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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐃-𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀 𝐒𝐎 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐘, meadowed irises glazed upon his province. The sun's glow illuminates cuts and scars through a loose white button-down shirt, opened up wide to reveal his chest. He still wears those low clung trousers, as well as leather clad boots. The crudest markings on him are sheltered by his angelic black wings. Forever, his soul binds itself to the witches' curses, a spell impossible to unwind.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The door latches behind Elowen as she enters into his private room. Since the morning, he's collected his carelessly tossed instruments and sheet music, placing them back where they belong. When she glances back at his restroom, the shattered mirror stares back at her, her image a distortion of broken shards. There's no sign of Thorn, although she knows the ancient man spoke with him. About what? She's uncertain.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A toe-curling growl rips through her skull as she takes another step towards him. Not once does he flinch or acknowledge her, but she feels the claws of his wolf grip her inner creature and psyche, pulling at the threads to lure her into his domain. She follows his tug until the sound in her head becomes reality, a coarse timbre rumble that slows the pace of her heart.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow spreads his blight-tinged palms on the stone railing. "Seven days," he mutters under a ragged breath, glancing over his shoulder towards her. She meets the glow of his firefly eyes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She steps onto the outer balcony, letting the breeze do the work to carry her voice. "Until what?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It starts with your hands and feet, then spreads up your arms and legs towards your heart and skull." Morrow lifts a hand to his vision, scanning the evil and charred flesh. "It's in my blood, and it'll keep spreading until it reaches my heart. That's what'll weaken me, but when it reaches my fucking brain..."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A blight hand clenches the railing, his alpha's strength surfacing as the stone cracks within his hold. The images in his mind flash before her vision, mirages of the blight nymphs and fae in the woods, of his own were dying in delusion at the edges of his regime. The blight twists the ones he knows and loves, strangers and enemies alike, into the walking dead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"In seven days, when it reaches my brain, you won't recognize the man that I'll become," he growls under a false breath. "It's why I told Thorn to sedate me before then. I refuse to let you see that part of me. It's uglier than what you already know."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The Morrow I know isn't ugly at all."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That's because you don't know me," he mutters, his gaze trailing away from her to the valleys of Tabrien. "Do you know anything about who I am? What I've done? I dragged you into my life and kept you there without letting you get to know me at all. This is your chance. Run, and I won't chase after you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen approaches him, setting her palm atop his clenched fingers. The charred flesh loosens on the stone as her fingertips trace over his knuckles. "Do you want me to run from you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You will when you realise that I'm not fit to be your mate."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I know what you are."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You don't."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then show me," she breathes, taking his hand into her own, touches morphing into one between them. "Because it sounds like you don't want me to fly away from you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her inner creature purrs in ecstasy at the mere caress of his inner wolf, her wings bristling at the sensation as he releases one of his tempting growls. "Is that what you want?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Elowen nods her head, unsure of what lies within the canyons of his heart and soul. She thought the matebond revealed everything about him to her, but with one look at the glow of his eyes, she sees the turbulence he's about to carry her through. A dark shadow overcomes his demeanour, and yet, his touch to her neck remains soft. His thumb pads over her bare pulse, his head cocking to the side as everything about him softens like butter.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Then, in a movement so swift, she's barricaded between the balcony's railing and Morrow's chest, his hold stills on her neck as he dips her back over the edge. Her white wings splay beneath her, stretching as if to catch a current of air.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She dips her head back, maroon hair spilling in the breeze. When her silver hues meet the glow of that mid-afternoon sun, the darkness and light of Morrow's soul spill into one colour. Tethers crack into place, a symphony of memories meant to be locked away with a key.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There, with the strange heat of his blight palm on her pulse and her matebond throbbing with electricity, she meets the true Morrow Killian.

