Isabella's frustration lingered in the air like an unspoken storm as she turned her attention to Celeste. "What did you mean by that snide comment you just made?" she demanded, her tone sharp.
Celeste, meeting her mother's gaze with a blend of honesty and courage, didn't flinch. "I see everything in this house, Mother. I see how you and Dad never laugh together, how you don't share anything in common. Most of the time, when you're talking, it's just fighting."
Isabella's anger sparked, and she retorted, "You don't understand adult relationships, Celeste. It's not as simple as you think."
Celeste, undeterred, spoke with a maturity that belied her age. "I might be young, but I'm not blind. I know when something is wrong. I know when people are unhappy. You and Dad... it's been like this for as long as I can remember."
The weight of Celeste's words hung in the room, and Isabella's anger began to morph into a somber acknowledgment. "You think you know everything, don't you?" Isabella shot back, her voice tight with a mix of emotions.
Celeste sighed, "I don't know everything, but I know enough. I know when something is missing. I know I don't want to get married and not love the person I am married to."
Isabella, grappling with the truth she didn't want to confront, felt a wave of vulnerability. "You're just a child. You shouldn't be worrying about these things."
"I worry because I care, Mother," Celeste replied, her eyes reflecting a wisdom beyond her years. "I worry, because I want you and my father to be happy."
As the echoes of their conversation lingered, Isabella found herself both angered by her daughter's insight and, in a strange way, grateful. Celeste had voiced what Isabella had long refused to acknowledge — the crumbling foundation of a marriage that seemed beyond repair. The realization stung, but Celeste's bold honesty laid bare a truth that demanded her attention.
In Gabriel's sitting room, Thorne's eyes narrowed with concern, a subtle furrow forming on his brow as he observed the tremors coursing through Fantine's hands. The urgency in his voice cut through the air as he repeats his question, "What is happening to your grandson?"
Meeting Thorne's gaze with a blend of weariness and determination, Fantine revealed the weighty truth. "My grandson is a werewolf, like his father," she admitted, the gravity of her words settling in the room like a palpable presence. "He hasn't undergone a full transformation yet, but he possesses the extraordinary ability to assess his werewolf powers, apparently he could heal fast, right from the day he was born —a feat that is utterly impossible."
As the revelation hung in the air, Thorne's concern deepened, and the room seemed to pulse with an undercurrent of supernatural tension.
Thorne, taken aback by the revelation, felt a shiver of shock run down his spine. Could this grandson be the Lupus Dei? His mind raced with the implications, and unwittingly, his thoughts slipped into the open.
Fantine raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "What do you mean by Lupus Dei?" she inquired, her eyes probing Thorne for answers.
With no option but to divulge, Thorne leaned forward, his voice a low murmur. "Aria and I are on a quest to find the Lupus Dei. We believe that if guided well, this chosen one can bring balance to our uneven world and aid us in defeating the bloodsucking vampires."
Fantine's eyes widened with intrigue, and the lines on her face deepened as she contemplated the gravity of Thorne's words, she tells him " Years ago I heard of a prophecy about an Alpha King, it is a bit similar to your prophecy, but I did not believe it, I passed off as some wishful thinking." In the silence that followed, she wondered if her grandson held the key to the prophecy that had echoed through their world.
Before Thorne could delve further, Aria, with her piercing gaze, cut into the conversation. "What is your grandson's name, and where can we find him?" she asked, her impatience veiled under a composed exterior.
Fantine hesitated, her gaze flickering with a complexity that mirrored the intricacies of her grandson's situation. "It's a bit complicated," she finally admitted, leaving the trio entangled in a state of suspense as they wait for Fantine to explain further.
Ethan trudged through the forest with a heavy burden on his shoulders—Taran, a stranger whose weight proved challenging for the young, slim teenager. Viktor and Gerard, alert to the potential escape of their captive, walked closely behind, eyes watchful.
Taran, breaking the tense silence, initiated a conversation with Ethan, his tone carrying an undercurrent of unease. "Do you know why your father wants to kill me?" he asked, the weight of his question hanging in the air.
Ethan, though suspecting his father's intentions, vehemently refuted the allegation. "My father doesn't want to kill you," he asserted, masking his own uncertainties. Yet, curiosity lingered in his eyes.
"What's your name?" Ethan asked, attempting to shift the focus. Taran introduced himself and revealed he hailed from Coleridge, a place unfamiliar to Ethan. The air thickened with intrigue as Ethan delved into the enigma that had landed on his shoulders.
Taran persisted, his voice low but insistent. "Do you know why your father wants to kill me?" Ethan, a mix of defiance and intrigue in his gaze, responded, "Go on, tell me what you think I need to hear."
With a cryptic smile, Taran replied, "Don't worry; you'll find out soon." The ominous words hung in the air as they continued their journey.
Upon his return home, Ethan encountered the incredulous inquiries of his mother and sister, who were shocked to see what he was carrying on his shoulder. "Who is the man on your shoulders, and where are your father and brother?" they both questioned, their voices tinged with a mixture of concern and confusion.
"They are not far behind, they will be here soon" Ethan reassured, though his eyes carried a weight beyond his words. "This man's name is Taran. I'll be keeping him here while I venture back to the forest to gather my kills. Kindly keep an eye on him; I'll return shortly." The air hung with a sense of urgency, and Ethan's brief explanation left unspoken threads of a story yet to be unveiled.
As he carefully laid Taran down, a mysterious figure burdened with unspoken tales, Ethan's departure carried a gravity that lingered in the room. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows, creating an atmosphere charged with anticipation.