves filled the air.
"Perfect," a hoarse voice drawled.
Syrus dared not look, afraid that deep down he might never keep up with the supernatural world unfolding before a mere human sorcerer like him.
**
Zane opened his eyes, slowly. He felt stiff; every ache throbbing through his body was unbearable.
He seemed paralyzed, but the pain coursing through his veins told him otherwise.
The soft feel of a bed beneath him began grounding Zane in the reality of where he was now.
Lumere.
He had woken up facing the window. The sky was grey, dusk turning to day.
He was just gaining consciousness, the last thing he'd seen before passing out was Azael holding Elana.
He groaned from pain, trying to sit up, but it was impossible. His tongue felt the space of two missing teeth at the back.
Zane clenched his fists.
The scent of familiar disinfectants, produced only in Lumere further confirmed he was in the city's hospital.
His mind buzzed with questions even as he couldn't move.
What had happened? Where was Elana?
How did he end up in a hospital in Lumere?
The memory of how Azael had battered him lingered, and as much as Zane hated the feeling, it stuck to him—the shame of not being able to keep his promise of freedom to Elana.
Tears tickled the corner of his eyes, realizing that Cara might also be dead.
He felt useless, right now, useless was human.
**
Elana heard the door open and close from where she sat on the bed. Vivianne had just left after setting up the bath, which Elana insisted she could manage alone. So who…?
"You look better than two nights ago, Flower." Cara's voice said.
Elana's heart instantly relaxed.
"Cara," she called softly as the bed dipped slightly under Cara's weight.
The birds chirping outside filled the small silence that stayed between them.
"W-what about Zane?" she asked.
"He'll be fine," Cara replied.
Elana gritted her teeth, fighting to keep her emotions and curiosity under control.
"Why, Cara?" she finally asked, fiddling with her fingers as she kept her voice from breaking. "Why was Caesar trying to kill us? I thought we were friends."
"I wish I knew," Cara admitted. "But at least we're alive, right?"
"Because of…him," Elana whispered, thinking of Azael.
She clenched her fists, frustrated that she had yet again dreamt of him. This time so vividly, his scent accompanied the memory of his touch in her sleep.
"I sometimes try to sugarcoat the truth, Elana," Cara said. "But not today. You deserve to understand the circumstances around your life."
Elana raised her head, bracing for the truth because she too was tired of falsely hoping for a normal life.
"This is not a fact I have proof of yet," Cara said. "But Azael is a very powerful man—you know that."
Elana nodded.
"Powerful men are like kings," Cara continued. "They fight wars and have enemies. A man who cannot be challenged directly usually gets attacked through a person or people he protects—a person who is dear to him."
"But I'm not dear to him," Elana said, hurt and frustrated. "He sees me as a slave. That's all I am to him."
Cara's hand closed over one of hers. "Enemies don't see it that way. Who he protects is who they're after."
"So, you mean…" Elana hesitated. "You think Caesar was being used."
"As I said," Cara sighed. "I'm not entirely sure but remember the first time Azael saved us from the strange man who ambushed us with those animals?"
"The man had called him brother," Elana said in a low voice.
"And even before that," Cara continued, "he already seemed to know who you were to Azael before he tried to touch you."
Elana slumped back. Her frustration simmered into anger.
Her being in danger was because of him too, and instead of at least making her understand, he'd sent her away conflicted and broken with hurtful words.
"I hate him," Elana said, and for that moment she believed she did.
"Freedom might not come as soon as you think it will, Flower," Cara added.
Elana held back her tears, choosing to feel her anger instead because then she would properly direct it at him.
She was sick of the audacity he had toward her.
Cara slowly let go of her hand. "Please, Elana. Be careful how you challenge him."
"Then he'd better get ready to kill me himself," she said, voice steady and determined.