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*

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‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 for you?" a woman says, playfully brushing her fingers on the bottom of a boy's chin. "You're doing so well! I know you'll get it right if we try again. Let's slow the tempo down, shall we?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎They sit at a grand piano, both bodies occupying one small bench. The woman moves her hand to his back, rubbing at the base of black wings in soothing circles before planting a kiss on his tousled dark hair.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The young boy looks up at the woman, her features golden in the setting sun. Her honeyed hair and skin look like sunshine compared to the lackluster appearance of the boy. He always thought his mama was what caused the sun to rise in the morning with her contagious smile. Her light offset the constant frown woven into his father's brows, a look that transgressed into his own appearance. He wishes that he looked more like her rather than his unforgiving sperm donor of a father.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She scratches behind his ear, causing a yipping growl to come from his chest. He likes her ear scratches, for she's the only one who'll ever give them out to him. "From the top, my little tomorrow."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His mama had an affinity for music—from singing to harpsichord to clarinet, she played it all without skipping a line. She was a natural virtuoso, and to her surprise, so was her outlier of a son.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her musical desires were part of what drew his father to her like a siren in a storm. Only, his father was blind to what the woman of sunshine truly was beneath her skin. She held secrets and a curse of darkness that couldn't be seen with the naked eye. Long ago, her bloodline was tainted with an irreplaceable evil that caused her wings to grow unwanted black feathers, wings she cut to spare her from scrutiny. What's left of them is nothing but faded scars, almost unnoticeable in the shadows of Tabrien. With the alpha of the were trying to desperately court her with the relentless pull of a matebond, mistaking her inner creature for a shy wolf, they fell in love. She thought no one would ever discover what she truly was, a cursed wyng.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎So his father and mother wed, and gods, they were happy together—a short lived happiness that faded when his mama never shifted, nor could she conceive. His alpha father wanted a child to carry the valiant Killian name. So did his mother. They were in love, weren't they?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In a desperate cry, they sought help in the form of witches, exchanging their souls in order to create a new one: Morrow.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The woman hardly begins their duet when the door of the room opens. A man enters in, an almost carbon copy of Morrow, although age-lines stretch from the corners of his duller green eyes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His father. Kodan.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"They're summoning us, Lililya," he grumbles.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At once, the sunshine within Lililya vanishes to dust. "Now?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The bitches of Scaerus don't have any concept of time, so yes, it's now,"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"But Morrow—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan bares his teeth, his growl a thunderous sound of dominance that puts his mama and Morrow into submission. The witches demand their attention, and Kodan demands that his family be at his beck and call. The were-wyng despised him because of it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That was the lapse in their family. The moon chose Lililya to be Kodan's mate, and the two truly believed they were meant to be. Only, when Lililya's truths came to the surface, Kodan resented her for tainting his alpha bloodline and giving him a son that wasn't fully were. Every time Kodan glanced at those black wings upon his son's back, he's reminded of the moon's silly little test on him. He wanted those wings upon his son's back to be cut like his mother's, only Lililya refused to let anyone do to her son what had been done to her.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Lililya rises from the piano bench, but not before placing a rushed kiss to Morrow's brow. "We'll be back soon, my little tomorrow. I love you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He fixes his gaze on his mother's back as she gives her husband the glare of absolute death, only to have Kodan dismiss her completely.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That's how it would go for years. Although never spoken aloud, Morrow knew his parents were indebted to the witches of Scaerus for bringing him into the world. Their visits were spontaneous, often happening at the most unpredictable of times. Their returns almost seemed worse than their disappearances. Kodan would come back with vengeance in his eyes, a wolf stalking prey. Only, that prey would end up being Morrow. His mother fared worse, often returning so weak that she was immediately put on bed rest.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow was ten when Kodan began thrusting him into the fight ring, forcing his son to strengthen up from his lanky body in spars against him. An alpha's son was supposed to be the strongest in the pack, a weapon carved of pure adrenaline and labour. Ten-year-old Morrow never fit that definition.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan's claws pin down Morrow's shoulders, grounding him against the soil. "You mutt. Is that how you're choosing to fight? Those fucking terrans will slaughter you if you're like this, and I'll let them."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Then fight stronger. You'll destroy this province if you keep this up!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The words fueled Morrow's anger until it consumed him. He spent most of his pre-teens training to outsmart his father, to prove that he was worthy of alpha's blood. Only, with every fight against Kodan, he became reminded of the pathetic child that would never be worthy of carrying the Killian name.