Seeing that all the attention had fallen on him, he nodded his head in approval. "Does any of you know anything about the chase?"
All their faces changed; Alana's, Freya's, and Ayra's. They stared at him in surprise, and Mordeu was instantly taken aback, wondering what he did or said to provoke such a stare.
"You don't know anything about the chase of fate?" Ayra asked, bewildered.
"Am I supposed to?" Mordeu searched their faces, looking for the answer to his question and not just that, a good enough reason as to why every werewolf in Rosavelt would have knowledge about the chase.
Freya laughed, "yes you are," she said, "it is the most popular activity in the continent."
Mordeu shrugged, "if I haven't heard of it, then I guess it's not that popular." He was reluctant to delve deeper into it.
"That's bullshit!" Alana spat, "all highborn at one time in their lives have participated in the chase."
"Now that you have the reason, can we move forward?" Cillian grumbled instantly from behind Mordeu.
Freya suddenly burst into loud laughter, throwing her head back, letting the annoying sound that erupted within her waft into the ears of her teammates, stimulating their great displeasure.
"I guess the Rosavelt isn't as careful as we all assumed, even lowborns could sneak into Belvot mountain and fake an identity." It was like something clicked within her, she clapped her hand and then pointed a finger at Ayra.
She laughed again, "dear Ayra, you are mated to a lowborn!"
Alana turned her eyes away. Before this, the idea that they were lowborn had germinated in her heart, mainly because of how they smelled. It wasn't offensive in any way, it was just different from what highborns smelled like, and being of high status herself, she had been exposed to a good number of highborns.
As a result, this news wasn't totally new to her; all it did was affirm her suspicion of their status. All it did was tell her, in fact, that she had fallen for a lowborn.
The only person that seemed to be thrilled about the news was Freya. Laughing boisterously and mockingly so as to make sure her peers understood the reason for such a ravenous sound.
Ayra couldn't care less about what Freya just pointed out. Whether or not Fjall was highborn had no effect on her. What mattered was that she felt a strong affection for him, what mattered was that she needed him to make her his and in return, make him hers.
Fjall, on the other hand, was utterly embarrassed. He had made the decision to inform Ayra of this when their relationship progressed. This was because suddenly informing her now when their relationship was still enveloped in awkwardness and unfamiliarity was a bad idea because it could stimulate a sudden dislike for him and as a result, she may reject him.
And the last thing that he desired was her rejection. The more his feelings for her grew, the more scared he got, and now, everything had exploded in his face.
Unknown to him, she didn't actually care. The person that seemed to care was Freya, and she was utterly unimportant to them. Her opinion was the least thing Ayra worried herself about.
Mordeu slightly squirmed. He entertained no regard for what the rest of his teammates thought of him, but the man standing behind him was different. Mordeu was unable to point a finger at the particular place it hurts and the reason that followed.
He felt a profound ache in his heart for reasons unknown.
And addressing that ache was what he would not suffer himself to do. He feared what came after; he feared not knowing what would happen if he were to admit how he was feeling.
And as always ever since he met Cillian, he decided to toss that particular emotion to the back of his mind, to where the other terrorizing emotions had been tossed.
Mordeu cleared his throat, "yes, we are lowborns, but is that what we are going to focus on right now?" His question was undoubtedly shot at Freya, who seemed to be unaffected by his words and his newfound aggression. The smirk on her lips showed she had not had her fill.
"Do you know how much of a problem you're causing everyone?" She asked, "a lowborn wishes to be a soldier for the Luna Calvary, that is too much of a delusion. You're supposed to be thrown out."
"I think the delusion is on par with yours," Ayra spoke up, "you're an elf and you're here and as we all know, the Luna Calvary is mainly werewolves and witches, but you're here, don't you think that that's also quite a problem?"
"Of course you would take their side; I bet you have always known they were different, but your desire for this" she gestured derogatorily at Fjall, "scum, seemed to override your sense of reasoning."
Ayra shook her head, "you wouldn't understand how grandiose it feels to love someone so deeply."
Freya's smile fell, and Fjall's heartbeat faltered. They both stared at Ayra; one in rage and the other in simple reverence.
"I have been in love, I understand how love feels like," Freya gritted out.
"You fell in love with an ogre, and you have the guts to speak ill of Fjall?" Alana raised her voice.
Freya's eyebrows narrowed, her hands folded once more as she threw a raised eyebrow at Alana, questioning her for involving herself in something that had no concern with her.
The ones who were the cause of this strife had nothing to say. Fjall was too focused on the piece of news that had just fallen on his ears. Out of everything that had been said, the words, the emotions that had been let loose, his only concern, the only thing that captured his consciousness was the words that escaped Ayra's lips.
She loved him.