Chapter 230 Please Let Her Live
Gavriel did not waste a single moment.
The moment the gates of House Aetherion were fully secured and the cries of battle faded into uneasy silence, he turned his back on everything else. Titles, victories, bloodlines, judgment… None of it mattered to him right now except for Althea and the Tree of Life.
“Zander,” he said sharply, already moving. “Make the arrangements. Clear the path. I’m taking her to the Tree of Life.”
Zander understood without needing further explanation. He gave a firm nod and immediately began issuing orders to the men who now answered to him. Guards were stationed. The inner grounds were sealed. No one was allowed near the sacred heart of Aetherion without permission.
The Tree of Life stood deep within the ancestral grounds of House Aetherion, beyond stone walls and ancient paths worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. Even stripped of magic, even after the heavens had gone quiet, the Tree remained… in the most breathtaking way.
It glowed. Not brightly, not blindingly, but with a steady, unnatural radiance that pulsed like a living heartbeat. Its massive trunk twisted upward, silver-white bark etched with veins that shimmered faintly under the night sky. The leaves were translucent, like thin sheets of moonlight, and they whispered softly even when there was no wind.
At its roots, the earth glowed faint gold, as if the ground itself remembered what life was supposed to feel like.
Gavriel carried Althea in his arms the entire way. Her body was light, too light. Her breathing was shallow but steady, her lashes resting against pale cheeks. She looked peaceful, as if asleep, but he knew better. He felt it deep in his chest. That fragile distance between life and loss.
They placed her beneath the Tree with care.
A transparent casket had been prepared as Elior instructed. It was crafted of clear crystal glass, untouched by spellwork, filled beneath with fresh white flowers gathered from every corner of Velmora. Petals cushioned her body, cradling her like an offering rather than a corpse.
When Gavriel laid her inside, his hands trembled for the first time since the war began.
“I’m here,” he whispered as he brushed her hair back gently. “I’m not leaving.”
The casket was sealed, not to trap her, but to protect her. Above it, the branches of the Tree of Life arched naturally, forming a canopy that glowed brighter the moment her body was settled beneath it.
Elior stepped forward then. The old man, whom they believed was a prophet, removed his cloak and knelt slowly at the roots of the Tree, his movements reverent. He pressed his palm against the glowing bark and closed his eyes.
“This is no place for haste,” Elior said quietly. “Healing of this kind does not obey command or desire. It answers only to surrender.”
Gavriel stood beside Althea, unmoving. “Tell me what to do.”
“Pray,” Elior replied. “Not once. Not when it is convenient. Pray without ceasing. Speak truth. Lay down your pride, your fear, your power. Let the Almighty decide the hour.”
Zander joined them, his face solemn. “It may take days,” he said carefully. “Weeks. Longer. No one knows.”
Gavriel did not look away from Althea. “Then I’ll wait days. Weeks. Years if I must.”
Zander exhaled slowly. He had expected anger. Demands. Desperation. Instead, what he saw was something steadier, hope and faith.
“I will take care of the rest,” Zander said. And he did.
Before the sun rose, the banners of House Aetherion were torn down and replaced. The sigil of the Cross Clan was burned publicly, and its ashes scattered beyond the gates.
Zander Ivanov stood before the other Clans under Aetherion and firmly spoke.
“House Aetherion belongs to the Ivanov bloodline,” he declared. “It was stolen through lies, murder, and darkness. Tonight, it is reclaimed.”
There were no objections because the truth was too visible. The Cross Clan’s crimes had been laid bare. Witnesses spoke. Evidence was presented and survivors testified.
Those directly involved in framing and slaughtering the Ivanov family were executed without ceremony. No mercy was given.
Those who were innocent bystanders, who bore the Cross name but not the guilt, were exiled beyond Velmora. Stripped of titles. Stripped of lands. Allowed to live, but never return.
The other Houses acknowledged Zander without hesitation.
The Ivanov Clan was restored smoothly.
Zander was proclaimed Archon of House Aetherion before nightfall.
Meanwhile, Gavriel did not leave the Tree. He knelt beside Althea’s casket and spoke to her softly, telling her about the sky, the leaves, the way the Tree glowed brighter at night as if listening.
He prayed to the Almighty God, the Creator above all thrones.
“If You hear me,” Gavriel whispered one quiet night, his forehead resting against the cool glass of the casket, “Please let her live.”
It was the first real prayer he had ever spoken.
Gavriel had never relied on faith before. He had trusted only his Lycan strength, his sharp instincts, and the power he fought so hard to build with his own hands. For years, he stood his ground as Alpha King through force, strategy, and sheer will. Every battle he won, every threat he crushed, he believed was proof that he needed nothing beyond himself.
But standing there now, beside Althea’s still form, he felt painfully small.
Stripped of his powers, stripped of certainty, stripped of control, he finally understood how fragile he truly was. All his victories, all his titles, meant nothing if he lost her. The realization settled deep in his chest, heavy and humbling.
Never once had it crossed his mind that there would come a day when he would be willing to give up everything he fought for. His throne. His name. His very life.
Yet here he was.
And for Althea, he would surrender it all without hesitation.
The Tree pulsed gently, its glow deepening.
“You do know that you’re still the Alpha King of your continent,” Zander uttered quietly behind him, his tone careful, respectful. “And you should head back soon. There are matters in Lunaris that only you can handle.”