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎By thirteen, Morrow hated his father, and yet, his mother still loved the man that Kodan once was, even if he did transform into a villain. He had changed since they had first become mates, a stranger to her with a bitter taste and lust for power. Lililya Killian knew her son suffered under Kodan's authority, but there was not much she could do to spare him, not when she was sick and dying herself.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎At the time, Lililya and Kodan no longer shared the same room, so Morrow would often calm the storm raging beneath his skin by visiting his bedridden mother. The honeyed sunshine she once possessed had dissolved into an ashen skeletal smile. Morrow was her sunshine, and without him, she would've lost that flame so long ago.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Mom?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Tomorrow?" she calls, her voice rasped from dehydration.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Tomorrow. It's the word in which his name derived from, a reminder that every tomorrow brings a new hope and dawn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow shuts the door to the spare room behind him, carrying a violin and sheet music in his hand. Of all the instruments Lililya had collected, the violin and piano were her favourites, moreso when the sounds were played by Morrow's skilled hand.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Before setting up his violin, he settles in beside his mother, giving her a simple kiss to her crown like she used to do so long ago.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Lililya frowns as she analyses her son's jaw. "Those bruises are new."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Guess where they came from."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎She sighs the name Kodan under her breath like a heavy weight. "I told him not to be too harsh on you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's black wings shake with fury. "Well, we both know he doesn't give a damn about either of us."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"That's not true."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You don't have him beat the crap out of you every single fucking day—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Language," she warns in her stern motherly tone. "I have my own battles to face with him. He's changed so much since we met, but somewhere within his heart there is still a part of him that loves you and I."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Not Morrow. His father made that clear as day to him. But Lililya? That he could believe. Despite the separation, his mama had always received the best of care, and Kodan demanded immediate updates on her condition. When Morrow asked if he visited, the answer was always 'no', but he never truly believed that lie.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His mother tips her gaze towards the violin in Morrow's hand. "May I make a request?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The joyful notes caught in the tone of her voice cause his lips to curve ever so slightly. "Always."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Reovell's Requiem," she says.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow sets down his sheet music, knowing he doesn't need it if that's the song his mother chose for him to play. It's a song he's played a million times before. Just months prior, Reovell fell into treachery with Brecia, obliterating the tribe once known as the wyng. That was his mother's homeland, a part of his blood he carries with him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He's the last wyng left in existence, even if he is only half wyng.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In her sorrows, Lililya Killian wrote a song, one so beautiful that it slowly engraves itself in time. Hence, Reovell's Requiem. It hints of notes from the Song of Reovell, a tune that played within the province's city streets, but a composition that's composed of her own will.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That night burns itself in Morrow's memories like a forest on fire. His mother's laughter, her smile, her joy. All of that burst the next morning.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It was hardly past dawn, and Morrow couldn't sleep. He was born an insomniac, his mind a rotating wheel without the ability to stop. He opted to get in some early morning practice on his trumpet. The irony of using the loudest instrument to pass the time never made him second-guess his decisions. He'd always been told that hearing him play music meant he wasn't getting himself into mischievous trouble with his best friend, Ronyn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎In the solace of blue hour, he played Reovell's Requiem for the first time on the trumpet. Sheet music litters his vision, notes of other songs stitched into one immaculate harmony. He closes his eyes, and for a moment, the hardships of his father's scoldings fade away into nothing.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But that song only proves him to be a fool.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It's cut short as he lifts his gaze over to the door, meeting his father's mirrored green eyes. Tears stain Morrow's cheeks, his aura cackling in broken embers.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎That was the day his mama took her last breath. Gone. Dead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The years that followed his mother's passing enslaved him in his own gnawing wrath. He put down his instruments, letting them collect dust in the corners of his bedroom. Instead, he fought to gain a fraction of his father's approval. He hated himself for it, hated what Kodan was creating him to be.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎On his sixteenth birthday, Morrow was dragged down to the witches of Scaerus by Kodan. The alpha drowned in his own debt with the mystics, losing most of his soul in asking for Morrow's birth, a birth he regretted the moment he saw those cursed wings upon his back. By that point, Kodan had descended so far past salvation for his soul. He asked for favours he couldn't repay, knowing that only death would free him from his chains.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Perhaps, Morrow had learned something from Kodan that day, something that would alter him forever.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His sixteenth was the day Morrow was marked with his first rune, agreeing to enhance his alpha's strength for a price. Despite his deep-rooted hatred for the witches of Scaerus, Morrow never once regretted any of his wishes. In fact, he began to see why his father liked bargaining with them so much. Their spells gave him power, something he's always felt he never had.