Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby

Chapter 165

Chapter 165: The Future of the Werewolves-1

The entire werewolf race had already begun preparations for the upcoming competition. Following their King’s decree, they recognised it as a golden opportunity for the younger generation. Regardless of size or status, every clan aimed to seize this chance to elevate the strength of their future generation. After all, though werewolves lived long lives, it was the youth who brought prosperity, strength, and prestige to their clans.

It wasn’t that the elders stopped contributing as they aged... it was more complicated than that. Living among mortals came with its constraints. Werewolves couldn’t maintain the same identity for too long in human society. Sooner or later, they had to change their appearance or relocate entirely, starting over from scratch.

Relocating an entire clan was no small task. It was a process filled with risk and logistical nightmares. That’s why werewolves had adopted the tradition of passing on the legacy to the younger generation. Even clans that ran businesses had to ensure that their human employees believed a legitimate transition of ownership was taking place. Continuity, even if only in appearance, was essential.

In the Raynor Clan, the responsibility of organizing the competition fell upon Xavier Raynor, following a formal clan meeting. Once the schedule was finalized and announced, over fifty young werewolves registered to compete.

Xavier felt the headache arrive almost instantly.

Managing that many participants would be a monumental task. The biggest hurdle was to set a Venue. The Raynor Clan didn’t own a private arena or stadium suitable for such a large-scale competition. And this wasn’t a game... when two werewolves fought, they would inevitably use their wolf abilities. Hosting the event in a public place would lead to a potential supernatural disaster.

Two days passed. Xavier brainstormed, calculated, and stressed, but came up with many things, but nothing substantial. Finally, frustrated and out of options, he decided to call Fiona.

After hearing him out, Fiona exhaled slowly.

"Your real problem," she began, her voice calm, "is just the final match. The preliminary rounds... you can arrange those at our ancestral land. But the final... that’s going to be tricky."

"We’ll need to invite the other clan heads to witness it. I’ve already received an invitation from the Fenroth Clan, and I’m sure others will follow. We can’t ignore them. We need to prepare a proper venue... even if it’s just for one day."

around the arena to contain everything. You just need to build a temporary arena... something practical, but elegant. Ask Ethan to design it without ruining the estate’s natural beauty. The last thing we want is for

of relief. "Understood. I’ll

ending the call, he added,

Fiona smiled. "This boy... he can run the entire police force of Manchester but can’t organize a simple werewolf tournament." The

and a long stretch, Fiona swung her legs over the edge of the bed and padded barefoot across the polished wooden floor

sudden cascade of golden sunlight poured into the room, spilling over pale linens, painting the walls in soft hues of rose and amber. It was one of those rare, soul-stirring awakenings where the

Hallstatt’s peaks still wore their snowy crowns. The Dachstein Mountains glittered under the morning

with the earthy scent of thawing soil, pine, and distant warmth of light. The gust lifted her hair slightly

as the last remnants of a long Alpine winter. Droplets fell steadily from leaves and branches, pattering onto cobblestone paths and ivy-clad ledges. Beneath the melting crust, small patches of green peeked

stairway climbed a hill, flanked by terraced flower beds that clung stubbornly to the stone. There, in quiet defiance of

sending out

hovered across its ghostlike surface, and reluctant to let go. Boats bobbed gently in their

in her chest. This place felt carved by

over and over with this kind of silence,"

the snow would vanish... but this moment, this whisper between seasons, felt sacred. As though Hallstatt had embraced her gently and whispered: This is beauty, if you know how

pang of sadness stirred

herself breathe here in this alpine cradle. But the clan competition loomed ahead. It was time to return to Manchester and oversee preparations. The estate had

appear unprepared... not when so

***

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