The Luna Whom Death Refuse To Take

Chapter 4:The Alpha King Of Draven

The announcement spread through Ashbourne Village faster than the morning wind. Within minutes, merchants abandoned their stalls, children stopped their games, and villagers poured into the northern square, each hoping to catch a glimpse of the man whose name had become a legend throughout Lunareth. Excited whispers drifted through the growing crowd as everyone searched the distant road beyond the village gates, where a cloud of dust had already begun rising into the clear blue sky.

"I heard he defeated three rogue Alpha leaders before his twenty-fifth birthday."

"They say no kingdom has dared challenge House Draven for years."

"My cousin serves in the western territories. He swears the Alpha King once stopped an entire rebellion without shedding innocent blood."

"And his wolf..." an elderly man murmured, lowering his voice instinctively. "Some believe the Royal Grey Wolf carries the blood of the First Alpha."

The conversations continued to ripple through the crowd, each story sounding greater than the last, until even those who had never seen Carl Draven found themselves holding their breath. Anaya listened quietly from the edge of the square, her basket still resting comfortably against her arm as she glanced from one speaker to another. She had heard the Alpha King's name countless times while growing up, but she had never cared much for exaggerated stories. To her, he was simply another ruler, though judging by the expressions around her, everyone else believed he was something far more extraordinary.

A deep rumble interrupted the whispers.

The sound of approaching horses echoed across the valley, growing louder with every passing second until the ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble. Every conversation died at once as dozens of mounted warriors emerged over the hill, riding in flawless formation beneath banners embroidered with the silver wolf crest of House Draven. Their black armour gleamed beneath the morning sun, their movements perfectly synchronized, and not a single rider broke rank as they entered the village.

Behind the royal guards rode two men whose presence alone demanded attention. One carried himself with an easy confidence, his sharp amber eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, while the other remained silent, his broad shoulders and stern expression making him appear as immovable as stone. Even without introductions, the villagers recognized them immediately.

The Beta.

The Gamma.

If they had arrived first, people would have spoken about them for months.

Instead, every eye shifted beyond them.

A magnificent black stallion stepped forward, its powerful strides steady and unhurried as though it understood the importance of the man upon its back. The horse's glossy coat shimmered beneath the sunlight, and every movement reflected the careful training expected of a royal mount.

Seated upon it was Alpha King Carl Draven.

He possessed the quiet authority of someone who had never needed to prove his strength. His ash grey hair rested neatly above piercing steel-grey eyes that swept across the village with calm precision, missing nothing before moving on. Strong features defined his face without making him appear harsh, while the faint scar near his right eyebrow hinted at battles fought long before this peaceful morning. Dressed in a tailored black coat embroidered with silver threads and fastened by the crest of House Draven, he looked every bit the ruler the stories had described. Tall, broad shouldered, and powerfully built, Carl carried himself with effortless confidence, yet there was no arrogance in his expression, only discipline, experience, and the quiet burden of a king responsible for thousands of lives.

Silence settled over Ashbourne Village.

No one had ordered the villagers to bow their heads, yet many did so instinctively. Even those who remained standing lowered their eyes out of respect, understanding that they stood before the strongest Alpha King in Lunareth.

Only one person continued watching him with open curiosity.

Anaya Ashbourne.

She studied him for a brief moment, expecting to find the ruthless man the stories had painted, yet what she saw was different. His face revealed neither cruelty nor pride. Instead, there was a calmness that surprised her, the kind carried only by someone who had accepted the weight of leadership long ago.

At that same moment, deep within Carl's mind, something stirred.

His Royal Grey Wolf slowly lifted its head, for the first time in years, it definitely had sensed something.

The village elder stepped forward with both hands folded respectfully before his chest, bowing just enough to honor the ruler standing before him. "Welcome to Ashbourne Village, Your Majesty. We are deeply honored by your visit."

Carl stepped down from his stallion with practiced ease, his boots meeting the earth without the slightest hurry. Up close, his presence felt even more commanding, not because he demanded attention, but because he carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man who had led armies, settled disputes, and borne responsibilities far heavier than most could imagine. He returned the elder's greeting with a respectful nod, treating the old man as an equal rather than someone beneath him.