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The requests started off small—just enough to curb his father's view of him. By his late teens, Kodan might've actually viewed Morrow as someone worthy of his title. Morrow fought ruthlessly in the were's fight rings, ending lives before giving them a chance to plead for mercy. He's not certain when he made his first kill, not even aware of the name, nor sure of when he felt the first pang of guilt. He was a weapon, one destined to rule Tabrien.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His addiction to the witches runes never faltered. The requests grew in abundance until Morrow wanted more. Perhaps it was his alpha's blood, but the cravings for dominance grew tenfold with every passing day. Amidst the cravings was a buried lust for his father to have a change of mind.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A‎‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎‎‎t twenty, Morrow lays naked in the witches' crypt, chained in leashes of iron to prevent him from escaping their clutch. His wyng blood burns at the mere touch of the metal alloy, and he gnaws at his lower lip just to keep the pain contained.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The heels of the mother witch, Sybil, echo off cold walls, her lanky finger dragging upon freshly cut runes as she mutters lost spells and incantations under her breath. She's hidden beneath a cloak, her facial features a blur beneath semi-translucent violet fabric.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Her touch traipes down his rib. "A boy like you shouldn't be making deals like this."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"He won't win." He being his father.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Sybil laughs as her touch descends down his toned abdomen scarred with runes upon runes. "Cats have nine lives, but I guess from time to time, a canine has that ability too, hmm? It's been a millennia since I've performed a spell with such strength that it alters an entire timeline."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A deep growl rumbles from Morrow's throat, a warning as the witches' hand descends lower on his anatomy. She traces a throbbing vein down towards his nethers, the sound of his wolf's protests growing louder until it echoes off stalactites. The screams tearing inside of his skull seem so unlike the subtle nod he gives as his meadowed hues fall shut.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The price for eternity," Sybil begins as her cold breath caresses the shell of his ear. "Is eternal submission to my summoning, and we both know how much alpha wolves despise that."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎During the days of his summoning, Morrow learned to separate his body from his mind. In Tabrien, there was no mate waiting for him, nor would there ever be. Who would want to be with someone so marked by cruelty? The exploitation he endured was but one of many reasons why he would never find a partner, as if the spectral blood on his hands wasn't haunting enough to drive them away.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎It wasn't until one night years later, a piss drunk Morrow had the rudest awakening as he sauntered the city streets, leaning against an equally drunk and sullen Ronyn for support. They'd numbed the night away at a tavern in the eastern sectors of Tabrien, wallowing in their misery back to Ronyn's bachelor's abode.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn playfully scratches behind the were-wyng's ear, causing an elated growl to break free from his chest. Ronyn's laughter bellows from his stomach.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's just an ear scratch, sunshine," his friend grins so wide. "No need to be seducing me with that sound."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fuck you," a drunk Morrow slurs.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You wish you did."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The drunken growl that comes out of Morrow in response is menacing enough, but it hardly holds any effect on Ronyn.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow lifts his gaze from his annoying counterpart over to their surroundings. Where the hell are they? He thought he'd recognize streetlights lit by nightlighters, but instead finds himself sanctioned off in a pinnacle in the city where all the lights have dimmed. Dead foliage taints the once lush trees, and the houses here all seem semi-abandoned. Only small flashes of light peak through closed linen curtains.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn begins to tell Morrow a story about his night's affairs in the bathroom back at the local tavern, but is hushed by the alpha heir.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What the fuck?" Ronyn hisses. "I didn't even get to the good part yet!"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Just shut up, will you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Never. You may be the next alpha of Tabrien, but I'll forever be the loose-lipped buffoon who charmed you with my charisma."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow takes a step towards the dying tree, his instincts telling him not to touch. "Have you seen this before?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"A tree? Nope, not once. It's not like we happen to live in a wooded area."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow rolls his eyes. "I'm gonna kill you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You mean kiss me?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"In your fucking dreams," he grits, then looks at the foliage a little closer. It almost appears burned, scorched, and the chlorophyll in the plant's veins remains black like oily sludge.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ronyn saunters next to him, analysing the sick flora. "I thought you'd know about this by now, but you've been so busy getting fucked with the witches."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow growls as the memories of his summonings surface, knowing that his requests have him drowning in debt.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"So you do know what this is?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"They're calling it the blight. They say there's no cure to it, and if you touch it, you die."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Is my father doing anything about this?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You want to talk about that asshole right now?" Ronyn sighs. "Look, I can't even count how many fingers are on my hand since we're so drunk. Let's just go back to my place, okay, bird boy?