CHAPTER 112: CHAPTER 111. VIVIANNE’S TRUE POWER

Flashback

During their journey back to the Erengard Empire, the spirit kings whispered to Vivianne through the time they used to travel, the warmth of fire, the rhythm of earth, and the pulse of water. Their voices are gentle but ancient, carrying the wisdom of countless centuries.

They told her she’s finally ready to accept everything, the truth about who she is, what kind of power she carries, and what she could become. This was something they were unable to do during Vivianne’s past life.

In her past life, she had been too broken to hear them. Too shattered by pain, betrayal, and isolation to understand the gift she bore. Back then, their calls went unanswered, their wisdom lost in the storm of her suffering. But now, standing as both a woman and a vessel for their power, Vivianne finally ready.

They revealed to her the truth behind her existence. Her pheromone, the one that couldn’t be contained when Dietrich was her husband. The pheromone that still managed to give any mated, bonded alpha a reaction was not a curse, it was born from the heart of her magic.

She was born with mana heart so vast, so overflowing with energy, despite her being born as a werewolf, Which is why the power itself had nearly consumed her from within. That was why no ordinary alpha could ever contain her or bind her through instinct or dominance.

Her pheromone isn’t just scent or allure, it’s coming from pure mana, given form. It reached into minds and emotions, bending thought and will alike, a manifestation of the power that connected her to the spirit kings themselves.

This is why, with a perfect alpha, she could not only wield the might of the four spirits but also touch and command the hearts of others. But she could never control her true mate.

Roxanne de Borgia.

The spirit kings told her that fate had never been cruel; it had only been waiting. Roxanne had been born with a magic that defied its own bloodline, her raw physical strength and demonic energy so immense that no one could tame it.

Her instincts had always been wild, dangerous, and untouchable. Yet, only Vivianne’s pheromone, the living embodiment of her mana, could calm the demon inside Roxanne’s soul. And only Roxanne’s strength, her unyielding will, could lock and steady the storm of Vivianne’s power.

Together, they’re balance, the moon and the night, the storm and the earth, two forces made whole only when bound to each other.

Vivianne lay beside Roxanne in silence in the carriage, letting the envoy pass the ancient forest under Luthen’s protection. Roxanne’s hand is on Vivianne’s stomach, rubbing it softly, feeling the quiet pulse of warmth that steadied her.

Too much mana consumption would never end well for Vivianne or for the child growing inside her. The Spirit Kings had warned them both of this, their voices resonating with the wisdom they carried for centuries. Yet their explanation had come with a twist that left Roxanne completely unprepared.

"All the intimacy you share," Afrit began, his tone lazy and amused, "isn’t only pleasure or affection. It’s the way your souls exchange mana. So if your wife’s power begins to fade, you know what to do."

Roxanne blinked, her expression turning flat and incredulous. "You mean I have to have sex with her in the middle of a battlefield? That’s absurd."

She glared toward Afrit and heard his laughter flicker faintly through Vivianne’s shared hearing. "Then stop her before she drains herself dry," Undine interrupted, her voice rippling like cold water. "You are her balance, Borgia. Do something useful instead of complaining."

Vivianne tried to hide a laugh behind her hand, though her cheeks turned red. Roxanne turned to her sharply, half scolding, half helpless.

Terranova’s steady, grounded voice followed next, calm and unbothered. "You don’t have to make a scene. A touch, a kiss—those are enough to let your mana flow between you. It won’t fill her completely, but it will keep her from breaking."

Roxanne exhaled heavily, rubbing her temple. "You make it sound so simple," she muttered.

"To beings like us," Afrit said with a grin in his tone, "it is simple. She burns bright, you ground her. That’s how it should be."

"And your power flared too much; she ground you." Tempest added.

Then they continue to talk again, Roxanne just rolls her eyes. "Listen," said Undine, her voice as soft as rippling water. "Your pheromone isn’t just an instinct. It’s an extension of your mana, a language of your soul."

"Now, close your eyes and feel it." Undine softly said.

Vivianne closed her eyes. She could feel it then, the delicate threads of her power, flowing and shifting like mist. She had always feared it, that wild, uncontrollable force that made her an easy target for alphas. But now, she began to see it differently. It’s not hunger or domination. It’s a command. It’s harmony when used with purpose.

"Every creature in this world has a resonance," murmured Tempest, his voice sharp and restless like the wind before a storm. "Your pheromone carries your mana’s song. When your mana runs dry, the song remains. It can call, it can bind, it can command."