"The honor is mine," Carl replied. "A king should know the people who live under his protection, whether they reside within palace walls or in the smallest village."

His words spread through the crowd like a gentle breeze. The fear many villagers had carried only moments earlier slowly melted into admiration. They had expected a ruthless ruler whose name frightened enemies across Lunareth, yet the man before them spoke with humility and respect, his calm voice carrying neither pride nor arrogance.

As the elder guided him through the village, Carl observed everything with careful attention. He noticed the condition of the roads, the repaired fences surrounding the homes, the healthy crops stretching toward the hills, and the smiles of children running barefoot across the square. These were details many rulers ignored, but Carl had long believed that a kingdom's true strength could be measured by the lives of its people rather than the height of its walls.

Not far away, Anaya watched the procession with quiet curiosity, her woven basket resting against her hip. She had expected someone cold and intimidating, a king who ruled through fear alone, yet every step Carl took seemed to contradict the stories she had heard throughout her childhood. He thanked villagers who greeted him, paused to ask an elderly woman whether her family had recovered after last winter's harsh storms, and even accepted a small bouquet of wildflowers from a shy little girl, kneeling just enough to receive it with genuine gratitude.

"You've made these yourself?" he asked gently.

The little girl nodded, hiding behind her mother's skirt.

"They're beautiful," Carl said with a warm smile. "Thank you."

A ripple of surprised murmurs spread through the crowd.

"So the rumors aren't true," Anaya whispered almost to herself.

Mrs. Elora, standing beside her, smiled knowingly. "People often mistake strength for cruelty. The wisest rulers rarely need to prove either."

Carl continued walking through the village, exchanging a few words with farmers and craftsmen while his Beta and Gamma remained a respectful distance behind, allowing their king to move freely among his people. It was a sight few outside Draven Kingdom had ever witnessed, and even Carl's own guards seemed accustomed to his habit of listening more than speaking.

Then, without warning, the Royal Grey Wolf stirred again.

Not with the sharp instinct it used when danger approached.

Not with the restless excitement of discovering a mate.

This feeling was older.

Stranger.

It slipped through the wolf's senses like a forgotten memory carried upon the wind, lingering just long enough to be noticed before vanishing once more.

"Carl."

His steps slowed almost imperceptibly.

"What is it?"

The Grey Wolf remained silent for a moment, searching beyond every scent drifting through the village. Fresh bread, wildflowers, horses, smoke from morning fires they all blended together, yet the strange presence remained hidden beneath them all.

"I can't smell it," the wolf admitted.

Carl's brows drew together ever so slightly.

"Then what did you sense?"

"I don't know."

For the first time in many years, uncertainty crept into the ancient wolf's voice.

"It feels familiar."

Carl allowed his gaze to travel calmly across the gathered villagers. Mothers stood beside their children, merchants waited patiently beside their stalls, and curious faces watched every movement of the royal procession. Among them stood a young woman with long raven black hair and warm hazel eyes, quietly listening to the conversations around her while holding a woven basket against her side.

His eyes passed over her without hesitation, she was simply another villager, another ordinary human, there was no scent, no pull, no mate bond, nothing.

Carl turned his attention back to the elder, dismissing the strange feeling as nothing more than his wolf's imagination.

"We should continue," he said.

As the procession moved deeper into Ashbourne Village, Anaya adjusted the silver crescent necklace resting against her collarbone, unaware that it had become strangely warm against her skin. A faint pulse spread through the ancient pendant before disappearing just as quickly, so subtle that she almost convinced herself she had imagined it.

Far beyond the village, where the Forgotten Mountains touched the clouds, a pair of crimson eyes opened within complete darkness.

Ancient chains groaned.

Dust drifted from weathered stone.

Somewhere beneath the oldest prison in existence, a voice that had not been heard for thousands of years broke the silence.

"She lives."

The chains trembled, and for the first time since the prophecy was spoken, one of them cracked.