As Kiel pored over the Moon Festival preparations with Ash, Damiel, and the elders in the grand meeting hall, a soft knock interrupted their deliberations. The heavy wooden doors creaked open, and a border guide, his face etched with anxiety, and slipped inside. He whispered urgent words to Damiel before turning to Kiel, his eyes betraying a mix of fear and protectiveness towards his alpha.
"Your Majesty," Damiel said gravely, his voice cutting through the expectant silence. "News from the Darkwood border. Cormac, the rumored King of Witches, awaits your decree at our border gates."
The hall fell silent. Elders exchanged worried glances, and Ash's expression turned alert. The air thickened with tension, as if the very shadows in the room were holding their breath. Kiel's eyes narrowed, his gaze introspective as he murmured, "Cormac." A thread of intrigue wove through his tone, mingling with a hint of puzzlement.
"Tell me," Kiel commanded the guide, his voice steady, "what brings him to my border? Does he come to challenge me?"
The guide swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Your Majesty, he... he said you should gave an ordered for us to open the gate for him. He wishes to settle into his new home."
Damiel's brow furrowed. "What home? He owns no property within our lands."
Ash's eyes met Kiel's, and a spark of realization ignited between them. Kiel's mind raced back to a conversation, a grant he'd almost forgotten – or perhaps had deliberately overlooked. "The Blackstone Manor," Kiel whispered, the words tasting like a mixture of surprise and wariness. "I... I don't sell it to him, I sell it to another person a human not a witch
Elder Patrick nodded slowly, recalling the transaction. "You didn't, Alpha Kiel. It was part of... part of an arrangement." With human not with witch.
Cormac's audacity hung in the air like a challenge. Kiel's gaze sharpened, his thoughts racing with implications.
"What does he want ?" one elder ventured cautiously.
Kiel's jaw set. "We'll know soon enough. Damiel, summon our most trusted advisors. Ash, ready the palace guard. We will respond to Cormac's petition – carefully."
As Kiel's words hung in the air, the room began to stir with quiet urgency, the Moon Festival's joyous preparations momentarily eclipsed by the shadow of Cormac's unexpected arrival.
As Cormac's unexpected arrival at the Darkwood border echoed through the palace's marble halls, whispers began to unfurl like tendrils of mist, seeping into every alcove and chamber. The air thickened with unease, as if the very shadows within the grand stone walls were stirring with foreboding . In the quiet corners of the palace, servants murmured among themselves, their voices barely audible over the soft rustle of silk garments. "Cormac, the rumored King of Witches... what brings him to our threshold?" one whispered, eyes darting nervously towards the guarded doors. "Blackstone Manor, they say he was the owner of it... but how?" another added.
Elders gathered in hushed councils, their experienced faces etched with concern. "This isn't a matter for preparations alone," one cautioned gravely. "Cormac's reputation precedes him – threads of power, whispers of darkness... we tread carefully lest we provoke shadows we cannot contain." Their deliberations wove patterns of caution, underscoring Kiel's own measured response .
Ash, ever vigilant beside Kiel, noticed subtle shifts in the palace's rhythm. Guards stood fractionally more alert, their gazes lingering longer on spaces. Courtiers chose words more delicately, sensing an undercurrent potent enough to unsettle alliances and disrupt the Moon Festival's joyous facade .
In secluded nooks, younger servants exchanged fear-laced conjectures. "They say Cormac's eyes see beyond the veil... that he commands whispers from hell
Suddenly, Kiel's voice cut through the hall's expectant hush, raw and commanding. "I didn't sell Blackstone Manor to him. I won't allow him on my land." He turned sharply to the guide, his gaze piercing. "Go back and tell Cormac he doesn't belong here. He should leave my territory. If he refuses... we'll wage war against him." Kiel's words hung like a challenge, infused with alpha authority .
Elder Patrick intervened cautiously. "Alpha Kiel, perhaps it's prudent to—"
Kiel's interruption was laced with annoyance. "Are you questioning my judgment? Do you wish to take my seat and rule?" His tone sliced through decorum, barbed with challenge .
Patrick swiftly knelt, his voice tremulous. "I dare not, Your Majesty."
Kiel's advisors pressed forward urgently. "Your Majesty, I beg you to temper your anger. War isn't a path we can tread lightly now. Our people would suffer; the land might be bathed in blood." One advisor's words painted grim vistas. "We're facing Cormac – a witch rumored to wield potent shadows. Might I suggest summoning one of his representatives to the palace? Let them present the land's title deeds. We must discern if his claim holds legitimacy .
The elders nodded in cautious agreement. Kiel's jaw set; his gaze narrowed calculatively. "Very well. Guide, instruct one of Cormac's people to come forthwith, bearing the documents if they truly assert ownership. Let us ascertain the veracity of this claim."
The guide bowed and departed swiftly to convey Kiel's decree. The hall's occupants awaited in strained silence – anticipation mingling with dread .
Meanwhile, at the Darkwood border, Cormac and his entourage had transformed the austere landscape into a tableau of eerie revelry. Tents billowed like dark sails in the breeze, their shadows dancing upon the ancient trees as if the forest itself were conjuring a macabre ballet. Women with skin as pale as moonlight swayed hypnotically in the center, their movements weaving a spell that captivated the watchers. Drummers, their faces painted with symbols of forgotten rituals, beat out a rhythm that seemed to sync with the very heartbeat of the forest's darkest secrets.
