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. She was the compass

waited in

forging strength away from court life, when

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 fatal. Damon Brontes Lychos might be materialized deep within a hostile tribe’s territory, and contact

alive. Erevan had ruled as the acting head of the kingdom ever since, always hoping, always believing that his father would one day return to reclaim the throne. And he would be a free bird

gone now.

a boat adrift in a stormy

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 the threads of fate, no doubt. The hall was quiet but

eyes fluttered open. The silver shimmer in her irises

in the vast chamber. "But as the Crowned Prince of the Werewolves, this day was inevitable. The moment your

the throne when he was three hundred years old. My grandfather stepped down willingly to continue his journey in the other world, pursuing further strength and longevity. That was a joyous transition. But this..." He

"Now I must face my mother, who has just lost her beloved. I must lead an empire where many of my subjects are centuries older and wiser than I. And worst of all, I

haven’t even found my wife. I planned to search for her myself once

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 are no substitute... you are the anchor they trust. The council stands with you. You need only discover the