Chapter 6
989 Words
Lysa’s heart was beating fast against her chest. There was something so dark and eerie in the soil of Nister. She has felt these dark feelings 20 years ago. Her eyes never leave the Queen, while she’s leading the way to the roads where peasants only know.
When they arrived in Nister, Ser Daenilo was right. It was like a haunted land. The houses were empty and blood was pooling on the floor. Beside the Queen is Daemon, gazing at the road he’s never rode on before. Elizabeth was right. He might be the King, but he does not know how his own people live. How they feel.
It takes a peasant to know one.
She could have been the right Queen for these Nistereans. I could have given her the world she needs. Daemon thought. Yet even though she has chosen Jehaerys over him, he would still give her the world she deserves. It was the most selfish yet selfless thing he could ever do in his entire life. How ironic.
“Your Grace, this land is empty. We should head back to Galapornea.” Sister Lysa urges the Queen. She was the only one among them who knows that she’s with a child. Regardless of whose father it is, it must be protected. Because it is where the future of Galapornea lies.
“We will until we search the whole area. I know there is still someone out there hiding, searching for sanctuary.” The Queen said.
Grandmaster Voltur was less amused in her idea. Despite the vow that he swore, just by the thought of the Fallens still terrifies him. Master Gregory was alarmed, his hand was already placed on the hilt of his sword. Despite being a member of the House of Lapornea. He doesn’t wield magic just like his nieces, even the Archmaster, the oldest member, has grown weak too.
Ser Daenilo brought his finest soldiers to guard the Queen, and Elizabeth wanted him to burn alive for making her feel so weak. There were the howling cries of the wolves. She looked up at the sky, and saw that the sun hadn't even descended. She remembers the time when she was caught by Darren when she used the way to their property for a shortcut. The villagers must have gone there. She leads them to Darren’s property and she remembers the last words he said to her. He was threatening her, and she hopes that he’s still alive.
There was a barrier that prevented any intruders from getting inside, it was enough to relieve her of her worries. If they aren’t alive, those barriers wouldn’t stand that strong anymore. She reached out to the ties within her, and cast a blazing fire against the fence melting its steel into liquid.
The forest was still the same yet different at the same time. The difference it made was the carriage noise was replaced by the howling wind and the scent of the forest no longer smells the same. Gone was the scent of the purified smell of nature.
“It’s untouch of blood,” Daemon observes. Elizabeth smiled, because it was clear in his face that it was his first time being here.
“I know the son of the owner of this forest. He and I went to the same institute.”
“My father said that the farmers of this forest came from the clan of Lycanthropy. I never really believe him, because he always talks gibberish whenever he’s drunk.”
“Your father might be right. The day when I went to the Black Market, I was chased by a pack of werewolves. Good thing Darren was there to save me.” She said, and it slowly puts the puzzle in her mind into one piece. “I think he’s one of them,”
“The race of Lycanthropy still exists. Their blood dominates a mortal’s blood, infecting it like a rotten apple. That’s why their race has never met its extinction.” It was Master Gregory who spoke. Elizabeth turned her head towards her uncle.
“Then what does it do to someone who has a Celarion blood?” Her curiosity was getting the best out of her. So many questions in her mind that need to be answered.
Sister Lysa sighed, “Let’s hope that the Seven won’t let that happen. Werewolves are the outcome of the disease brought by a greater demon. They have a short temper and can be easily provoked. But, I’ve known some who could still control themselves whenever their body wanted to shift. Yet no matter how strong they were, they will always be a slave to the Moon.” She said.
“Then, how does one become a werewolf?”
“It runs in the blood or through a werewolf bite. Once someone is bitten, they will be inflicted by the disease.”
“Can it be cured?” Elizabeth asked right away. Daemon raised his brows in amusement.
“Oh, Dear God, woman. Is there anything you don’t want to know?”
“No. It’s the kind of disease that can never be cured.”
All of them fell silent when they heard the approaching footsteps and heavy breathings. Emerging from the blinding white snow storm came the werewolves, immune to the bitter wind that cut into the skin of their prey, blanching their skin and bluing their chattering lips. At first they were little more than silhouettes and their growling was almost carried away in the howling wind. But as they neared their fur became discernible, thick and wintry in whatever hue their hair had been only hours before. They had the killer instinct of a wolf pack but the intelligence of a human. In barks and grunts they communicated, spreading wide, sending some to circle around, cutting off any means of escape.
Ser Daenilo and the other soldiers drew their swords, their position ready to engage to fight. Daemon and Grandmaster Voltur casted a shield around us.
The werewolves sneers, growling. Ready to lounge at them and yet they stand still on their ground as if they are waiting for a signal.
“They are not attacking us.” says Elizabeth.
“They await the signal from their Alpha.”
- Writer