Vivianne opened her eyes, and the forest light reflected in them—pale, calm, and frighteningly steady. "So even when I’m drained," she whispered, "I still have power."

Afrit’s laughter echoed faintly, warm and bright as fire. "You are never powerless, Vivianne. Your essence burns deeper than mana. When your body falters, your soul still remembers what it means to rule."

She turned slightly toward Roxanne, whose crimson eyes glowed softly. Roxanne had been quiet, letting the spirits speak, but her presence grounded everything—solid, reassuring, like the heartbeat of the earth itself.

Terranova’s voice followed, deep and slow as the shifting ground beneath their horses. "The alphas respond to your scent because it touches the oldest part of them, the part that obeys nature more than reason. You do not force them. You remind them of their place in the order of things. Your will becomes the law of instinct."

Undine’s gaze shifted from Roxanne to Vivianne. Her presence rippled in the air, serene yet carrying an undercurrent of immense power. "You can control them even without raising a hand," she said, her tone neither praise nor warning, but something perfectly balanced between the two. "That means, even if your mana runs dry, you still possess a weapon no blade or spell can rival."

Afrit’s laughter flared, a crackle of heat dancing through Vivianne’s mind. "Controlling those obnoxious alphas, watching them kneel and tremble under your will—oh, I’d pay to see that," he said with wicked amusement. "You could end wars without shedding a drop of blood, master."

Roxanne frowned slightly, her protective instinct rising like a growl in her chest. "That kind of power isn’t something to toy with," she said, her voice low and firm. "Even without her mana, she’s strong enough to break minds."

Vivianne’s lips curved in a faint, knowing smile. "A dangerous one," she murmured softly, her voice almost swallowed by the hum of mana in the air. "But one I will not use unless I must."

Roxanne reached out and brushed a strand of silver hair from her face. "Then you’ll use it only when the world needs to kneel," she said softly, half teasing, half reverent.

"Your pheromone isn’t your curse," they whispered. "It’s the proof that you were never meant to submit. You were made to command, to balance power with mercy, to bring even chaos to its knees."

Vivianne felt the truth of it settle deep within her, steady and unyielding. She turned her head, meeting Roxanne’s gaze fully now, and for a brief moment, everything else, the forest, the spirits, the war ahead—fell away.

Inside the softly moving carriage, the world outside blurred into streaks of gray and gold. The sound of hooves against the road is steady and rhythmic, a heartbeat that fills the silence between them. Vivianne is lying down as she stares at the window, her eyes following the forest before turning back to Roxanne.

Roxanne is lying next to her, posture straight, despite the fatigue that lingered in her gaze. "Come here," Vivianne said quietly. There’s a tremor in her voice, not weakness, but longing.

Roxanne then shifted closer, and Vivianne reached out, her fingers brushing against the strong line of Roxanne’s jaw, tracing the faint scar that ran along her jaw. Seemingly something that happened before she met her.

Her touch is reverent, as if to remind herself that none of this is a dream, that she was married to Roxanne de Borgia, becoming the Grand Duchess of Borgia—real, warm, alive.

"Kiss me," she whispered, her breath mingling with the cool air between them.

Roxanne exhaled slowly, eyes darkening with something deep and unguarded. Then she leaned forward, closing the space between them. The world narrowed to this, just the soft hitch of breath, the warmth of her nearness, and the way her lips parted in silent invitation.

And then, with tenderness, Roxanne kissed her.

It’s soft at first, barely a brush, a testing of waters. But the moment their lips met, something inside her trembled, a surrender, something that felt like home.

Roxanne’s hand cupped her cheek, fingers trembling slightly, as if she, too, felt the weight of this moment. The kiss deepened, unhurried, each movement deliberate, reverent.

She melted into it, into her—the warmth of Roxanne’s mouth, the faint scent of her skin, the way her breath hitched when she traced her bottom lip with her own. There’s no rush, only this slow, intoxicating dance. Roxanne’s fingers tangled in her hair, holding her close as if afraid she might slip away.

When they finally parted just enough to breathe, Roxanne’s forehead rested against hers. Their breaths mingled, ragged and sweet.

"Again," Vivianne murmured, barely a whisper.

And Roxanne obeyed, kissing her deeper this time, softer, slower—as if they had all the time in the world. As if this kiss could last forever.