The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven - Chapter 412

Chapter 412: Home
Draven.

The gates of Stormveil opened without a word. Two lines of guards stood on either side, their armour polished to a dull gleam beneath the fading night.

When my car rolled forward, they bowed in unison—heads lowered, fists pressed against their chests.

The silence that followed was sharper than any fanfare.

The engine’s low hum filled the air as the convoy moved past the guards. My eyes swept the inner walls—unchanged, yet older somehow.

The scent of pine, smoke, and iron lingered in the morning air, wrapping the city in its familiar austerity.

People had gathered along the narrow streets. Not a crowd, but clusters—workers in half-buttoned coats, soldiers on leave, a few merchants who had risen early.

Their eyes followed the convoy as it made its way through the city. Some bowed when they recognized the crest on the cars; others stared in muted awe, trying to make sense of what they saw.

Low voices rippled across the silence.

“Is that him?”

“The Alpha from the Royal line… Alpha Draven.”

“Why wasn’t there an announcement?”

“Who are the people with him?”

I caught fragments through the half-open window, their uncertainty cutting through the crisp air.

Father had kept our return quiet, as expected. Randall Oatrun did not celebrate early victories, and he did not indulge rumours.

As we drove deeper into the heart of Stormveil, the streets grew cleaner, the stone under the tyres smoother. The air was heavier here—older.

Every structure carried the mark of history, carved with the symbols of lineage and conquest.

I glanced sideways. Meredith sat straight-backed, eyes fixed on the view outside. The early light cast pale gold across her features, softening the shadows under her eyes.

She hadn’t said a word since the gates opened. She didn’t need to. I could read the tightness in her jaw, the faint tremor in her hand resting on her thigh.

She heard the whispers, too.

Some of the onlookers bowed when they saw her seated beside me. Others didn’t.

A few looked away entirely. Old rumours travelled faster than truth, and Stormveil had a long memory.

To them, she was still the same—cursed by the Moon goddess herself—the wolfless mate, the symbol of weakness the city could never afford.

Her gaze flicked toward the window again, unflinching. If the words hurt her, she hid it well.

But I saw the way her shoulders drew in, just slightly, the way her breathing steadied itself by force of will.

I didn’t speak. She didn’t need comfort. She needed time and a chance to make them see what I already knew.

The convoy took the final turn, the narrow street widening into the grand avenue that led to the Oatrun estate.

The estate rose ahead, silent and formidable—dark stone walls enclosed sprawling courtyards and towers crowned with silver crests.

The great gates bore the emblem of our line—a half moon encircling a wolf’s head, carved deep into iron.

As our car slowed, I saw movement beyond the gate. The guards there bowed low, just as the first ones had, and the gates swung open without hesitation.

The Oatrun estate was alive with disciplined order. Warriors stood in lines along the courtyard’s edge, servants at attention near the grand steps.

The smell of polished wood, cold steel, and the faint incense of burned sage reached even through the glass.

At the top of the steps stood my father, unbent by age. Beside him, several members of the Council of Elders waited in quiet formation, their robes stark against the morning light.

Our car came to a stop. Engines quieted one by one until the courtyard was filled with nothing but the sharp, cold air of dawn. The stillness that followed was almost reverent.

Doors opened across the convoy in perfect rhythm—metal against stone, boots meeting the ground.

Our people, warriors, and attendants stepped out, forming disciplined lines beside the fifty vehicles.

In moments, the courtyard transformed into an unbroken sea of silver and black uniforms, every face turned toward the grand staircase where my father stood.

My father didn’t move at first; he just watched. Then, he lifted his hand, and the entire formation bowed instantly—fists to hearts, heads lowered.

That sound—hundreds of warriors moving in one breath—rolled like thunder through the estate grounds.

I stood at the front, the line of vehicles behind me stretching back to the gates.

Meredith was beside me, silent but straight-backed. Her gaze stayed fixed ahead, though I could feel the tension beneath her composure.

The weight of Stormveil’s eyes had always been heavier on her than anyone else.

