CHAPTER 125: THE GREAT CASPIAN.

*~Cayden’s POV~*

The council meeting had just been dismissed, the murmurs of departing alphas still echoing faintly down the hall. Preparations for the coming ceremony—the naming of my children—were already set in motion. And with the masquerade ball only a few nights away, the pack’s focus had shifted to ensuring it would be a spectacle worthy of the Blue moon’s name.

Leon and I lingered in the council room after the others left. He poured us each a mug of beer, the foam rising lazily to the rim.

"Finally, I get to talk to you without you pacing like a caged wolf," Leon teased, sliding my drink over. "You seemed... tense before. Almost fearful, looking for your wife and children."

I took a long pull from the mug, letting the bitter liquid settle on my tongue before swallowing. "Well, my babies are back, and so is my mate," I said with a grin. "I have every reason to smile now."

We both chuckled, the sound easy and light—for about three seconds—before Caspian entered the room.

"You missed the council meeting, brother," I said, watching the way his steps slowed. His face carried that familiar weight, the kind of look that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with whatever thoughts he refused to say aloud.

I stood, crossing the room to brush his shoulder with my hand. "Brother, Hazel is back. The babies are back. Everything is under control. The other packs fear us more than ever. We’ve grown stronger, richer... more respected. Why are you still so distressed?"

His jaw tightened. "Everything may seem fine to you, but Hazel—do you even care about what’s happening to her?"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, here we go with the preaching again. What happened to Hazel now?"

"The memories," he said flatly. "I couldn’t erase all of Cyrius. She’s lost everything else—her sense of where she’s been, what she’s survived. She’s forgotten she met Lilith. She’s forgotten she was ever in prison. She feels like everything is... gone."

I leaned back against the table, arms folded. "Well, you did wipe her memory. What did you expect? That she’d come back perfectly fine? Just give her time."

Caspian’s eyes flicked up. "And where is Lilith? We should be arranging another meeting with her, to tell her about the babies."

I shook my head. "I haven’t seen Lilith since Cyrius kidnapped them."

"What?"

"Yes," I said, meeting his gaze. "We haven’t heard a single word from her."

"Then find her," Caspian said firmly. "I’m sure she’s lurking around somewhere."

Leon, who had been quietly sipping his beer in the background, spoke up. "Isn’t it strange we haven’t seen her? Not even once since Cyrius took the babies?"

I turned toward him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Leon swirled his drink, his tone cautious. "You know her better than most, but I don’t completely trust her. She’s... giving me odd vibes. And her disappearing now—when her daughter and grandchildren are back—it’s suspicious."

Caspian nodded slowly. "News has already spread that we found them. She must have heard."

"Maybe she’s just keeping her distance," I said. "Let’s give her time. Lilith is a good woman—a good mother. She’ll come when she’s ready."

Leon didn’t look convinced. "Still... she should’ve been here by now."

I set my mug down with a sharp thud. "Why are you both trying to stir up problems where there are none? We should be deciding on the ball, the names for my twins, planning something joyful. Not poking at shadows just because you think they might be monsters."

Caspian took a deep breath. "It’s just... I’m worried for Hazel. And also Cyrius.—"

I cut him a glare sharp enough to silence him. "We don’t mention that name again."

He straightened. "You don’t want her to remember him, right?"

"Exactly. And it starts with all of us. That name dies here, in this room. Understood, brother?" I handed him another drink with a tight smile.

He nodded, accepting the mug. We poured and clinked them together, draining the beer in one long swallow.

I leaned back in my chair, studying Caspian over the rim of my mug. "When was the last time we fenced, brother?"

He turned his head toward me, brows pulling together like he was trying to remember. "I don’t know... probably five years ago."

Five years ago. Before everything with him.

I smirked. "Which, by the way, is exactly why we need to do it again. We refuse to even say Cyrius’ name...fine. Then let’s start doing things without him. Completely without him."

Caspian’s jaw flexed.

I tipped my head, letting my smirk deepen. "Unless you’re scared of me kicking your ass. That would be highly understandable."

That did it. Caspian hated being baited—especially when it came to his pride. "Let’s do it," he said, his voice low but steady.

"As expected," I said with a grin. "The great Caspian never turns down a challenge when his reputation’s on the line."

Leon, who had been watching the exchange with a half-smile, shook his head. "You two are impossible." Still, he pushed his chair back and went to fetch the swords.

By the time we stepped out into the night air, the torches around the training grounds were lit. The scent of iron and old sweat clung to the air—a familiar smell that stirred memories I wasn’t sure I wanted to unpack.

Leon returned, two fencing swords in hand, their polished blades catching the torchlight. He handed one to me, the other to Caspian. The weight felt good in my grip, like an old habit slipping back into place.

We walked to the center of the ring, boots crunching against the dirt, and squared off. Caspian’s eyes narrowed, assessing me the way he might size up an enemy in battle.

"Ready, brother?" I asked.

He rolled his shoulders, blade tilting slightly in his hand. "Always."

The first clash of steel rang sharp in the night air, the sound echoing off the stone walls around the training yard. Caspian lunged forward, his blade darting for my side, but I twisted away, letting his momentum carry him just far enough to open him up for a quick jab to the chest.

"Point for me," I said with a smirk, stepping back.

"That was a cheap shot," Caspian muttered, straightening.

"Brother, all my shots are cheap. You should know that by now."

We circled each other again, blades glinting under the torchlight. This time, he came in faster, sharper. I blocked twice, but on the third strike, he slipped past my guard and tapped my ribs.

"Finally," he said, stepping back with a faint grin. "Guess I should congratulate you for not completely humiliating yourself."

I raised a brow. "One point for you, two for me. That’s still humiliation territory, brother."

He scoffed. "We’ll see."

The third round began, and the rhythm changed—faster footwork, sharper turns, each strike landing harder than the last. We traded jabs and parries, the clang of our blades louder now, almost drowning out Leon’s occasional, very unhelpful, commentary from the sidelines.

"Try not to break each other’s noses before the ball," he called out.

"Don’t worry," I shouted back, parrying Caspian’s strike. "I only aim for his pride."

Caspian grinned at that—just in time for me to sweep his blade aside and land another point. "Three–one," I said with a flourish of my sword.

"That was out of bounds!" he barked.

"Brother, your ego is out of bounds."

He lunged again, faster, almost reckless now. For a moment, I thought he was going to even the score, but then his movement faltered—barely noticeable at first. His parries slowed, his footwork lost its sharpness.

"Come on," I taunted. "Don’t tell me age is finally catching up with you."

"Shut up," he hissed, but his breathing was off—too shallow, too fast. I stepped in with another strike, but the sound of steel meeting dirt broke the rhythm. Caspian’s sword had slipped from his hand.

"Brother?" I lowered my blade, frowning.

He staggered back a step, hand pressed to his chest. And then—he coughed. Not just once, but hard, doubling over as black blood splattered onto the dirt.

The torchlight caught the dark, viscous sheen of it, and for a heartbeat, the yard went utterly silent.

"Caspian!" I was already at his side, catching his arm before he could collapse completely. His skin was cold, clammy.

Leon rushed over, eyes wide. "What the hell—"

But before he could finish, Caspian tried to straighten, coughing again, another thick stream of black spilling past his lips. His legs gave out, and I lowered him to the ground.

"This isn’t just exhaustion," I said sharply, scanning his face. His eyes were glassy, unfocused.

Leon crouched beside us, his voice low. "We need to get him to the healer. Now."

Caspian tried to speak, but another cough wracked through him, cutting the words short. All he managed was a faint, pained glare—as if even now, he refused to admit I might be right about something being wrong.

Caspian..?