CHAPTER 148: CHAPTER 148: BEFORE THE STORM

Lorraine’s POV

I stepped closer to Kieran, my eyes still fixed on the crimson flag flapping mockingly above the castle spire. That blood-colored emblem felt like a knife driven into the heart of everything he once was.

And maybe... everything I was beginning to fight for too.

I turned to him, the question spilling out before I could stop it. "What are we going to do now?"

Kieran didn’t look at me right away.

He stared up at the corrupted crest of his family, something dark flickering in his eyes, hurt, betrayal, fury. But behind all of that, there was something heavier... something hollow. He looked like someone who had just lost another piece of himself.

"We wait," he said finally, voice low and tense.

"Wait?" I asked, confused.

"Till nightfall," he continued. "We’ll use the cover of darkness to survey the castle. Find out how deeply they’ve dug their claws in. How many of them are inside. Who’s watching the west walls, the dungeons, the Queen’s hidden chamber." He paused, jaw clenched so tight I could practically hear his teeth grind. "And then..."

He turned to me, eyes glowing a dull ember red beneath the sunlight. "Then we get my mother."

My breath caught in my throat.

Kieran’s face was expressionless, but I knew him.... at least, I used to. That blank look wasn’t indifference. It was armor. Pain, welded to fury, hidden beneath a king’s restraint. The castle behind him wasn’t just a mission. It was his home. His mother’s prison. His father’s grave.

I nodded slowly, trying to steady the rush in my chest. "Alright," I said softly. "We wait. And then we get her."

Kieran gave a single nod, then turned away.

As the guards dispersed to hide within the trees and shadows, I stayed behind for just a second longer, watching him.

He stood alone, head tilted to the side like he was listening to something only he could hear. The breeze tugged at his black coat, ruffling the edges, but he didn’t move. His gaze was fixed on that flag like it was daring him to come and tear it down.

And he would.

No matter what it cost him... I knew Kieran would.

*******

The underground hideout was quiet,except for the low hum of the medical bay’s equipment and the soft clinking of vials and metal tools. The scent of antiseptics and aged paper filled the sterile air. Among the metal counters and cold silver tables, Cyrin Alastor and his daughter, Varya, stood hunched over a wide table strewn with diagrams, blood analysis charts, and ancient wolven scrolls that detailed centuries-old ghosthound behavior.

The Royal Lycan Physician now looked ten years older than he had the night before. Sleeplessness painted heavy shadows under his eyes. His red hair, usually tied neatly back, was wild around his face. A frown tugged persistently at his lips as he flipped through his old leather-bound journal, eyes scanning hastily scribbled notes and failed formulas.

"It’s not possible," he muttered, voice low and bitter. "I’ve tried. I’ve tried for years, under the Kieran father’s direct command. I dissected, experimented, theorized... There is no potion, no suppressant, no rune, no spell strong enough to contain a ghosthound once it slips."

Varya stood across from him, hands braced against the table, her usually stoic face creased with frustration and quiet worry. She hated seeing her father like this, exhausted, hopeless. It didn’t suit him.

"It has to be possible," she said, her voice soft but steady. "We don’t have a choice this time, Papa. If we don’t find something, she’ll lose control again, and this time, she could kill everyone. Kieran. The guards. The soldiers. Us."

Cyrin shook his head, running a hand down his face. "You don’t understand what she is, Varya. The Queen’s rage is not controllable. She’s pure ghosthound blood. When she wakes.... she’ll crave blood before breath. Her mind will twist everything. She’ll see enemies in her own kin."

"I know," Varya said quietly. "But I also know you."

Cyrin looked up, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone.

"You’ve always been the smartest man I know," she continued, stepping around the table to stand beside him. "You’re the one the Alpha King trusted most. You saved lives in the royal courts for decades. I looked up to you my whole life. There’s nothing, nothing, you can’t figure out when it matters."

Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed through it. "And right now? This matters more than anything."

She took his trembling hand in hers.

"You can do this Papa, because you’re Cyrin Alastor. And no one solves the impossible better than you do."

Cyrin stared at her, eyes slightly wet. For a moment, all he saw was the little girl who used to follow him around the palace with her toy scalpel and stubborn courage.

He exhaled.

Then he gently pulled his hand from hers, squared his shoulders, and turned back to the table. "Alright," he said. "We start again. From the beginning. And this time, we solve it together."

Varya smiled and rolled up her sleeves.

The ghosthound queen’s sanity depended on them.

And they would not fail.

....

Meanwhile, in the deeper chambers of the underground hideout, neneath the dim flickering lights, sweat and steel clashed like thunder.

Astrid Voss stood tall, her black combat gear clinging to her lithe form, her platinum braid swinging behind her as she paced through the center of the training hall. Her voice was sharp and unyielding, slicing through the air like one of the daggers in her hands.

"Again!" she barked.

Two barely healed students, lunged at each other, wooden staffs gripped in trembling hands. Their strikes were clumsy, but their determination fierce. When one stumbled, Astrid caught him by the collar, pulled him up to his feet.

"You fall out there, you die," she growled. "There are no second chances in war. If you want to live long enough to see the moon again, fight like it’s already trying to leave you behind."

On the far side of the room, Magnus Thorn towered over a group of elites. He stood with his arms folded, his stern eyes locked on two students sparring with twin daggers. When one hesitated, he strode forward and yanked the blade from her hand.

"Hesitation will get your throat slit," he said, tossing the blade back to her. "Out there, they’ll tear you open before you even smell them coming. You don’t get the luxury of being scared. So grow teeth."

The students, boys and girls, lycans, elites and Felix, they all moved like a battalion being reforged. Blood stained the mats. Bruises blossomed like violet flowers. But none of them stopped.

Astrid spun a blade in her hand and addressed the entire room.

"When Kieran returns with the ghosthound queen," she said, voice echoing, "we strike. The academy will fall back into our hands, or we will bury our bones in its halls."

She paced slowly through the rows of fighters.

"This isn’t just about reclaiming a building. This is about showing the Crimson Hunt and everyone else out there that we’re not prey anymore. We are wolves. And we’re done bleeding."

Magnus stepped beside her, eyes sweeping the room. "We don’t need numbers. We need power. Precision. Brutality. If even one of you slips, this entire rebellion crumbles. So train like your life depends on it, because it does."

Weapons clashed again. Arrows flew into straw-stuffed targets. Explosives were studied in silence, each student memorizing the detonators and charges like sacred texts.

This was no longer an academy.

It was the forge of a revolution.

And when Kieran Valerius Hunter returned with the ghosthound queen behind him...

They would be ready to take back their school.