Cormac, Morgan, and Ember lounged amidst this spectacle, wine cups cradled in their hands as they savored the unfolding drama like connoisseurs of a twisted art form. Ember's gaze sparkled with curiosity as he turned to Cormac. "What do you think Kiel will do?" he asked, his voice laced with anticipation.
Cormac's lips curved into a smile that spoke of centuries-old patience and calculations. "He'll be incensed," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and hunger. "And curious – desperately curious about how I intend to claim Blackstone Manor. He'll invite me to the palace, eager to unravel the threads of this puzzle... and I will accept. Oh, I will relish seeing his face, reading the turmoil in those piercing eyes of his." Cormac's voice dripped with a longing that bordered on obsession, his words painting a picture of a long-held fixation. He sipped his wine, the crimson liquid staining his lips like a foretaste of the morbid delight he anticipated.
Morgan's expression remained skeptical, his voice tinged with doubt. "What makes you think they'll allow you onto their land? Even with papers claiming Blackstone, Kiel's instincts might scream otherwise. I wouldn't count on a warm welcome, Cormac."
Cormac's smile never wavered; instead, it deepened, imbued with a knowing that bordered on arrogance. "Ah, Morgan, you underestimate the interplay of threads I've woven. Kiel might think he's ruling with an iron fist, but I've played moves he's yet to comprehend. There's a calculus here, a symmetry of power and desire... and I hold the formulae to unravel it precisely as I wish." His eyes glinted like polished onyx as he leaned back, lost in the cadence of the drums and the dark poetry of his own strategems.
Ember leaned forward, intrigued. "And if Kiel refuses you entry? If he sees through your... formulae?"
Cormac's laughter was soft, a low hum that seemed to harmonize with the forest's shadows. "Then, my friends, we'll dance a different tune – one of persuasion, painted in hues far more vivid than mere compliance. I have... inducements. Kiel will see me. Oh, he will see me, and he'll listen... because the alternatives would unsettle the very foundations of his precious Moon Festival."
As Cormac spoke, the drumming intensified, the rhythm echoing like a heartbeat in the darkness, underscoring the unspoken threats lurking beneath his words .
(Back in Kiel palace)
Scarcely has the thought of dismissal the people crossed Kiel's mind , damiel suddenly inform Kiel that the guide his back.not even an hour had elapsed – when the guide re-entered the hall, his bearing unreadable. "Your Majesty, someone awaits outside, bearing documents."
Kiel's eyes sharpened, fixing intently on the guide. "Didn't you leave mere minutes ago? How is it you're back now?" His voice probed for explanation, suspicion lurking beneath .
The guide's visage reflected perplexity. "Your Majesty I too ,am puzzled. All I know is that upon exiting the hall, I suddenly found myself back at the border... I was shocked, taken aback. But One of the witches told me... it was magic, Your Majesty .
Kiel's expression darkened thoughtfully. "It's likely part of Cormac's foolish stratagem – playing with threads beyond sane reckoning." His murmured assessment hung in the air, underscoring the unsettling potency of Cormac's unseen maneuvers .
Kiel's gaze returned to the guide, his tone hardening. "Bring him in.
As Cormac walked into the hall, Kiel was speachless , because he was not expecting what he is seeing.the man in front of him was incredibly beautiful. His face was delicate, like a fine painting. He had silver eyes that shone like the moon . He wore a half-mask that matched the sparkle in his eyes .
His body was slender and looked fragile, but you could sense a deep power hidden inside him . He moved quietly, like a soft breeze . As he entered, he looked straight at Kiel, ignoring everyone else . His gaze was like a magnet; and Kiel couldn't look away .
Kiel felt like he was trapped in Cormac's silver eyes. They seemed to see right through him, into parts of himself he didn't understand . Cormac's beauty was like nothing Kiel had ever seen – it was haunting and made him feel strange inside .
Cormac's presence felt like a quiet storm , gentle on the outside but powerful beneath .. Kiel couldn't help but feel drawn to him, like he was being pulled into something deep and mysterious .
As Cormac's silver eyes held Kiel's gaze, time seemed to slow down . The grand hall, filled with courtiers and guards, faded into the background like whispers in the wind . Kiel felt like he was floating in a sea of moonlight , with Cormac's eyes as the only anchor point .
Kiel's breath caught; he wasn't sure if he was still breathing . His heart beat like a drum , but it wasn't fear – it was something else, something that made him feel alive . He saw Cormac's delicate features, the way his skin seemed to glow softly like candlelight , and the gentle curve of his lips .
Cormac didn't smile; he simply looked at Kiel with an intensity that felt like a whispered secret . It was as if he knew things about Kiel that Kiel himself hadn't discovered . The half-mask on Cormac's face added mystery, like he was a dream creature stepping into reality .
Ash, standing beside Kiel, noticed his entranced expression . he felt a flicker of understanding, but he couldn't break Kiel's focus on Cormac – it was like trying to interrupt a spell .
Kiel's thoughts swirled . Who was this man? Why did he want Blackstone Manor? And why did Kiel feel like he'd known Cormac forever ? It was a dizzying mix of curiosity and unease .
Cormac's gaze didn't waver . He seemed to be waiting for something – a response, a spark, a crack in Kiel's guarded soul . The air between them vibrated with unspoken words , like the quiet hum of a string about to sing .
Suddenly, Cormac's lips parted slightly . His voice was like silk touching the air , low and hypnotic. "Kiel," he said, pronouncing the name like a melody . "I've waited, mate .
The sound sent shivers down Kiel's spine . It was a touch without hands, a connection without movement . Kiel felt himself leaning forward, like a leaf caught in autumn wind .