Transmigrated: The Lycan King's Pet
Chapter 154 The Past (3)

Chapter 154: Chapter 154 The Past (3)

My throat tightened.

"You’re becoming more overprotective than my own mother," she said, laughing lightly, her voice was like silk soaked in warmth. "You act like I’m made of glass."

"You are," he whispered. "You’re my glass."

My fists clenched at my sides. I remembered this moment. I remembered thinking it was just the beginning of us.

I didn’t know it was already the end.

"Damon," she said softly, looking up at him in the mirror, "do you think the witches will really hold their word?"

Young me hesitated. He smiled too quickly, almost too confidently.

"If they break it, they’ll answer to us."

"And if it’s already too late?"

"Then I’ll stop it," he said simply.

Gods... I was such a fool.

"Promise me something?" she asked, placing her hand on his.

"Anything."

"Be here when I wake up. I want the first face our baby sees to be yours."

"Of course, I’ll be with you."

He stood there with her, brushing her hair in calm, even strokes. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against his chest. The silence between them was warm and familiar. And I hated it... How peaceful they looked. How gentle the moment was, because I knew what came after.

"Do you ever wonder," she asked quietly, "what life would have been like if we weren’t born into all of this?"

The young me smiled faintly. "All the time."

She opened her eyes slowly, glancing at their reflection in the mirror. "Sometimes I wish we were just normal. Two strangers in a market, or neighbors." She laughed a little. "Maybe you’d be the baker’s son. I’d come by every morning for bread I don’t need."

"I’d burn every loaf just to see you walk in again."

She laughed again, softer this time, and rested her hands over his.

More tears streamed down my face. ’I wish we had had a simple life, one that revolves around me and you.’

"I just want our child to have something better," she whispered. "Not war or this endless fear."

Young me leaned down, resting his forehead against her temple. "They will."

"They didn’t," I said aloud, my voice barely holding steady. "They never had the chance."

"You’re everything I’ve ever wanted," she told him. "But something’s wrong, isn’t it? You’ve been on edge since the meeting with the fae."

He paused.

I remembered how I lied to her.

"It’s nothing," he said. "She just got on my nerves. I mean, a lot is happening."

She nodded slowly but didn’t believe him. I could see it in her eyes, the part of her that wanted to trust, fighting against the instinct that something wasn’t right.

"Tell her the truth," I begged. "Warn her. Please, don’t leave her side tomorrow, please."

But I already knew he would.

Young Damon bent forward and kissed her cheek. "Get some rest. I’ll be back before sunrise."

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then, softly, "You promise?"

"I promise."

I looked at her one last time.

Her long lashes, her tired but hopeful eyes. The faint curve of a smile she didn’t fully feel. She was holding onto something that wasn’t real anymore, and neither of them knew it.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you more," he whispered.

And then... he left.

He walked right past me, through me, and out of the tent. I stood frozen, staring at the woman who’d once been my world, still sitting there, brushing her hair again with a distant look in her eyes.

Waiting for a man who would never return.

"I’m sorry," I whispered.

I didn’t know how much time had passed. One second, the candle in Emelia’s tent had flickered out. The next second, I was standing in the clearing just outside the Lycan camp.

The sun hadn’t fully risen, but light stretched across the sky in soft streaks of pale gold and lavender. It was quiet, almost too quiet. There were no birds or insects chirping. Even the wind felt still.

Something felt wrong.

I looked around. The land that had once breathed with natural magic now felt... quiet.

A few soldiers were up, sharpening their blades or inspecting their gear. Others were waking from sleep, their movements were sluggish, still half-awakened.

I saw Ethan standing near the edge of the trees, frowning as he stared off into the distance.

He didn’t notice me, of course, none of them could see me.

I walked past them, following the path toward the edge of the lower hills where the witches had taken flight the day before. The ground changed the farther I went. The grass darkened, and the air carried the faint, bitter scent of scorched bark.

Right ahead of me, a tree, once full of vitality and greenness, was now blackened and leafless. Its trunk was cracked open down the middle, oozing a slow, dark sap like blood. Around it, the earth was grayed, and brittle underfoot.

Something had tainted the land.

Footsteps approached from behind as more scouts returned. Their armor was stained with soot. One of them knelt beside the corrupted roots and touched the ground with trembling fingers.

"This is fae-blessed land," he whispered. "It’s not supposed to burn."

Another scout came running from the east. "We found a village... or what used to be one. The houses are gone, only their ashes remain. The ground was vaporizing like something was draining the magic from the soil."

"What about the people?" someone asked.

The scout hesitated. "Gone. We didn’t find any corpses or survivors."

I turned, my jaw clenched. I remembered this moment, I remembered how I tried to warn them, I remembered how they didn’t listen.

"You were right," Beowulf’s voice echoed in my mind, low and grim. "But no one wanted to hear the truth."

I looked toward the heart of the forest.

I could already feel the ripple of something dark pulsing beneath the surface. It was only the beginning.

More scouts returned, their voices overlapping in a rush of panic and confusion.