The Lycan King’s Forsaken Queen

Breaking News: The Alchemist Heiress Returns After Three Years in Seclusion! The soft glow of the holographic screen lit the reporter’s face. She spoke calmly but with a barely concealed urgency, like she couldn’t even believe what she was saying. "After three years of complete silence, the rumoured heiress of the Lycan Alchemists—once thought lost to exile or death—has returned. Her name remains unclassified, but her reappearance sends shockwaves across every major territory. Reports confirm that during her seclusion, she was working on an elixir—the so-called Alkahest of Eternum—rumoured to possess properties that could grant eternal life, not just to Lycans, but to any who possess supernatural blood. Whether this claim proves true or not, one thing is certain: the balance of power is about to shift.” Gasps rippled across the broadcast. Then came the chaos. Whispers spread like wildfire. “She’s alive?” a barkeeper in the Southern Fringe gaped, his hand frozen halfway to the tap. “I thought she was locked away or… worse.” The customer beside him leaned in, his voice low, eyes glued to the flickering screen. “They said the last Lycan alchemists were all hunted down—executed, one by one. Burned alive, some say. Too dangerous to keep around. Too unpredictable. Their blood was a threat to every Alpha’s throne.” Another voice chimed in from the corner of the bar. “Yeah, and she was the last one. The girl was born from two forbidden bloodlines. They kept her hidden. Said she vanished after a mission. But if that’s really her…?” “Said they never found her body,” muttered an older woman near the hearth, clutching a faded sigil stitched with alchemist runes. “She went underground. That’s what the real ones do.” “Three years in hiding, and she returns with the key to immortality? Bullshit!” spat a younger werewolf, cracking his knuckles. “If she’s not lying, someone must stop her.” “That b***h was supposed to be dead,” snarled a thick-necked warrior, seated nearby, gripping his mug until it cracked. “No way. If the rumors about that elixir are true, we’re all screwed. Immortality? That’s gonna bring back the old wars.” “I heard she melted a council member’s face with her bare hands before she vanished.” “No, you i***t, she used soul-fire. That’s alchemist magic, ancient and outlawed. She shouldn’t even exist.” “She’s dangerous. She should’ve stayed hidden. If she allies with a powerful pack... we’re done.” Others whispered in awe. “I always knew she’d return. She’s not like the rest of them. They thought they could chain her. But a thorn never dies quietly.” “My grandmother used to tell stories about her—the Flamebinder. Said she could craft potions that even time had to obey. If she has even a shard of that power…” The room fell into heavy silence as the breaking news was replayed on the screen again. The whispers came back, this time with anxiety, wonder, and terror. Because if she had survived… She was more than a myth. In a sleek conference room within the Eastern Dominion Pack, Alpha Councilor Nivara brushed her silver braid over her shoulder and looked toward the gathered leaders. “Whether she’s back for revenge, redemption, or rule,” she said grimly, “the era of Lycan peace is over.” In the Blackwood Arena, a warrior barked with laughter between brutal sparring rounds. “Let the witch return. Immortality won’t save her from the battlefield.” But not all were dismissive. In a candlelit chamber within the Council of Elders, voices clashed in rising fear. “She cannot be allowed to roam free. That bloodline was extinguished for a reason.” “She wasn’t extinguished. She went silent. That’s worse. You never silence a storm—you brace for it.” “She’s a relic of forbidden knowledge. If she allies with one of the high packs, we’ll see another Supernatural Schism.” And elsewhere, far from the noise and panic, deep in the Viremont Kingdom’s fortress, the Lycan King stood alone on his balcony, overlooking the frozen valley of his domain. The wind bit through the night, but he did not move. He had seen the broadcast and felt the surge of power in the air the moment it aired through the realm, though her name had never been spoken. Behind him, his confidante and councillor, Garron, lingered in the doorway, silent but watchful. “So the girl finally crawls out of her grave…” Garron said quietly, the words almost lost to the wind. The King’s jaw clenched. “Three years,” he murmured, eyes locked on the silver-dusted peaks. “And now she returns, carrying the weight of a truth no one else was ready for.” Garron stepped beside him, the frost crunching beneath his boots. “The council’s already stirred. They’re afraid. They always feared the last alchemist would rise again.” The King’s voice dropped, rough with old memories. “Let them fear. They were the ones who buried her.” A beat of silence passed. “What will you do?” Garron asked. The King didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed fixed on the horizon, where the night sky burned faintly with auroras. “When the storm comes,” he said, “I won’t be watching from a distance.” Garron furrowed his brows, turning to face him fully. “What do you mean, my King?” His voice held caution, not fear—he had stood at the King’s side through war, rebellion, and betrayal. But something in the King’s tone tonight was different. It wasn’t a strategy. It was personal. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Let’s see if the last alchemist can survive the game of kings.” Garron straightened at the shift in his voice—the coiled intent beneath the words, like the quiet draw of a blade from its sheath. “Send word to the outer rings. I want our best trackers in every region—rogues, merchants, healers, even the black-market dealers. Anyone who’s seen her, heard whispers of her, breathed the same air as her. I want their tongues loosened.” Garron gave a small nod, already calculating the routes. “And if they resist?” The King’s smirk faded into something colder. “Then remind them whose kingdom they stand on.” He turned from the balcony at last, his cloak snapping behind him. “If they can’t find her…” His boots echoed down the stone corridor as he walked past Garron, his voice like thunder on ice. “Then I’ll go down there myself. And anyone who stands in my way won’t forget it.” Garron gave a low breath, eyes narrowing with understanding. “Understood. I’ll have the spies moving by dawn. If she’s out there, we’ll find her… no matter how deep she’s buried.” “She never died and now returns with fire in her breath,” he said quietly. “The world cowers, but I remember what that blood once promised.” A pause. Then a low, knowing smile curved his lips. “And if the Heiress of Ash and Mercury thinks she can change fate without crossing me first—she’s in for a welcome she won’t forget.” The wind howled, and the first game piece moved. His golden eyes blazed, not with fear— But hunger. The game had just begun.