MATED TO THE SECRET ALPHA
Chapter 221: The Guardian Tower

Chapter 221: The Guardian Tower

"His body or the monster’s should have been found. Perhaps, the monster took him away...?" Theon choked on his words.

Before anyone could react to the absurd assumption, Julius took advantage. "You’ll need more warriors to rescue him, if the be the case. What better way is there then to win the vote and merge both packs?"

Silence settled thick over the room.

Reana turned then, slow and steady, facing Marcus who stood by the door, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

He’d sent a message to the pack, deity help them all that the message doesn’t reach Tamara or the hot-blooded members of the pack. The Mainland would be in deep waters. But if Reana has enough warriors, her pack may be able to defend itself, until a resolution is reached.

Reana took a deep breath. "I’ll attend the council tomorrow," she announced, facing them. "How many Alphas are on our side?"

Theon exhaled in relief, Julius nodded respectfully, and Marcus relaxed his tense arms just slightly.

But before their relief could settle in, she dropped a bomb. "How many Alphas are on our side?"

....

In a room in the Guardian Tower...

"How long is he going to be in this state?" a man clad in war outfit with red and gold trims asked, his voice low but sharp with impatience. The flickering torchlight danced across his handsome face, revealing a jaw clenched tight enough to crack.

The healer didn’t lift her head, her hands glowing faintly as they hovered over the unconscious figure lying on the stone slab. "As long as it takes. His body is here, but his mind... his mind is somewhere else."

The warrior’s fingers twitched at his sides. "You said he was breathing."

"He is. Just barely. It’s a miracle he’s still alive. But he’s trapped."

Another man, standing at the foot of the slab, frowned. He was younger, with a noble crest sewn onto his leather chest armor, and a dagger strapped at his hip. "Trapped where?"

The healer finally looked up, her face pale and grim. "That, I don’t know."

Silence fell heavy again.

The warrior in red and gold stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "And you’re sure he’s not just dying?"

The healer bristled. "If he were dying, I would tell you. But this is something else. There’s power clinging to him. Dark. Twisted. It’s not letting go."

A third voice spoke from the shadows, calm and unreadable. "Then we don’t let go either."

They turned.

A woman stepped into the room, draped in midnight blue armor with a silver blade strapped to her back. Her hair was braided high, her eyes focused not on Ryder—but on the stone ceiling above, as though imagining the mountain that had collapsed upon him.

"If he’s trapped," she said coldly, "we find a way to break the chains."

"And if breaking the chains kills him?" the younger warrior asked.

She looked at Ryder then. Her face gave nothing away. "Then he dies free."

"The Spear of the skies will not like to hear that."

Silence followed. The God of War, whom they referred to by many titles like High Warlord, Spear of the Skies, Lord of Blades, and more, would be furious to hear Commander Seraya speak like that about his son.

The man has been so furious after his son’s situation that he took a drastic step, one he’d never done before. He filed a case against the acting Moon goddess—a deity filing a case against another deity was unconventional, a sacrilege even among immortals. But the court was put in place to maintain balance ever since the heavenly emperor ceased to exist.

The lady didn’t speak afterwards. She turned, heading to the other stone slab, where another figure in black lay—Shadow One.

Standing before him, her hand trembled slightly. Delion Dray’s face was always hidden behind a hooded cloak, a mask of duty and silence. But right now, his handsome face was bare to the flickering light, pale and marred by new and old bruises, a deep cut running from his temple to his jaw. His lashes cast faint shadows on high cheekbones, lips parted slightly with each shallow breath.

For a moment, Commander Seraya just looked at him. Not as a soldier. Not as a weapon. But as a man.

Her voice, when it came, was so soft the healer almost missed it. "How is he?"

The healer’s gaze flicked to the second slab. "He’s alright, but the injury he sustained would take a while to heal..." the healer paused. "He shouldn’t have survived, but it seemed someone reinforced his life force."

Seraya’s eyes grew softer. She reached out a trembling hand to trail the scar on his face.

This scar was his first ever scar. He’d refused when the healer wanted to make it disappear. Without the scar, his face was almost too perfect—unreal, untouchable. The mark had grounded him, humanized him, made him feel real in ways his shadowed existence never did.

"He went to the world below ours. No wolf, monster, or human is strong enough to detect his presence, let alone fight him." Her gaze shifted from him and swept through the others, sharp and accusing. "How did he come back like this?"

The younger warrior—still green beneath the crest on his armor—looked away. The older one in red and gold clenched his jaw but said nothing.

A chuckle echoed through the chamber. From the shadows, a figure appeared from thin air, wearing a black cloak, his face familiar, yet laced with mischief.

"Dion Dray."

"Shadow Two."

Both guys in the chamber bowed their heads in reverence. He waved his hand, striding towards his unconscious twin brother’s bed.

"What do you know?" Seraya probed.

"He fought a vengeful god and lost."

"What do you mean? Speak properly, Dion Dray." Seraya frowned.

Dion Dray pointed at Ryder. "He fought him. No, not him, his vengeful thoughts. My stupid brother fought a vengeful god and almost died." He clicked his tongue. "Who gave him such confidence to attack a god? He overrated himself this time."

"Shut up!" Seraya snapped.