Gazes swept across the room, though there were no facial expressions to betray what any of them thought. The elders sat like statues, their faces carved from stone, their eyes glittering with centuries of malice and ambition that made the air feel colder. So the fourth elder continued.

“Braxson has a special DNA.” His voice was low, careful, each word placed with precision that carried its own quiet threat. “Even the dark spells meant to keep his soul to us never worked on him. Still, he’s growing darker than the warriors with the dark spell.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room like a heavy fog. “Brax can do the job, no doubt, but he’s just twelve. We have to wait until he turns eighteen.”

“You were right from the beginning, except the last part,” the fifth elder picked it up, his voice sharp with impatience and a hunger that refused to be contained. “From nine, Brax has taken on missions meant for his father, and he never failed once. He hasn’t even reached the advanced level training, but I doubt anyone from that level can stand before him.” He leaned forward, his eyes burning with conviction that bordered on obsession. “He’s the weapon we have all been waiting for.”

Battal was gritting his teeth, his jaw tight, his hands curled into fists beneath the table until the tendons stood out sharp against his skin. He knew that these elders did not really like his grandson.

They just wanted him removed, wanted to chip away at his power, wanted to leave him with nothing but the hollow shell of a crown. The realization burned in his chest like acid.

The sixth elder spoke, his voice smooth, calculating, carrying the kind of quiet confidence that always made Battal’s temper rise. “Well, Braxton should invade the Grimroot pack and get us the two white wolves. Though just twelve, no one would know because of his height.”

“But you have all forgotten that I am the King.” Battal finally spoke up, using the authority of the crown, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade that left silence in its wake.

“I am the only one allowed to apportion responsibilities to my grandson, and I say that until he is old enough, handling the issues of the underworld, which is the mafia, would be his only responsibility.” He paused, his gaze sweeping the room, challenging anyone to defy him with a cold, unbroken stare. “Leave the issue of the white wolves to me. I already have a plan.”

“Well, unless you tell us that plan, we can’t trust you anymore,” the first elder said, his voice flat, his eyes cold and unyielding.

—

A month later, there was another meeting at the conference room, and the first elder spoke, his voice heavy with skepticism that filled the space between them.

“King Battal, you haven’t made a move after the plan, so how can we tell that it’s working?”

This time, Battal was frustrated, his patience worn thin, his temper fraying at the edges until it felt ready to snap. The weeks of waiting had ground against him like stone. “I’d set traps. I bought over a few of the Alphas of the wolf lands by clearing their debts so they would not be removed by the new King.”

He paused, his jaw tightening with the force of his restrained anger. “The plan was simple. To cover some of the physical documents the King would use with some of the special poison, but he rather sent betas and other pack leaders, never going to any of the packs himself. We couldn’t proceed with the plan because killing any of those would only make the King furious.”

“Do you mean we can’t get the white wolves or the crown?” the second elder asked, his voice sharp with displeasure that cut through the room.

Battal shook his head, his expression grim and hard. “Far from that. The King so far goes everywhere with his queen. They even visited one of the packs together, but that Alpha was a beta by then. He was too afraid of offending the King and did not accept our help.” His voice hardened, the frustration bleeding through every syllable.

“If he had, our plan would have worked, and as soon as the King falls, we would have captured the queen and used her to capture her daughter.”

The elders were conflicted, their expressions moving between frustration and reluctant admiration. The plan was a smart one, but somehow, this werewolf King still escaped every carefully laid trap, and the knowledge of that failure sat heavy in the room.

“So what’s the next plan?” the third elder asked, his voice impatient, edged with the same restless hunger that had driven them for centuries.

“I’ve been watching them closely.” Battal leaned forward, his eyes glittering with dark intent that made the shadows around the table seem deeper. “The Grimroot pack has a vast land surrounding its pack. That’s where they let out their wolves, and that side isn’t as protected as their rock built pack.”

“We can capture the little white wolf during those times, but it has to be well planned.” He paused, his voice dropping to something almost like a whisper that still carried the force of a command. “Right now, I’m working with the grand wizards to hide our scent when the need arises. If we get the blood of the little white wolf, we can indeed rule the world, even without the crown.”

The elders heaved a sigh of relief, the tension in the room easing as hope returned in a slow, dangerous wave.

“Now you’re talking,” the fourth elder said, a smile curving his thin lips with a satisfaction that bordered on greed. “What is the timeline?”

“The queen is pregnant, and we have observed from the white wolves who have ever given birth here that the third month is their weakest.” Battal’s voice was steady, calculated, every word chosen to feed the hunger in the room.

“We attack during that time when the King’s attention is on his wife. As for the current Alpha, he’s also strong, but I can take care of him. As long as we don’t go near the pack itself, their shaman would also not protect them.”

Now hope was returning into the room, a warm, treacherous hope that filled the elders with renewed purpose. It wasn’t wrong for Battal to handle affairs on behalf of his dead son. After all, Battal was the strongest King, but after his son Bowen graduated from the Lycan academy, he took over. But not for long. A few years later, Bowen gave up everything, and his son, Braxton, had just joined the academy at the age of three.

If he continued to shine beyond his age and peers, there was no doubt he would continue Battal’s lineage. If not, another King would be chosen from whoever graduated with flying colors from the academy. The knowledge of that fragile succession hung over every conversation like a shadow.

“Alright, we shall wait for the good news,” the fifth elder said, ending the meeting with a finality that left the room colder than before.

—

A few days after this meeting, Battal was in the human world when he received a call from Ravyn.

“Alpha Ravyn, have you finally decided to order more ammunitions to replace the stolen ones?”

At the end of the line, Ravyn smiled, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. Everything Battal had told him seemed to be working in a different direction, so he was concerned.

Having been a bad father, he wanted to protect his daughter for once, so he kept close tabs on Battal. The weight of that quiet guilt pressed against every word he spoke.

“I’m just wondering.” Ravyn’s voice was casual, but his mind was sharp, calculating, searching for cracks in the story. “You haven’t given a go ahead on when we should attack the Grimroot pack.”

Battal replied from the end of the line, his voice carrying a note of surprise that sounded almost genuine. “Alpha Ravyn, I’m surprised you of all people did not catch it.”

For some reason, Battal was comfortable with Ravyn, sharing his deepest secrets with a man who was supposed to be his ally. The ease of it should have made Ravyn more careful, yet the information kept coming.

“I think I’m lost.”

“What I mean is, my influencing the packs was to create rumors for the King’s visit, and a surprise would have been waiting for him there.” Battal’s voice was smooth, patient, like he was explaining something to a child who needed to be guided. “Sadly, he didn’t move with the rumors, but I have another plan. Just wait and see.”

Ravyn’s teeth gritted together, frustration burning in his chest with a heat that made it hard to keep his voice steady. He felt like he had been tricked, like he was being played for a fool, and the knowledge of it sat bitter on his tongue.

“So what is this plan?” His voice was tight, controlled, every syllable held in check by force of will. “Do you need my help?”