Matthew's POV
There were so many things I wanted to say to Deborah, but every time I tried to speak, the words failed me.
Since my mother's death, it felt as if a corner of my world had crumbled.
She had been sacrificed to break the werewolf seal, with Deborah being the one to carry out the ritual.
This reality hit me with both shock and pain.
I had planned to leave this place with Deborah after escorting the people of Murias safely to Tirfothuinn—to take her far away and build a life of our own.
But I found myself unable to make that choice.
The love I felt for her and the grief over my mother weighed heavily, weaving a tangled web of emotions.
I turned to say goodbye, only to see nothing but empty space—Deborah had already teleported out of Tirfothuinn.
I froze, a wave of emptiness and loss washing over me, almost making it hard to breathe.
Since my mother's passing, Deborah and I had barely spoken.
The only time we exchanged any words was yesterday at Conscientia when I gently covered her eyes and whispered a few simple words.
Though I had been silently watching over her with concern, I knew that my own disappointment and pain were quietly creating a distance between us.
As I entered Tirfothuinn, I noticed Cora in the distance, playing with the children of Tirnanog as their laughter and cheers filled the air.
For the first time, I saw people running, jumping—free and happy.
Maybe this was the strength of new life—the hope that children bring, a purity and vitality seldom found in adults.
When Cora saw me, she called out with a warm smile, "Bring Deborah over to play with us! These kids are too mischievous!" Her tone was full of warmth, her gaze sincere with joy.
But I stood still, unable to respond.
I didn't know how to tell her that Deborah was gone.
Seeing my silence, Cora frowned and walked over, looking at me with confusion. "Where's Deborah? These little troublemakers need her help. You two should stop fighting—Deborah's been so careful and hurt this entire journey."
I lowered my gaze, guilt filling me, and replied, "Deborah… she's left. She's left Tirfothuinn."
Cora froze, staring at me in disbelief, her voice rising with concern. "What? She left Tirfothuinn? Did you make her go?"
I shook my head, emotions too complicated to explain.
Her expression shifted to one of anger, and her tone grew accusing. "Are you out of your mind, Matthew? I know losing your mother was painful, but the sacrifice was her choice! She gave herself to break the seal—it wasn't Deborah's decision! Did you even know that Deborah didn't realize this could be done?"
I looked at her in shock, blurting out, "How do you know all of this?"
Cora met my gaze coldly, standing firm. "I walked at the back of the group with her. I saw your mother call her over. Deborah didn't want this. She even kept her distance from your mother, moving to the front of the group to avoid talking about it. You ignored both their struggles—one, your mother, and the other, your true love?"
Her words struck me silent, guilt flooding my chest.
My mother had never told Deborah who she really was, and I had never mentioned that Mary was my mother. What strange fate had led them to carry out the ritual on their own?
I had never thought of what Deborah might have felt, the crushing pain it must have caused her.
Cora's voice was icy as she continued, "Deborah has always kept silent, never speaking of the hurt she endures. You'll never understand the weight she carried. It's like swallowing bitterness without a word, suffering through it all."
I looked down, feeling torn between her reprimands and my own regret. My hands unconsciously tightened around the fabric of my coat pocket. Suddenly, I felt something inside it. Pulling it out, I found a small note and a wolf fang necklace—one my mother had given to Deborah in Tirnanog.
With trembling hands, I opened the note, which read in simple words:
"I'm sorry, Matthew. Please protect Tirfothuinn. —Deborah"
The short message struck me like a knife.
Deborah had left with such finality, without even a farewell.
And the wolf fang necklace… it was the token that a werewolf mother gave to the woman her son loved.
It was the pack's way of accepting her as family.
Yet now, the token had been returned.
Cora cast a cold glance at the note and necklace, then looked at me with disappointment before taking the children back to their rooms in Tirnanog, leaving me alone.
Returning to my room, I closed the door slowly, taking a deep breath as I scanned the small space.
Though small, it had all the essentials: a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and even a window.
Sunlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, casting a soft warmth—a warmth that left me momentarily dazed. In Murias, windows held no meaning for us, only the dim, oppressive lights, making it easy to forget the warmth of the sun.
I walked slowly to the wardrobe, carefully taking out my mother's only possession—her worn backpack.
The fabric was worn and faded by time but still meticulously clean. It was the one thing she left behind, the last piece of her memory.
I hadn't dared to open it during our journey.
I feared that once I did, memories would engulf me, dragging me to a place I might never escape.
But now, with everyone safe in Tirfothuinn, I could finally let myself pause and allow the memories of her to wash over me.
I carefully unzipped the bag, finding a few of her belongings—a water bottle, a blanket… and an envelope.
The envelope looked fresh, as if she had written it shortly before her death.
I froze, never expecting my mother would leave me a letter.
I held the envelope delicately, afraid that any rough movement might tear it.
Upon opening it, a photograph slipped out.
I picked it up, staring at the four people in the picture—my mother and me, along with another woman and a young girl.
It was a cropped version of the only group photo taken years before in Tirnanog.
The girl was about my age, and the woman bore a familiar expression, so much like Deborah. The back of the photo had four names: "Maeve Blackwood, Deborah Blackwood, Mary Duskmire, Matthew Duskmire."
A wave of realization hit me—this was the first time I had learned my true last name: Duskmire. And Deborah's—she was Blackwood.
In Murias, my mother had never revealed this to me. We hadn't even dared to acknowledge each other openly in Tirnanog, hiding our identities to avoid punishment.
Yet in this photo, my mother and Deborah's mother were clearly close friends.
Setting the photo down, I opened the letter. Her handwriting was familiar, gentle, as though she were still here beside me.
"My dearest Matthew,
By the time you read this letter, I will have passed.
Don't mourn for me, and don't blame Deborah—this was my decision, and I insisted she go through with it.
I remember the day you brought Deborah to Tirnanog. From the way you looked at her, I could see she was the one you had chosen as your Luna.
I want you both to be happy beyond measure. Deborah is strong, compassionate, and brave. She will stand beside you through all the challenges you face, and I hope you will hold each other close, bound together in love and understanding for a lifetime.
Know that even though I won't be there to witness your wedding, I am at peace knowing you'll have a future with her. She has my deepest approval and affection; may you cherish one another, honor each other, and grow together as one.
Matthew, believe in yourself. You are the White Wolf Alpha, a true leader, and you carry with you the honor and strength of your father—the greatest Alpha our tribe has known.
Remember, you are the hope of our werewolf clan—a beacon for all who rely on you.
There are many of our kin spread across other underground cities; Murias is not the only refuge for werewolves. Do everything within your power to save and protect our people.
Lead with wisdom, love, and courage, and carry with you the strength of all who have come before.
Don't forget, find your older brother Chad, who is 14 years your senior, and help him out of his troubles.
With all my love and faith in you,
Your mom loves you the most.
Mary"
I could barely contain my emotions, my chest feeling as though a weight pressed upon it. My mother's words of faith and hope filled me with a deep, heavy responsibility.
More than that, she had hinted that other underground cities existed?
And I actually have a brother named Chad? Could he be…?