Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 113: The Priest of Werewolves

On the second throne, Erevan Brontes Lychos sat in utter silence. His green eyes stared ahead at the massive doors of the throne room, yet anyone observant enough could tell he wasn’t truly looking at anything. His gaze was hollow, vacant... as if his soul were drifting through a void. It wasn’t the stare of a prince overseeing a kingdom, but of a man who had suddenly lost his purpose.

His mind churned with grief and uncertainty. Just hours ago, in the hallowed ancestral hall of House Lychos, the life crystal of his father had shattered.

It had not cracked. It had not dimmed even. It had broken into glimmering fragments... a silent scream of death, unmistakable and irreversible. And what that meant was clear. Damon Brontes Lychos, the King of the Werewolves, had died in the other world.

The only ones who knew of this were the butler of the Lychos Clan, an elderly servant who had found the shattered crystal, and Erevan himself. Upon receiving the news, Erevan had decisively acted to suppress the information. Panic and chaos had no place in his reign.

He had immediately summoned the one person he trusted beyond doubt... Sarika Somavati Harivamsa.

Sarika was no ordinary counselor. She was the Priest of the Werewolves and the spiritual guide of the Werewolf Council. Revered across the clans, Sarika had once served beside Erevan’s father, offering wisdom that had influenced royal decisions for decades. Her words in the council carried the weight of prophecy and experience, though she rarely invoked her seer’s gift anymore.

In her youth, she had once tried to reshape fate by revealing fragments of the future... and the consequences had been catastrophic. A minor intervention had led to a domino effect, ending in a catastrophe she could never forget. Since then, Sarika had sworn not to meddle directly in fate’s flow. She had chosen instead to advise... to illuminate the path, but never to push anyone down it.

just a priest or advisor.

he had waited in silence for guidance, for

in the other world, training and forging strength away from court life, when a similar event nearly destroyed his

visit through the sacred teleportation gate of Yggdrasil, had disappeared. The gate, ancient and powerful as it was, occasionally misaligned during transit... a rare phenomenon caused by cosmic turbulence. Such incidents were extremely uncommon, less than one in a thousand... but when they occurred, the consequences were

his father was alive. Erevan had ruled as the acting head of the kingdom ever since, always hoping, always believing that

now. It completely shattered

a boat adrift in a stormy ocean... directionless, overwhelmed, and on the verge of

occasionally flicked to the priest seated beside him. Her eyes were closed, her face still as stone. She was in her seer’s trance... scanning through

silver shimmer in her irises dimmed as

Werewolves, this day was inevitable. The moment your father’s heart stopped, your future began. Now, you must walk forward. You must carry our

this moment... not so soon. My father ascended to the throne when he was three hundred years old. My grandfather stepped down willingly to continue his journey in the

my subjects are

planned to search for her myself once my father returned. How can I lead as a

linger in the past. It is a place for memories, not decisions. Your people already see you as their king. For thirty years, you’ve ruled with strength and stability. You