Alliance of Shadows, Book 4: DRESON

Introductions

Ah! Is it finally my turn to tell my story?

Well, let’s get to it then. Before everything, let me take you back to my childhood—a place where realizations were made and family took on different meanings.

It started when I was much younger. That was when I first noticed something different about me, something that set me apart from the other boys my age.

Yes, while Druids are known for their mild temperaments most of the time, I was even quieter than the others around me. Solitude became my shield, a means of keeping my distance from the other children, who, more often than not, would have mocked me if given the chance. I avoided large gatherings, preferring silence over the risk of ridicule. The absence of noise became a comfort, a sanctuary where I could observe without being observed, where the opinions of others held no immediate weight.

My mother had passed away the day I was born, and from the very beginning, I felt the weight of their stares. People talked about me—whispers drifting through the air, murmurs of superstition that painted me as a Cursed child, touched by death itself. They believed I was too young to understand, but they were wrong. Intelligence ran strong in my bloodline, so it was no surprise when I confronted them about their words. Even at that age, I had learned that knowledge was a weapon, and if wielded correctly, it could dismantle ignorance in ways brute force never could.

My father had graduated at the top of his class in college, as had his brother, Raphael. Both possessed genius-level intellect, a trait that seemed ingrained in the very fabric of our family. Yet despite their accomplishments, there was one mystery that lingered in my mind. I hadn’t seen my uncle in years. He had been married off to a woman from the Starlight Coven, and from the moment they left, my family never heard from him again. His absence was rarely spoken about, tucked away in the folds of conversations that danced around what was lost but never acknowledged outright.

By the time I was three, my father, Rowan Cage, had remarried. This time, he'd met his Mate in a Werewolf named Celestia Frank. The outcome was a stepmother who treated me like I was her own child.

Not going to lie, I loved the attention.

I loved the thrill of having a mother around—someone to teach me simple things, like tidying up after myself and making snacks. Celestia had a way of making the mundane feel special, turning even the most ordinary moments into warm memories. She would hum softly while showing me how to fold my clothes, her presence settling over our home like a quiet reassurance. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air when she passed by, a reminder of her constant presence, of her unwavering patience in teaching me the small tasks I had never thought mattered before.

I had spent years envying the other kids who had both of their parents. Their daddy’s lectures, the roughhousing, mommy’s gentleness, getting tucked into bed by them both—it all made me angry. I would watch them from a distance, fists clenched, wondering why fate had chosen to make my family incomplete.

Admittedly, I was jealous of two-parent families.

Three months after the wedding, Celestia started getting sick. At first, it was just small things—fatigue, dizziness—but soon, I overheard hushed conversations, my father’s voice laced with both worry and excitement. Though only three, I still understood that the word pregnant meant I was getting a new brother or sister.

I wanted a sister. I ended up getting a brother.

He was a good baby, quiet for the most part, his wide blue eyes always watching me, but the more he grew, the more annoying he got. He would tug at my hair, stumble after me with relentless determination, and cry whenever I wasn’t within reach. No matter how many times I tried to escape him, he always found his way back to my side.

Kaden, like any other Werewolf pup, was strong, stubborn, and determined to make "big bwudder" play with him. While he drove me up the wall, I was still protective of my little brother. Especially since the other adults looked down on us both. They looked down on me for being born, and they looked down on him for being mixed-race.

Once, when he was only four, a group of Druid kids started picking on Kaden while we were at the playground. I stood by, watching and ready to step in if it got too much for him to handle. Imagine my surprise when he flipped one kid over his shoulder and bit another before bolting straight for the safety of my arms.

"Bwudder, help," he said, pressing himself against my side, clutching the hem of my shirt in tiny fists.

I had known for a long time that he'd be trouble if left on his own, but this? This was something else. Not because he was a hybrid, but because the moment the others realized he was my little brother, they wouldn’t dare lay a finger on him. Yet, behind all composure sat the reality that words can cut just as deep as fangs and fists.

"Hey," one of the kids sneered, eyes flicking toward Kaden. "That's our new toy. Hand it over."

Another—the one still cradling his bitten arm—shifted uneasily, his face paling. "We should go, Leroy. That kid is the Messenger of Death. My mom said he's bad news."

The title had followed me for years, muttered behind my back and exchanged in hushed tones. It didn’t bother me as much as it unsettled my father and stepmother. I didn’t understand why these kids were so determined to torment Kaden, but I saw an opportunity. Besides, they just called my brother an ‘It’ and referred to him as their ‘new toy’, so why shouldn’t I retaliate by instilling a little fear?

"I'm sorry, guys, but he's my next sacrifice to the Gods. I can't let you beat him up," I said, keeping my voice even, unreadable.

Kaden turned his big blue eyes up at me, his mouth hanging open.

"After all, if I return without him, my father will probably send me to see the Gods personally," I continued, watching dawning horror flicker across their faces.

While I was only seven at the time, I knew what buttons to push to induce fear in others.

His shock fading into understanding, my four-year-old brother smirked over at the boys. "Mommy will beat your mommies up if you don't leave us alone."

"Stupid little Mutt, go back to your pack," Leroy said. The others laughed like it was the most hilarious thing they had ever heard.

The funniest part was that, in a family full of born genius', my little brother showed promise as a strategist, tracker, and as a magic-user. His next move proved it.

"I'm not stupid, you're stupid," Kaden said. "At least I know what two-times-two is, and I'm only four."

Trying not to laugh at the fact that he gave them the answer in the same breath as an insult, I frowned. "My brother is not a Mutt, Evans. He was born in our Coven's clinic, not on pack lands. Besides, he belongs to both groups, so your insult isn't even an insult."

Something flashed in Leroy's eyes, and he grinned evilly at me.

I felt the familiar pressure of my father's Calming spell wash over Kaden and I as he walked up behind us.

"Now you're in for it," Leroy said. I wanted to beat the smirk off his face but knew that I would get in more trouble for letting them goad me into a fight.

I wasn't trying to get into trouble, but trouble always seemed to find me.

"Dreson, it's time to go home now," Dad said as he rested his large, work-roughened hand on my shoulder. "Kaden, go get your toys."

That was when my little brother turned on the waterworks. "But, Daddy, they broke the truck I was playing with and threw my ball into the woods. You told us not to go in there, so I can't go get my toys."