Chapter 221
A Lone Wanderer
The journey to Velmora began in silence, not the peaceful kind but the heavy, uncertain silence.
Everything had changed the moment that blinding radiance faded, the world felt stripped bare. No hum of magic in the air. No pull of inner wolves beneath their skin. No familiar strength thrumming in their veins. Even the mages stood frozen in disbelief, hands trembling as they tried and failed to summon the simplest spark.
They were all ordinary now. Humans.
Zander was the first to give the orders, his voice steady even as his eyes reflected the same unease everyone felt. With shifting gone and magic sealed, they had no choice but to travel as the old kingdoms once did.
Carriages, chariots and horses. The army reorganized swiftly.
Gavriel moved with sharp precision, dividing his hundred thousand warriors into four separate groups, each taking a different route toward Velmora.
One would travel the main land path. Another would cut through the southern ridges. A third would move along the riverways using reinforced vessels. The last would approach from the eastern coast.
By the time they reached Velmora, House Aetherion would be surrounded from all directions.
No escape, no warning and no leaks. Gavriel made sure of that.
Althea lay unconscious in the largest carriage, her body wrapped carefully in layers of furs and blankets. Her face was pale, her breathing shallow but steady.
Gavriel never left her side. He refused to let anyone else tend to her unless he was present. He fed her water drop by drop. Cleaned her wounds himself. Adjusted the pillows beneath her head with a gentleness that few had ever seen from him.
At night, when the campfires burned low and the soldiers rested, he sat beside her and spoke softly, as if she could hear him.
“You would have loved this place,” he murmured one evening, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “The plains stretch endlessly. The sky looks closer here, like you could reach out and touch it.”
His thumb traced slow circles against her wrist, grounding himself.“You’re missing the sights again, my love,” he added quietly. “The rivers glisten like silver under the sun. The mountains ahead are terrifying and beautiful at the same time. I’ll bring you back here one day. When this is over.”
He paused, leaning closer.
“You’ll wake up. You have to.”
Two days into the journey, tension rippled through the caravan.
Candice rode in a separate carriage with Beta Osman, her posture stiff as she stared out the window. She could feel it too. The loss of magic. The absence of power she had relied on her whole life. It left her feeling naked and exposed.
Osman finally broke the silence.
“This is where we part ways,” he said quietly.
Candice turned to him sharply. “What?”
“You should return to House Terravane,” Osman continued, his jaw tight. “This war is not yours. Without magic, you’re vulnerable. If the Cross Clan of House Aetherion retaliates or if demons resurface, you’ll be implicated just by being here with us.”
Candice scoffed. “And you think I’ll just walk away?”
“I think you should,” he said firmly. “For your own safety.”
She searched his face, reading the concern etched deep into his expression. He wasn’t pushing her away. He was trying to protect her.
“And what about you?” she asked. “You’ll stay and march into war as a human?”Osman didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
Candice clenched her fists. “You don’t get to decide that for me.”
“I do when it comes to your life,” he shot back. “House Terravane needs you. And I need to know you’re safe.”
For a moment, neither spoke. Then Candice looked away, swallowing hard. “You’re infuriating,” she muttered.
“And you’re stubborn,” Osman replied.
Yet despite his insistence, she did not leave that day. Not yet.
The march continued. Without enhanced strength or supernatural endurance, progress was slower. Blisters formed. Muscles ached. The soldiers relied on discipline alone.
Gavriel rotated rest shifts carefully, ensuring no group lagged behind or drew suspicion. Scouts moved ahead disguised as merchants and travelers.
No banners were flown and no insignias worn. To the outside world, they were simply a large convoy moving east.
On the third morning, as fog clung low to the ground, the lead scouts signaled a halt.
Gavriel stiffened instantly.
“What is it?” he asked, stepping down from the carriage.
“A lone wanderer,” one of the men reported. “Unarmed. Standing on the road ahead.”Gavriel’s eyes narrowed. He motioned for two soldiers to stay close as he approached.
The man stood still as they drew nearer. He was older, wrapped in a weathered cloak, his hair streaked with silver. A walking staff rested in his hand. His eyes, sharp and knowing, flicked toward the caravan behind Gavriel.
“You travel heavy for merchants,” the wanderer said calmly.
Gavriel did not answer.
Instead, he studied the man carefully. For some reason, there was something unsettling about him.
“What do you want?” Gavriel directly asked.
The traveler shifted his grip on the staff. “I’m headed east. Toward Velmora too.”
Gavriel’s eyes narrowed just a fraction.
“And you expect us to believe that’s coincidence?”
The man shrugged lightly. “Believe what you will. Roads converge for many reasons. Some by choice. Some by fate.”
That word lingered. Gavriel studied him in silence. There was no magic in him, no aura to sense even if they still had their powers. Yet something about the man felt… aware.
“Why stop us?” Gavriel asked.
“I wasn’t stopping you,” the man replied. “I was waiting.”
“For what?”
“For permission,” he said. “I was hoping to travel with you. The road ahead isn’t kind to lone men anymore.”
Zander frowned. “You want protection.”
“I want company,” the man corrected. “Protection is simply a bonus.”
Gavriel hesitated. They couldn’t afford risks. Not now. Not when secrecy mattered more than speed.
“You don’t know who we are,” Gavriel said.
The old man’s eyes flicked briefly toward the distant caravan. Toward the largest carriage.
“I know you’re carrying someone precious,” he said quietly.
Gavriel stiffened.
“And fragile.”
Silence fell sharply.
Zander stepped forward. “Careful with your words.”
“I meant no threat,” he said gently. “Only truth. Even without magic, some things are… obvious to those who know how to listen.”
Gavriel studied him carefully. Without the aura of power he once carried, the Alpha King relied now on instinct alone. And yet, something about the old man felt steady, anchored, as if he stood on ground deeper than most.
The man’s gaze drifted past them, toward the dark horizon where the land stretched endlessly eastward.
“Velmora holds the Tree of Life,” he continued quietly. “It has stood longer than kingdoms, longer than bloodlines. But even the oldest trees can rot at the roots if the soil is poisoned.”