Without a word, I reached for her hand. She hesitated for half a heartbeat, then let me take it.

The gesture was simple, but deliberate—meant for every watching eye that still doubted her place beside me.

“Follow me,” I said quietly.

Dennis and Jeffery fell in step behind us as we began the walk toward the steps.

The gathered warriors shifted aside to make room, their heads still bowed.

We stopped in front of my father and the elders. Then, my father spoke. His voice carried easily, deep and commanding.

“Welcome home, Draven,” he said. “You led our people through fire and brought them back whole. Stormveil stands proud today because of you.”

He didn’t step down, but the faint nod he gave me held everything words could not—approval, pride, and something older than both.

One of the Elders, Carthus, inclined his head. “Alpha Draven,” he said formally, “your return honours us. Few could have led such a campaign and still come home with every convoy intact. You have done well.”

A murmur of assent rippled through the Elders.

Then, as expected, came the question.

“Tell us,” Carthus pressed lightly, “what became of Duskmoor?”

Another Elder, stern and eager, cut in. “And the vampires? Did they resurface?”

I let the questions hang in the air, their weight filling the silence between us. Meredith’s hand tightened in mine, but I didn’t look at her. My voice, when it came, was even and final.

“The war will be discussed later,” I said. “When the time calls for it. What matters now is that our people have returned. We dealt the humans a blow that will not heal soon. That is enough for today.”

Carthus opened his mouth again, but before he could speak, my father’s tone cut through the air—calm, controlled, but sharp as a blade.

“You heard him. He has earned his silence. When my son chooses to speak of the war, he will. Until then, you will give him the respect his victory deserves.”

The courtyard fell utterly still.

The Elders bowed their heads in acknowledgement, subdued by the authority in his words. Then my father’s gaze flicked to me, then—a faint, approving look before turning to my wife.

He didn’t speak to her directly, but the way he quickly turned his gaze from her told me that he still wasn’t pleased seeing her by my side. But I didn’t care.

His opinion of my wife didn’t hold any water.

“You did well,” he said to me, lower this time.

I inclined my head and simply said, “It’s good to be home.”

Then, his hand swept toward the great doors behind him, motioning for us to follow. “Come. There will be time to speak later. For now, rest.”

But before he could take the first step, I said quietly, “Wait.”

He paused, one brow lifting. The Elders turned as well.

Our people who had come home with me, and my warriors, stood behind me, waiting. Their eyes were fixed forward, their faces carved from exhaustion and restraint.

They had followed me through fire and ruin. They deserved more than silence.

I released my wife’s hand and stepped forward until I stood at the edge of the steps, facing them.

When I spoke, my voice carried without effort.

“You’ve all done enough for one lifetime,” I said. “You left this city for a good purpose, but now return as survivors. You blindly followed my orders and fought beside me.”

No one moved. Not a sound broke the stillness.

“I will not ask you to recount what happened out there,” I continued, tone even. “Not today. That story will wait. What matters now is that you are home.”

A murmur rolled through the ranks. Some of the people exchanged brief glances; others straightened as though a weight had lifted from their shoulders.

I let the moment settle before finishing.

“Go home. Find your families. Rest. Mourn those who didn’t return, and remember them well. You’ve earned the right to breathe as more than soldiers—at least for now.”

Then I inclined my head once, dismissing them. “As of this moment,” I said, “you are released.”

The effect was immediate. Armour shifted, and the formation broke apart into a tide of quiet motion.

Some turned toward the inner gates where waiting families had gathered; others clasped forearms with brothers-in-arms before leaving, while a few dropped to one knee briefly from gratitude before walking away.

I watched until the courtyard began to clear. Dennis moved among them, offering a few brief words, while Jeffery coordinated the drivers to secure the remaining vehicles along the side walls.

When the last group had gone, I turned back toward the steps.

My father’s eyes met mine. He gave a faint nod—approving in the quiet, measured way of a man who understood command when he saw it.

I stepped back to my wife, took her hand once more, and without a word, we followed him toward the grand doors of the estate. Dennis and Jeffery fell in behind us.