Single Mother of a Werewolf Baby
Chapter 113: The Priest of Werewolves

Chapter 113: The Priest of Werewolves

On the second throne, Erevan Brontes Lychos sat in utter silence. His green eyes stared ahead at the massive doors of the throne room, yet anyone observant enough could tell he wasn’t truly looking at anything. His gaze was hollow, vacant... as if his soul were drifting through a void. It wasn’t the stare of a prince overseeing a kingdom, but of a man who had suddenly lost his purpose.

His mind churned with grief and uncertainty. Just hours ago, in the hallowed ancestral hall of House Lychos, the life crystal of his father had shattered.

It had not cracked. It had not dimmed even. It had broken into glimmering fragments... a silent scream of death, unmistakable and irreversible. And what that meant was clear. Damon Brontes Lychos, the King of the Werewolves, had died in the other world.

The only ones who knew of this were the butler of the Lychos Clan, an elderly servant who had found the shattered crystal, and Erevan himself. Upon receiving the news, Erevan had decisively acted to suppress the information. Panic and chaos had no place in his reign.

He had immediately summoned the one person he trusted beyond doubt... Sarika Somavati Harivamsa.

Sarika was no ordinary counselor. She was the Priest of the Werewolves and the spiritual guide of the Werewolf Council. Revered across the clans, Sarika had once served beside Erevan’s father, offering wisdom that had influenced royal decisions for decades. Her words in the council carried the weight of prophecy and experience, though she rarely invoked her seer’s gift anymore.

In her youth, she had once tried to reshape fate by revealing fragments of the future... and the consequences had been catastrophic. A minor intervention had led to a domino effect, ending in a catastrophe she could never forget. Since then, Sarika had sworn not to meddle directly in fate’s flow. She had chosen instead to advise... to illuminate the path, but never to push anyone down it.

Yet to Erevan, she was not just a priest or advisor. She was the compass to his storm-lost vessel.

After sharing the devastating news with her, he had waited in silence for guidance, for something... anything... to decide his future.

Thirty years ago, Erevan had been in the other world, training and forging strength away from court life, when a similar event nearly destroyed his world.

His father, while on an interworld visit through the sacred teleportation gate of Yggdrasil, had disappeared. The gate, ancient and powerful as it was, occasionally misaligned during transit... a rare phenomenon caused by cosmic turbulence. Such incidents were extremely uncommon, less than one in a thousand... but when they occurred, the consequences were fatal. Damon Brontes Lychos might be materialized deep within a hostile tribe’s territory, and contact had been lost ever since.

Back then, the council had called Erevan back urgently to stabilize the court. But the life crystal had remained intact, which meant his father was alive. Erevan had ruled as the acting head of the kingdom ever since, always hoping, always believing that his father would one day return to reclaim the throne. And he would be a free bird again.

But that hope was gone now. It completely shattered like the crystal.

He felt like a boat adrift in a stormy ocean... directionless, overwhelmed, and on the verge of capsizing.

As he sat wrapped in his turbulent thoughts, his eyes occasionally flicked to the priest seated beside him. Her eyes were closed, her face still as stone. She was in her seer’s trance... scanning through the threads of fate, no doubt. The hall was quiet but heavy, like the breath held by destiny itself.

Finally, Sarika’s eyes fluttered open. The silver shimmer in her irises dimmed as she returned to the present.

"You seem to have lost your purpose," she said softly, her voice echoing in the vast chamber. "But as the Crowned Prince of the Werewolves, this day was inevitable. The moment your father’s heart stopped, your future began. Now, you must walk forward. You must carry our people with you."

Erevan’s expression twisted with a complex pain. "What you say is true," he murmured. "But I wasn’t prepared to face this moment... not so soon. My father ascended to the throne when he was three hundred years old. My grandfather stepped down willingly to continue his journey in the other world, pursuing further strength and longevity. That was a joyous transition. But this..." He paused. "This is different."

He inhaled deeply, voice lowering. "Now I must face my mother, who has just lost her beloved. I must lead an empire where many of my subjects are centuries older and wiser than I. And worst of all, I am unfinished... I had so many things I wished to resolve before taking the throne."

He glanced at Sarika, pain written openly on his face. "I haven’t even found my wife. I planned to search for her myself once my father returned. How can I lead as a king when my own heart remains so incomplete?"

Sarika’s expression remained calm, but her voice grew firmer. "Your Highness, you must not linger in the past. It is a place for memories, not decisions. Your people already see you as their king. For thirty years, you’ve ruled with strength and stability. You are no substitute... you are the anchor they trust. The council stands with you. You need only discover the vision that will define your reign."

Erevan looked away. "What vision could I possibly have?" he asked bitterly. "I have no wife, no heirs. No legacy to pass on. I would be the first king in werewolf history to sit on the throne without a family. Wouldn’t it be better to summon my uncle from the other world? He has children. He could carry the legacy forward more easily than I."

Sarika sighed, a long, steady breath. "Your Highness, your obsession with what is missing blinds you to what already exists. The people do not love you because of the blood you may pass on... they love you for the strength you’ve already given them. You must now choose to lead not as a man hoping for return, but as a king building the future."

She paused, her gaze becoming distant for a moment before she continued, "We live in the future. The present is continuously becoming the past... etched into history with every breath we take. It may serve as a platform for our current standing, but we certainly do not live there. The one who does not have a clear vision for the future is not truly alive... merely passing time like countless specks of dust adrift in the universe."

Her eyes locked onto Erevan’s. "I know I shouldn’t tell you this, but I’ve seen glimpses of you in this castle, surrounded by descendants. Smiling. Fulfilled. Crowned not just in title, but in legacy. I believe the future you desire is already aligned. You simply need to step forward. Proceed with the coronation."

Erevan blinked, the weight in his chest lifting slightly. "Is what you say... true?" he asked, almost like a child seeking comfort in a storm.

Sarika’s lips curled into a rare, gentle smile. "I would never lie to you, Your Highness. That was the vow I took when I became the Priest of the Werewolves."

Erevan looked at her slowly, his back straightening, a new fire lighting in his eyes.

"Then tell me," he said, voice calm but resolute. "What must we do now?"