CHAPTER 81: SCARS OF WAR

By the time we reached the kingdom gates, dusk had fallen. The guards opened the gates slowly, as though in disbelief that we were alive. Their eyes widened at the sight of Lucas, battered but standing, and then they shifted to me—clothes torn, dirt smeared on my skin, blood dried at my temple.

But I didn’t flinch.

I was too tired to care.

The castle came into view, standing tall and imposing against the darkening sky. Warm golden light glimmered from the high tower windows, spilling down like lies dressed in silk.

When the guards opened the grand doors of the throne hall for us, it was too quiet. And then—

"Athena!"

Lira’s voice rang through the space as she ran to me, her soft lavender cloak trailing behind her. She looked beautiful and untouched, as though she hadn’t worried at all—but then I caught it—the slight puffiness around her eyes, the stiffness in her shoulders.

She flung her arms around me, squeezing tightly, and I stiffened for a second before hugging her back.

"I’m so glad you’re safe," she whispered. "I wanted to follow you—I did. But..." Her voice cracked. "My father made the guards hold me back. I fought them—I did—but I couldn’t win."

I gave a soft smile, burying the complicated ache twisting in my chest. "It’s okay. I’m here now."

I glanced up—straight at the king.

He stood at the far end of the hall, dressed in deep red robes embroidered with gold thread, his smile stretching wide as we approached. But his eyes... I caught it before he could hide it. The quick flicker of surprise. Shock.

Then—just as quickly—it was gone, replaced by warm pleasure, his arms extended as though welcoming beloved children home from war.

"You did it," he said, stepping forward. "You survived." His gaze flicked to the object I carried—the ornate box holding the key. "And you brought the key."

I nodded stiffly.

Lucas said nothing, standing a half-step behind me, silent and guarded.

The king’s gaze sharpened slightly, calculating, like a lion wondering whether the wounded gazelle still had enough fight left in it to bite back.

"You must be exhausted," he said smoothly. "Both of you. Why don’t you rest first? My healers can tend to your wounds. And tomorrow—"

"No," I said quickly, cutting across him. "Can the portal be opened as soon as possible? Now."

His brows rose slightly in mock surprise, but I didn’t miss the tightness in his jaw.

"You don’t want to rest first?"

"I want to go home."

For a long moment, he stared at me, assessing, weighing, measuring.

Then the smile slid smoothly back into place like a mask well-practiced. "Of course it can. Of course. If that is what you wish, we’ll begin immediately."

His fingers twitched slightly, almost as though resisting the urge to reach for the key. But I didn’t offer it yet. I kept it firmly pressed against my chest like a shield.

Lira reached for my hand gently. "I’ll be right by your side, okay? The whole time."

I nodded, but that pang returned. Not jealousy. Not quite. Something rawer. Something more broken.

I will always be the other woman.

No matter what promises Lucas made in whispered nights. No matter how fierce his kisses or how soft his touches—I would never be the name that slipped from his lips when his soul was laid bare.

And as I glanced over at Lucas now, I saw it in his clenched fists, in the haunted way he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

I had survived beasts, betrayal, ancient magic, and death itself.

But I wasn’t sure I could survive this.

The Other Realm (The realm where Athena lived in before the portal took her to another world)

Smoke hung like a curse over the war-scarred landscape. The moon, usually a beacon for the werewolves, was obscured behind clouds thick with ash and ember. Every gust of wind smelled of death and smoldering wood. The world Kieran had known had cracked—and on the other side of that crack had come horrors born of dark magic.

Kieran stood on a ridge overlooking what remained of Silverfang Vale, where the trebuchets had once stood tall, and families had thrived beside the river’s gentle flow. Now, broken siege weapons lay scattered; bodies—werewolf and demon alike—marred the ground; and fires licked at the far edge of the nearby forest.

The first scout stumbled toward him, shoulders trembling.

"Alpha Kieran," he gasped, voice rough. "Ridge is lost—Alpha Halric is—"

"Dead," Kieran finished. His voice cracked like a whip. He closed his eyes for a moment, tasting grief and rage. "Report the losses."

"Twenty men alive... wounded. The rest..." The scout couldn’t finish, but Kieran didn’t need to hear more.

He opened his eyes and roared, "Muster what remains! Form ranks west of the gorge!"

Behind him, other scouts appeared—some bearing injuries, others hastily climbed the rocky path. They regrouped into a ragged line of banners and battered armor.

Kieran turned to face them, shoulders squared. "They came through a portal—half their king’s army. Demon wolves cloaked in ancient sorcery. We have lost ground, but not our will. Stand with me. Fight for our homes. Fight for every soul that touched these woods. Do not let them write our end!"

A chorus of feral howls answered. Swords were drawn, claws sharpened. Steel and silver glinted under lantern light.

His second-in-command, Ilyra, approached, dragging a heavy wolf’s corpse. "Blackclaw pack reinforced us," she said breathlessly. "But they lost half their numbers chasing the northern flank."

Kieran nodded. "Tell the healers to tend to the wounded. Send riders to the mountain packs. We hold the gorge or we fall together."

Up on the ridge, burning embers drifted skyward, blood-orange embers against charcoal clouds. Kieran’s stomach clenched. A distant howl of the demon wolves rang hollow and mocking.

Night fell, turning the battlefield into shifting shadows and ghostly light. Torches and bonfires revealed broken memorials of ancient stone—once symbols of guardianship over this land, now stained with fresh blood.

Kieran moved among his warriors. "Remember each spark of fire you carry tonight. This night is ours."

They nodded.