Chapter 2

POV: Lucan

The council room felt colder today, its vaulted ceilings and stone walls trapping not just the chill of the season, but the icy tension radiating between its occupants. At the head of the long, polished table, I stood, the weight of centuries-old tradition pressing against my shoulders. The table’s surface gleamed under the flickering light of iron chandeliers, a reflection of the opulence that the Royal Compound exuded. Every gilded chair, every inlaid jewel in the room screamed of power and permanence, in stark contrast to the crumbling Human Quarters beyond the compound walls.

Around me, the most powerful wolves in the city debated fiercely, their voices a cacophony of growls and sharp-edged words.

“Human productivity is down by fifteen percent,” General Vrax growled, his voice like distant thunder. “They’re growing lazier. We need harsher penalties—longer work hours, stricter rations.” He leaned forward, his hulking frame casting an imposing shadow across the table, his dark eyes flashing with an unyielding authority.

Elder Merrin, seated directly opposite, adjusted his neatly pressed robes and met Vrax’s gaze without flinching. “Or,” he began, his tone calm but cutting, “we might consider improving their living conditions. A starving worker can hardly perform at their peak.” His sharp eyes flicked to Vrax, his steady posture daring him to challenge the logic.

Vrax barked out a laugh, harsh and grating. “Careful, Merrin. You’re beginning to sound like a sympathizer. Weakness doesn’t suit you.”

“And brutality doesn’t suit a ruler,” Merrin replied coolly, his voice unwavering. “Your methods breed rebellion, not compliance. A cornered beast doesn’t submit—it bites.”

The room crackled with tension, murmurs of agreement and dissent spreading like wildfire. My gaze swept across the faces of the council members, noting the lines being drawn. Vrax’s supporters—hard-eyed and unyielding—occupied one side, while Merrin’s quiet allies leaned forward on the other, their faces lined with uncertainty and hope. The divide mirrored the growing fracture within our society. And I, their leader, stood at the epicenter.

I raised a hand, silencing the room. “Enough,” I said, my voice steady but firm. The murmurs faded, leaving only the faint sound of the fire crackling in the hearth. “Our goal is stability. Pushing the humans harder will only create more unrest. We’ve seen it before, and the cost is too high.”

Vrax’s jaw tightened, his piercing gaze locking on mine. “What you call unrest, I call resistance. And resistance requires a firm hand.”

“How long do you think fear will work?” I countered, stepping away from the table. My words were measured, but they carried a sharp edge. “It’s a temporary solution, not a lasting one. Fear only breeds defiance in the end.”

Vrax’s thin smile sent a shiver down my spine. “Humans are expendable, Lucan. You’d do well to remember that.”

The word expendable sat like a stone in my stomach, its weight pulling me back into memories I tried to bury. I turned away from Vrax, striding to the tall windows that overlooked the compound gardens. The lush greenery, meticulously trimmed and vibrant even in the fading light, stretched out in a perfect display of privilege. Beyond the marble walls, the Human Quarters sprawled in muted shades of gray and rust, a testament to the suffering we allowed to fester.

I stared at the horizon, the guilt pressing against me like a second skin. Somewhere out there, in that decrepit sprawl, were lives I had failed, names and faces I couldn’t forget. The girl who’d dropped her water bucket on a patrol route years ago. The starving man I’d once overlooked as he crumpled in the dirt. The families dragged away after rumors of rebellion. Each memory was a weight I carried, a ghost that lingered just behind my every step.

“The rebellion is no longer scattered whispers,” Merrin’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Intercepted messages suggest they’re coordinating. Symbols like the phoenix are appearing across multiple sectors. We found one etched into the base of an Enforcer drone last week.”

“That’s your strategy at work,” Vrax snarled, his clawed hand raking across the table. “They grow bold because you coddle them.”

“They grow bold because they’re desperate,” Merrin countered. “We’ve given them nothing but chains, and they’ve started to imagine life without them.”

The tension hung thick in the air, the council splitting further with every exchange. I raised a hand again, ending the debate before it erupted further. “This meeting is adjourned. We’ll reconvene tomorrow.”

One by one, the council members filed out, though Vrax’s gaze lingered, his silent challenge unmistakable. Merrin hesitated at the door, his expression thoughtful. “It’s a delicate path you’re walking, Lucan,” he said softly. “Just remember—change comes not from the loudest voice, but the most steadfast.”

When the door closed behind him, I let out the breath I’d been holding. The room felt emptier, the echoes of their arguments clinging to the walls like a specter. I turned back to the window, my gaze fixed on the Human Quarters. Their crooked rooftops and jagged alleys were a sharp contrast to the marble pillars and gold inlays of the Royal Compound. My father’s iron-fisted rule had carved those divides, every decision steeped in dominance and cruelty. He had ruled with certainty, a towering wall of oppression that I now stood in the shadow of.

Certainty, I thought bitterly. It was the one thing I lacked.

A memory surfaced, unbidden and sharp. I was twelve, accompanying my father on an inspection of the Human Quarters. The air had been thick with the stench of rot and despair, the sight of gaunt faces pressed behind rusted bars filling me with a nausea I couldn’t explain. A child, no older than me, stumbled nearby, her bucket of water spilling onto the dusty ground. I watched as her wide, terrified eyes darted to the Enforcers. Before she could speak, they descended on her, dragging her away amidst her cries of desperation.

I had turned to my father, my voice trembling with outrage. “Why did you let them hurt her? It was just water!”

He had looked at me with cold, unreadable eyes. “It wasn’t just water, Lucan. It was disobedience. Discipline ensures order.”

“But she was just a child,” I had whispered.

“And so are you,” he had said, his voice like steel. “One day, you’ll understand.”

I never had. I never would.

The thought pulled me back to the present. Somewhere out there, a child like that girl was living the same story. The weight of her punishment had broken her. Would I let it break me too?

A knock at the door drew me back. Eldrin entered, his silver hair glinting in the soft light. He moved with the quiet grace of someone who had spent decades navigating court politics.

“You’re troubled,” he said, his voice steady and soft.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I admitted, sinking into the high-backed chair at the head of the table. “Vrax grows bolder by the day, and the others… they’re too divided. Reform feels impossible.”

Eldrin nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Vrax clings to the past because it’s all he knows. He believes in strength above all else. But you’re not him. And you’re certainly not your father.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s a weakness. My father ruled with certainty. I don’t know if I can.”

Eldrin’s eyes softened. “Certainty is a dangerous thing, Lucan. It allows no room for growth, for understanding. You saw the cracks in your father’s rule long before anyone else did. That’s not weakness—it’s strength. Change won’t be easy, but it’s necessary. The question is whether you’re willing to fight for it.”

I turned back to the window, the shadows of the past fading enough to let in the light. Somewhere out there, a storm was brewing. This time, I wouldn’t stand idly by.