Ding! Dong! Ding! Dong! chimed the bells on the tower in the town square. The streets erupted into the usual hustle as the sound reached every corner. Tristan walked toward the palace, leading his horse by the reins. Beside him, the Alpha padded silently, its white fur hidden beneath a makeshift covering of cloth—an attempt to disguise the beast as a mere sheepdog. But the glint in its eyes betrayed its true nature.
They reached the palace gates, only to find them shut tight. Tristan stared at the towering iron doors, considering whether to force them open. Before he could act, an old man with snow-white hair appeared from the other side, pushing the gates open just enough to step through. His eyes locked on Tristan's, widening in recognition.
"We've been awaiting your arrival, Your Highness," the old man said, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment. Tristan's mind stirred—fragments of his past flickering into focus. This man had once been his father's chief advisor.
Tristan walked forward without a word. Two guards rushed from their posts, spears raised toward him, but the advisor waved them off. They hesitated, unsure, until Tristan's gaze sent a ripple of unease through them.
As he entered the courtyard, more guards assembled, blocking his path. One by one, their spears aimed at his side, but Tristan, with the calm precision of a man who had seen far worse, pushed them aside with a single finger. The Alpha stayed close, a silent shadow.
Inside the throne room, King Orson sat with a lazy air of arrogance, though his eyes widened the moment he saw the figure approaching. Tristan stopped at the foot of the throne, his hand moving to the cloak that covered his face.
"I've come to settle the debt between your father and mine," Tristan declared. He pulled back the hood, revealing his face.
Orson's smug expression faltered, recognition flooding his features. The face before him was a ghost from the past—a face he thought he had buried along with his treachery.
"Guards!" Orson's voice cracked with panic. His call was answered by a flood of armed men, pouring into the room, encircling Tristan and the Alpha like a swarm of locusts.
"Seize him!" Orson barked.
Tristan turned to the Alpha, meeting its piercing gaze. In unspoken understanding, they nodded to each other. The room exploded into chaos.
A guard lunged at Tristan, spear aimed at his throat. Tristan sidestepped, his body moving faster than the eye could follow. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the guard's arm, twisted it, and sent him crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring elbow to the face. The guard collapsed, unconscious. Tristan drew the fallen man's sword and spun it expertly, deflecting the oncoming attackers.
The Alpha, meanwhile, became a blur of fury, launching itself at the guards. A sword flashed toward it, but with a single swipe of its paw, the blade shattered, silver claws gleaming in the dim light. The Alpha's fangs flashed as it tore through the ranks, leaving the guards scattered in heaps.
The battle was over in minutes. Four hundred guards lay unconscious, bodies piled atop one another, and nearly two hundred more groaned in agony from their wounds. The rest fled, their spirits broken. The throne room, once a place of royal pride, had become a battlefield of carnage.
Orson, shaking with fear, tried to bolt for the exit, but the Alpha tackled him with a snarl. Its jaws clamped onto his cloak, dragging him before Tristan. Orson struggled to his feet, only to trip over the stirring body of a fallen guard. He looked up, his heart hammering in his chest as Tristan unwrapped the cloth from his arm, revealing the royal wrist crest that marked him as the rightful heir.
"You..." Orson's voice was weak, trembling.
Tristan pulled a ceremonial sword from his back, the blade bearing the same royal crest. He pressed the sword's tip to Orson's chin.
"You wouldn't," Orson blustered, his voice growing desperate. "I'm the—"
"You were never a king," Tristan interrupted coldly, his eyes narrowing. Orson's bravado cracked, his shoulders slumping. He bowed his head, his voice a mere whisper.
"You win… cousin."
Tristan allowed a thin smile to cross his lips. He extended a hand. Orson hesitated, then took it, rising shakily to his feet. Without a word, Tristan stripped the royal robe and signet ring from Orson's hand. The guards, who had begun to stir, watched in stunned silence. When they saw Tristan adorned in the royal attire, they bowed, acknowledging him as their new king.
The Alpha settled beside the throne, licking the blood from its fur, a casual, unnerving gesture that made the guards shudder.
"Take him away," Tristan commanded. As the guards closed in, Orson lunged unexpectedly, a dagger flashing in his hand, the blade glowing green with poison. But Tristan moved with lightning speed, catching Orson's wrist and driving a knee into his stomach. Orson collapsed, gasping for air as the guards dragged him away. Tristan inspected the dagger and recognized the poison—the same substance that had been used in the attempt on the princess's life.
"Typical Orson," Tristan muttered. "Killing two birds with one stone." He wrapped the dagger in cloth and motioned for the maids to clear out Orson's belongings.
---
Later, Tristan walked to the courtyard where his parents' graves lay. He knelt beside the stone markers, the memories of their deaths still fresh, still raw. In his hand, he held his father's golden arrowhead and his mother's gemmed necklace. He buried them beside the graves, a final tribute to the lives taken too soon.
A tear rolled down his cheek as he whispered, "I should have been there." The Alpha, sensing his sorrow, let out a low, comforting howl and pressed its head against his arm. Tristan rubbed the creature's fur and placed flowers on the graves before walking away, his heart heavy but his resolve stronger than ever.
---
The castle soon bore the weight of Tristan's legacy. Portraits of him, his parents, and his ancestors filled the halls, while all traces of Orson and his father had been wiped clean. In his chambers, Tristan sat in silence, the weight of the crown heavy on his brow. The Alpha rested on a cushion, its eyes half-closed but ever-watchful.
A knock broke the stillness.
"Your Highness," a guard said, stepping into the room. "The people have gathered. They wish to meet their new king."
Tristan rose slowly, donning a red cloak that fell to his heels. He stepped onto the balcony, where a sea of faces awaited him below. The captain of the guard made way for him and the Alpha.
Tristan's voice carried over the crowd as he spoke, steady and filled with the promise of a new reign.
"People of Lutcharin," he began, "I am Tristan, son of the true king, and I have returned to reclaim what was stolen—not just for me, but for you all. No longer will we be ruled by fear and corruption. Tomorrow, we restore the old law, the just law. I will serve you, as my father did before me."
The crowd erupted in cheers, the sound reverberating through the kingdom. Tristan stood tall, the weight of his people's hope settling on his shoulders. He turned, retreating back into the palace as the Alpha followed silently at his side.
---
Weeks passed, and the news of Tristan's return spread like wildfire through the neighboring kingdoms. Suggerstia was the first to hear, the kingdom whose forests had sheltered Tristan for years. The wolves he had lived with now roamed the palace grounds, the pups playfully chasing each other in the royal courtyard. His horse, ever loyal, had found its place in the royal stables.
But as the days grew longer, Tristan found himself consumed with the duties of a king. He spent hours in the throne room, resolving disputes, rewriting treaties Orson had corrupted, and refusing countless offers of marriage from neighboring kingdoms. Yet, despite the power, the wealth, and the respect, Tristan felt a hollowness inside, a nagging feeling that something was still missing—something he couldn't yet name.