Deborah's POV
When we returned to the cave, the werewolves no longer looked at me.
Matthew didn't say a word, nor did he spare me a glance.
Inside the cave, the werewolves treated me as if I were invisible, as though I no longer belonged to their pack.
The contempt in their expressions made it clear—they saw me as their enemy now.
Everything I did was met with silence and cold indifference, as though I had been completely cut off from the werewolf clan.
Matthew's distance cut me deeper than anything else.
I had thought, at the very least, he would express his anger and disappointment—maybe a harsh glare or furious questioning—but he gave me nothing.
His indifference hurt more than any accusation could.
He was no longer my companion in battle, but a stranger completely removed from me.
The distance between us was suffocating.
I knew I had wronged him, wronged all the werewolves.
I had made a choice for the greater good of Murias—we couldn't afford more losses.
But no matter how much I rationalized it, I couldn't ignore the selfishness deep within me.
To protect myself from the curse of Necrobind, I had made the choice to sacrifice Mary and break the werewolf seal.
That selfishness became an unbridgeable chasm between Matthew and me.
Every time I tried to explain myself to him, guilt weighed on me like a stone in my chest, choking back my words.
I couldn't even bring myself to tell him my true identity—that I was Lianora, a priestess with special powers.
If he knew the truth, that I acted out of self-preservation, he would never forgive me.
This unbearable pain and guilt nearly crushed me.
I could only bury these struggles deep inside, enduring this loneliness on my own.
To escape the emotional torment, I threw myself into caring for the children of Tirnanog.
I thought caring for them might drown out my inner conflict and guilt.
People praised my selflessness, calling me a role model of beauty and kindness, but their compliments only felt like knives twisting in my chest.
Because I knew the truth—I wasn't truly selfless. My original intent had always been to protect myself from the curse's backlash.
No one knew about the struggle inside me. This guilt haunted me daily, leaving me unable to find peace.
The ordinary people didn't understand any of this.
To them, sacrificing Mary and breaking the werewolf seal was entirely justified.
Mary's death had given her a kind of sacred meaning, and the werewolves were now stronger, better able to protect everyone.
In their eyes, Mary had become a hero.
And me?
I was seen as the one who had enabled that heroism.
But who would ever willingly take Mary's place?
The little boy Sol often came to find me.
His innocence and simplicity always made me smile bitterly.
"Did you fight with Matthew?" he asked, his voice filled with confusion.
I shook my head and smiled weakly, "No, it's just a misunderstanding."
Sol frowned and looked at me seriously. "Did you make him mad?"
I nodded. "Yes, I did something that upset him."
He tilted his head, thinking for a moment, then asked, "Why? Are you a naughty girl?"
I couldn't help but smile bitterly. "No. I just thought it would be better for everyone."
He blinked, his innocent eyes wide, and replied, "Well done. You are a good girl."
"But I hurt him," I said softly, my gaze distant, unsure how to explain such complex emotions to a child.
Sol looked up at me and thought for a moment before saying, "It's like when I don't want to go to bed, but Cora says I have to sleep to grow tall. I get a little mad, but I know she's just trying to help me."
"Yeah, something like that," I replied gently, but inside, my heart ached.
He suddenly looked up at me, wide-eyed, as if surprised. "I thought you and Matthew were going to get married and have babies."
I couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "Sorry to disappoint you."
We stayed in the cave for three more days.
During those three days, while the werewolves had fully recovered thanks to the seal being lifted, the losses among the ordinary people were still severe, especially from the bloodsucking bats.
Every day, I cut open my palm, squeezing my blood into cups for the injured to drink, hoping my blood would have some healing effect.
But despite repeating this painful process daily—feeling the wounds in my palm tear open and heal, only to rip open again, the pain making me grit my teeth—I was powerless to stop the deaths.
During those days, 279 more ordinary people succumbed to their injuries.
By this point, the number of survivors in Murias had dropped to 9,644.
Each name lost felt like another weight pressing down on my heart.
After three days, we finally set off again, heading toward Tirfothuinn.
We embarked on a new journey.
The werewolf seal had been lifted, and with it, their strength had surged forth.
As the most powerful part of our group, they had taken on the responsibility of protecting and guiding all of us.
Before the seal was broken, the werewolf tribe had no true Alpha leader because no one had experienced the first full moon after the seal was lifted.
No one knew who the true White Wolf Alpha would be.
In this unique situation, Matthew, with his exceptional leadership and calm judgment, had become the temporary leader of all the werewolves.
He shouldered the heavy burden of guiding the pack, helping them maintain order in extreme conditions, and strategizing our next moves.
He was strong, composed, and had a natural air of authority.
Under his command, the entire group moved in an orderly fashion.
In a time filled with uncertainty and anxiety, Matthew became the stabilizing force for the werewolves, leading not just them, but all of us through the hardest moments.
I followed at the back of the group, alongside Cora and the children of Tirnanog.
Along the way, everyone seemed much more at ease than before.
Especially the children—they no longer appeared as fearful and anxious as they once had.
It was as if all the danger had been kept at bay by the werewolves.
But inside, I felt weighed down.
Perhaps it was because of the journey ahead, or maybe because we had lost too much along the way.
Even though Cora had lost Mark, she still tried her best to lift my spirits.
She was always attempting to start conversations with me, though her smile hid her own silent pain.
As I was lost in these thoughts, I suddenly saw Matthew running from the front of the group to the middle, where he began speaking quietly to David.
After a short while, David turned to the rest of the group, telling everyone to stop and wait for those of us at the back to catch up.
Children's slow pace was always understandable.
I was relieved to see how patient and kind everyone was toward the children.
David came to the rear of the group and passed on Matthew's message: "We're approaching a lake where there are lots of small berries we can eat. We'll camp there for the night."
At this, the children immediately burst into cheers, their laughter rippling through the group.
They clapped their hands in excitement. "Yay! More berries!"
Their joy was contagious, and suddenly, the mood lightened.
Cora turned to me, smiling as she said, "I've already decided that when we reach Tirfothuinn, I'm going to dedicate myself to taking care of these Tirnanog children. They're just too adorable!"
I nodded, my gaze landing on the children eagerly discussing what the berries might taste like.
I responded softly, "Yes, being with them, it feels like there's still hope for the future."
Just then, Sol walked up beside me and looked up, asking, "Deborah, can you tell us what Tirfothuinn is like?"
My heart skipped a beat.
Tirfothuinn—I have only entered it in dreams and visions.
That mysterious island had once felt so close, yet because of my "Demon" identity, I had never been able to truly enter it.
I took a deep breath, pushing down the complicated emotions, and decided to paint a beautiful picture for the children.
"It's a large island," I said gently. "Do you know what an island is?"
"Is it cold like ice cream?" one child asked curiously.
I chuckled and shook my head. "An island is a piece of land surrounded by water. The sea wraps around it, like a big bowl full of soup, and the island is like the mashed potato in the middle."
"Can we mix it all together and eat it?" another child asked, blinking innocently.
That question made everyone burst out laughing, and even I couldn't help but join in.
As I watched the carefree smiles of the children, my heart softened.
Amid their laughter and questions, we finally arrived at the lake.
The scenery was picturesque, with crystal-clear water reflecting the last golden rays of the setting sun. The trees around it were filled with fruit.
As night began to fall, the lake shimmered with the fading light of dusk, a beauty that took my breath away.
This lakeside would be our camp for the night.