Chapter 222
A Listener
Zander stiffened slightly. “You speak as if you’ve seen it.”
The man smiled, faint but knowing. “I have heard enough.”
Gavriel crossed his arms. “And what makes you think we’d allow a stranger to walk with us?”
The old man met his gaze without hesitation. “Because this journey is not only about war,” he said. “And you know it.”
That landed heavier than any accusation.
“You carry a woman between life and death,” the man went on, nodding toward the carriage where Althea rested. “You march toward a house built on secrets and old sins. And both of you,” his eyes moved briefly to Zander, “are standing at the edge of choices that will shape more than victory or defeat.”
Zander let out a breath. “You speak like a priest.”
The man chuckled softly. “I am neither priest nor king. I do not rule men, nor do I command armies. I only listen when others refuse to.”
Finally, the man inclined his head slightly. “Let me join your journey,” he said. “I will not slow you down. I will not interfere with your commands. I will walk, observe, and speak only when I am told to.”
“Told by whom?” Gavriel asked.
The man’s eyes lifted, not to the sky, but inward, as if listening to something only he could hear.
“By the One who still speaks,” he answered simply.
Gavriel glanced back at the carriage. His jaw tightened. He did not trust easily. Not after everything. Not after losing power, certainty, and control all at once. Yet something deep inside him stirred, not warning, but recognition.
Zander broke the silence first. “And what help do you think you can offer, old man, when even magic has abandoned us?”
The man smiled again. “Wisdom weighs nothing,” he said. “And guidance does not require power, only timing.”
Gavriel exhaled slowly.
“We’re not detouring,” he said at last. “And you follow our rules.”
The man inclined his head. “As it should be.”
After a brief pause, Gavriel added, “If you betray us—”
“I will already be dead,” the man said calmly. “Before you ever raise a blade.”
That earned a short, humorless huff from Zander.
“Fine,” Gavriel said. “You walk with us. For now.”
The man bowed his head, not in submission, but acknowledgment.
“Thank you,” he said. “You may call me Elior.”
Zander shot Gavriel a questioning look but said nothing. As they turned back toward the caravan, the old man fell into step a few paces behind them, his staff tapping softly against the road.
When they resumed their march, Gavriel returned to Althea’s carriage. He took her hand again, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.
“Hang in there, my love,” he said softly. “I’ll make sure you come back to me. Stay with me. Stay strong.”
Never in his wildest dreams had Gavriel imagined himself using such an endearment, yet with Althea it came naturally. He had missed her deeply. For days, all he had longed for was to see her smile again—especially that defiant, fiery smile she always saved just for him.
*****
That night, the camp settled into uneasy quiet.
Fires crackled softly, their glow stretching long shadows across the tents and wagons. Soldiers spoke in hushed voices, careful not to disturb the carriage where Althea lay unconscious.
Gavriel remained there longer than he should have, fingers laced with hers, whispering words meant only for her.
When he finally stepped away to check on his men, he found Elior seated near the edge of the camp, staring into the flames as if reading something written beyond them.
“You should be resting,” Gavriel said.
The man smiled faintly. “Sleep comes easier when the heart is light. Mine has been heavy for a long time.”
Gavriel hesitated, then sat across from him. For a moment, neither spoke.
“You didn’t answer earlier,” Gavriel said at last. “Who are you really?”
The old man poked the fire gently with a stick. “Once, people called me a listener.”
Gavriel frowned. “A listener to what?”
“To God,” the man replied simply.
The word landed quietly, without force, without ceremony.
Gavriel stiffened. Not in disbelief, but caution. “Many claim to hear gods.”
The old man nodded. “And most of them hear only their own desires.”
Silence stretched again.
“I don’t see visions every day,” the man continued calmly. “I don’t shout warnings in marketplaces. I don’t command armies or crown kings.”
“Then what do you do?” Gavriel asked.
“I listen,” he said again. “And when I am told to speak, I do.”
From the shadows, Zander stepped closer, arms crossed. “You expect us to believe the Almighty God speaks to you?”
The old man finally looked at him fully. His gaze was steady, not offended.
“No,” he said. “I expect nothing from you.”
Zander’s jaw tightened. “Then why follow us?”
“Because you are standing at a crossroad,” the prophet replied. “Both of you.”
Gavriel’s breath slowed. “What crossroad?”
“One of power,” the man said. “And one of surrender.”
Zander let out a short, humorless laugh. “We already lost our powers.”
The prophet shook his head slowly. “You did not lose power,” Elior said. “You lost direction. Temptation still lives in the heart, even when the tools are stripped away.”
The words struck deeper than either of them expected.
Elior turned his calm gaze toward Gavriel. “You, Alpha King, carry a love fierce enough to defy heaven itself. A heart willing to burn the world just to save one soul.” His voice softened. “That kind of love was placed in you for a reason. It can build a great kingdom… or ruin everything if it stands above God.”
Gavriel’s jaw tightened. “If loving her makes me weak, then—”
“It does not,” Elior said gently. “But placing her above the will of the Almighty will. A ruler who fears loss more than God will lead his people into ruin.”
Then Elior faced Zander.
“And you,” he continued quietly, “carry justice that has been sharpened into vengeance. You speak of balance, yet your spirit is weary from bloodshed.”
Zander’s eyes darkened. “You don’t know me.”