The Play-Toy Of Three Lycan Kings-Chapter 413: Returning

SAGE

I heard them before I reached the barren lands. Sounds clawing at me.

The ancient blood in me did that, allowing my ears to tremble with it; something that had no mercy in how clearly it perceived suffering, it stripped away the option of ignorance.

Darius had been right then.

Cries that were no longer voices, screams that had forgotten language, wails stretched thin by torment.

Souls, Darius had said. Souls the Queen had chained between worlds, refusing them passage because she was still feeding on what little essence remained of them. Draining them. Hoarding them. Using their agony like fuel.

I slowed, then stopped altogether at the edge of the land.

The ground here was wrong—I’ve always known, but seeing it through fresh eyes was something else.

It was ashen and cracked, as though the earth itself had tried to crawl away and failed. The air smelled like rot and old magic, like grief that had soaked too deeply into stone to ever be scrubbed clean.

My chest tightened painfully, my hands curling into fists at my sides as the cries washed over me again, louder now that I was closer.

Was there a way to save them? To release them?

My fingers tingled, itching with the instinct to reach out, to pull, to tear open whatever veil held them trapped. To do something. Anything. They deserved peace. Release. The afterlife they had been denied for so long.

But I didn’t know how.

That truth sat heavy in my gut, bitter and humiliating. I was half-ancient now, yes. Powerful beyond anything I had once been. And yet—I didn’t know the spell. Didn’t know the ritual. Didn’t know the cost.

Worse, I knew the price would be steep. Whatever it took to free them would drain me, maybe leave me too weak to do the one thing I had come here to do.

Kill the Queen.

My jaw tightened as another scream ripped through the air, hopeless. I squeezed my eyes shut for a brief second, swallowing past the burn in my throat.

If I killed her, it would end.

That was what I clung to. Her death would unravel everything she had built, every chain she had forged. The souls would be freed then—had to be freed.

Also, I couldn’t afford to spend myself here, not when I didn’t even know what I was doing.

"I’m sorry," I whispered into the empty, screaming land. Then I forced my feet forward.

The runes appeared soon after. They pulsed faintly, responding to my presence, to the magic humming beneath my skin. I stopped before them and drew in a slow, steady breath, grounding myself as best I could.

El’s voice brushed against my mind, gentle but firm.

Return. I don’t think this is the moment. Plan this with Adam and Darius.

I almost listened. Almost.

But the thought of going back—of standing before them again, knowing how much pain I had already caused, how many times my choices had dragged them into chaos—made my chest ache.

I didn’t want to bring them more grief. Didn’t want to ask them to shoulder yet another burden born of my mistakes.

So I ignored El.

I stepped into the runes, whispered the incantations I knew by heart, and let the magic take me.

The world folded in on itself. And when it unfolded again, I stood in Peter’s compound.

The contrast was jarring.

Everything was quiet here. Peaceful. The air was clean, carrying the familiar scent of herbs and old wood instead of blood and ash. Sunlight filtered softly through the space, illuminating walls I had once known so well.

For a moment, it was almost enough to break me.

I swallowed hard, forcing back the tears that burned behind my eyes. Crying wouldn’t help. Guilt wouldn’t help. None of it would undo what was already in motion.

Quietly, I moved through the area, my steps light out of habit. The hut that served as the living room was empty. The cushions were neatly arranged, untouched. No voices, no laughter, no hum of low conversation.

A frown creased my brow.

I checked the next hut. Then another. Empty. Empty. Empty.

By the time I reached the wide expanse of land near Laura’s healing hut, unease had fully settled in my chest. That place was rarely vacant.

But it too was empty.

"Where are you?" I murmured, lips pressing together.

Had they gone to a meeting? A gathering? It was possible. Likely, even.

And yet, something about the stillness felt... off. As though the space itself was holding its breath.

Exhaling slowly, I considered my options. The Queen’s palace loomed in my thoughts like a specter. I could go there. Walk in. Confront her publicly. Expose her.

But how?

The plan unraveled the moment I tried to grasp it. Storm into a meeting and declare the Queen a fraud? Accuse her of soul-draining and treachery without proof anyone would believe?

Most of them didn’t even know I was Dora. To many, I would be just another witch making dangerous claims.

Wouldn’t they call me a fraud too?

Frustration surged hot. I needed my family. Needed their counsel, their grounding presence. They deserved to know what was happening—and I needed to stop feeling so damn alone in it.

Closing my eyes, I reached inward, drawing on both my magic and the ancient power coiled beneath it. I pictured them clearly—each face, each etched into my mind with painful clarity. Then I wove a mind path.

The world shifted.

I stepped through thought itself, following the thread until I found them.

When I did, I gently dropped my message into their minds, holding the path open long enough to feel their reactions—shock first, startled, then recognition, and finally a hesitant calm.

It’s me, I told them. I need you. Come home.

I withdrew carefully, severing the path before I could do more harm than good.

The living room welcomed me back in silence.

My legs suddenly felt heavy, exhaustion creeping in now that I had stopped moving. I sank onto the couch, exhaling slowly, forcing patience into my bones.

Patience because even though my family were good with magic, they weren’t ancients or vampires. It would be a while before they got here.