Chapter 134

Grayson’s POV

Alaric's words hit me like a punch to the gut, their weight sinking deep into my chest. The chamber felt colder, the glow of the carvings on the walls dimming as if the room itself reacted to the tension.

"What are you talking about?" My voice was quieter, though no less sharp. "What does Ava have to do with this?"

Alaric's ever-present smile remained, his dark eyes glinting with knowing amusement. "Everything."

That single word sent a chill down my spine, one no fire or fury could melt. Whatever calm I possessed vanished instantly.

"What do you mean, everything?" I snapped. "If you know something, say it. Stop speaking in riddles."

Alaric tilted his head slightly—an infuriating display of patience that only fueled my frustration. He took a step closer, his gaze locking onto mine. "Let me show you how it all began. Come."

I hesitated, glancing at Rickon, unconscious on the cold stone floor. The steady rise and fall of his chest reassured me he was merely asleep. Alaric seemed to sense my hesitation.

"Do not worry," he said smoothly, gesturing to the shadows. "I will have him moved to a place of comfort and safety. Focus on what you are about to learn. It is the reason you are here."

The subtle command in his tone made my wolf bristle, but I nodded, following him deeper into the chamber. The wall carvings grew more intricate, glowing faintly in hues of gold and silver. We stopped before a large mural, etched with stunning precision. Alaric gestured to the first image.

"This is where it begins," he said, his voice low and reverent.

The mural depicted a lush forest bathed in moonlight. Wolves ran freely, their bodies blending seamlessly with the natural world.

"Just as my people live now, the realm once existed in peace," Alaric began, his tone steady and rhythmic. "It was a time before leaders, before titles, before ambition. Werewolves lived as one great pack, bound by the unity of the moon's blessing. For centuries, perhaps longer, they roamed together without conflict. Every wolf had a place, and no wolf sought more than they needed."

I could almost see it—the harmony, the ease of a world without struggle for dominance. But I also felt the faint undercurrent of inevitability, like the calm before a storm.

"What changed?" I asked, my voice quieter, curiosity outweighing my irritation.

Alaric's lips curved into a grim smile as he gestured to the next section of the mural. Here, the wolves appeared smaller, scattered, as if something had fractured their unity.

"It began," he said, "with the first division. A single act that sowed distrust among the wolves."

The carving showed two wolves—one large, one smaller—fighting over a deer carcass. The larger wolf bared its teeth; the smaller wolf's ears were flattened in submission.

"There was a famine," Alaric continued. "Food became scarce, and for the first time, wolves turned on each other. They fought for survival, for resources, for dominance. The harmony they had known crumbled, along with the unity that had bound them. They no longer saw themselves as one pack but as individuals, each fighting for its own interests."

The weight of his words settled over me like a heavy cloak. The mural shifted again, showing groups of wolves turning away from one another, their backs to the moon.

"In time, these fights grew into divisions," Alaric said, his voice hardening. "Wolves formed smaller groups—what we now call packs. Each pack chose its strongest, smartest, most cunning leader. And so, the first Alphas were born."

The next section of the mural contrasted sharply with the first. It showed wolves standing tall and proud, each surrounded by deferential followers. But there was no unity, only separation, as the packs turned their backs on one another.

"Peace became a fleeting memory," Alaric continued, his tone laced with sorrow. "Ambition grew in the hearts of these new Alphas. They sought superiority, territory, power, and dominance. Wars broke out, battles that soaked the land in blood and filled the air with hatred."

I could vividly imagine the chaos, the violence, the endless struggle for control.

"And my ancestors?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Where were they in all of this?"

Alaric's eyes gleamed as he gestured to the next carving. It depicted a wolf larger than any other, its fur as dark as the night sky, standing atop a hill. Below, other wolves bowed their heads in the faint moonlight.

"Your ancestor was unlike the others," Alaric said. "He wasn't born into ambition, nor did he seek power for its own sake. His name was Caelan. He was a wolf of unparalleled strength, but also of great wisdom and compassion. He saw the destruction caused by these divisions and sought to reunite the wolves."

I stared at the image, its weight sinking in.

"How did he do it?" I asked.

Alaric's smile returned, softer this time. "Caelan understood that to unite the wolves, he had to rise above them. He had to prove he was not just an Alpha, but something greater. And so he challenged the Alphas of every pack, one by one, to combat."

The mural shifted again, showing Caelan battling wolves of all sizes, always dominant, always victorious.

"He fought not for power, but for peace," Alaric smiled. "And in each battle, he proved himself worthy. The Alphas who fell to him pledged their loyalty, and their packs followed. Slowly, the divisions began to heal."

The title hung in the air, a weighty truth, and I felt a strange sense of pride and awe.

"But the name Blackwood," I pressed, "where does that come from?"

Alaric's gaze darkened as he moved to the final part of the mural. It showed Caelan beneath a massive, twisted, blackened tree with deep roots.

"The Blackwood tree," Alaric said, his voice a near whisper. "It was the heart of the forest, where the first wolves were said to have been blessed by the moon. When Caelan united the packs, he chose this place to mark a new era. He claimed the name Blackwood to honor the tree, and it became the symbol of his reign."

I stepped closer, my fingers brushing the intricate carvings of the branches.

"And the title of Alpha King?" I asked.

"It was bestowed upon him by the wolves who knelt before him," Alaric nodded. "A title not claimed but earned. It signified not just his strength but his ability to lead, to unite, to protect."

The room hummed with the weight of history, the air thick with echoes of the past. I turned to Alaric, my mind racing.

"All of this," I gestured to the mural, "what does it have to do with Ava?"

Alaric's smile widened, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "The curse, Grayson, is not what you think. And Ava… she's only a small piece of it, but not the solution."

He turned to leave, the shadows swallowing his form, his final words hanging in the air like a warning.

"You're about to learn just how deep it goes."