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow stands his ground, or tries too. He leans too far, stumbling over into Ronyn's arms as his friend bursts into a hurricane of laughter. Ronyn's right about their drunkenness, and maybe this disease is just his eyes' trickery on him.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Although hungover the next morning, Morrow remembered the eerie aura that filled the expanse of that cul de sac of houses secluded from the rest of the Tabrien city. He storms through the Tabrien palace, searching for his father through the maze of corridors for answers. How come Morrow never knew a thing about the disease?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He finds him in his study mulling over a crystal glass of whiskey. He doesn't lift his dull green irises to his son.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You," he says, as if to point a finger at him. "Where were you last night?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's wings stiffen. He can't help the tension that rakes through him in the presence of his father. "With Ronyn."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He grunts. "That bastard? He's a street mutt."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Do you know about the blight?" he asks instead, opting to cut to the chase.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"What a ridiculous question. Of course I know. It's been a problem across Aelethia."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎How come Morrow wasn't informed? If it's as deadly as Ronyn revealed, then the whole pack is at risk of being obliterated. "What is it?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To this, Kodan sets down his glass of whiskey to meet the gaze of his son. Only, that's not how Kodan views him, not at this goddamn morning hour.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's murderous. That's what it is. It's spreading so fast like fucking rabbits, so I implemented a law that will keep it at bay." His father tips his head to the side, a sign of his arrogant inner wolf. "You didn't touch it, did you?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"No, but this law..."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The law is meant to keep those who are infected, or associated with an infect, locked in their homes away from my sights. They're destined to die, so let them."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's ring-clad fingers clench into tight fists. Beneath his skin, he can feel his inner wolf shifting like tectonic plates, and all it takes is one frictioning collision that'll quake his wolf. He can't have another unpredictable shift, not if he wants to stay in his father's good books.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"The pack comes first," Morrow growls.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's only natural. Plagues happen. Diseases spread."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His nails elongate, claws forming as his blood continues to boil. "It'll kill off entire families! They're locked in their houses, starving because you ordered them to stay there."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"And if they're smart enough to obey their alpha, they'll remain where they belong."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"There's gotta be something we can do. We have medicines and rations so they can at least die without pain and an empty stomach. Have you even tried to talk to the other provinces to see if there's a cure?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fuck, if you think I'd even open my mouth in the presence of the terran high lord or fae king, I'd skin you myself."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow growls, hating that his father dismisses the disease like it's just another flu. This is so much bigger, so much darker. This disease reminds him of something unsettling, a shadow that'll consume the entire kingdom if someone doesn't try to fix what it breaks.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow shakes his head. "For once you can't let your ego get in the way of your duties. Talk to Novus, or even Sybil—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You don't know shit, Morrow!" Kodan shouts. The dominance of his presence causes Morrow to shrink. "Go and fuck off. I am the alpha of the pack. I think I know how to lead it."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The idea of were alone and shrivelling to nothing on the outskirts of the province leaves Morrow's stomach in knots. It's not like he hasn't experienced death before. Hell, he's killed more souls—criminals, arrogant were, terran filth—but none have shaken his mind up more than this disease. For once, death is out of his control, and he wishes it wasn't.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Against his father's wishes, Morrow flew back towards the eastern district of Tabrien day after day, scourging up whatever information he could about the disease. Rumours said it came from the witches, or much worse, the ancients, but no one could give Morrow clear answers. All they could do was show him the carnage of the blight, and it was uglier than any corpse he'd mutilated.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He nearly vomited when he saw a boy pup with limbs decaying with darkness, confined to the front meadows outside of his parents' home as he attempted to waste the remnants of his energy with play. Less than a fortnight later, that little boy pup was dead. Thanks to Morrow constantly delivering supplies to the boy's doorstep, he didn't die in agony. He brought as much peace as he could.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan wants to lock them up and forget, but Morrow can't. Why can't he be as heartless as his father? An alpha has one duty, and that duty is to guide the pack, to protect them.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This isn't protecting the were.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The death toll continued to spiral out of Morrow's control to numbers he couldn't fathom. Whole neighbourhoods turned into graveyards of sickened were and abandoned houses. Each week, Morrow would report back to his father as the voice of reason. If he prodded enough, it might convince Kodan to search for answers to a disease that eliminates his kind.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He finds his father sitting on his throne in the sanctum. He upgraded his glass to whiskey to the whole damn bottle, drinking it without flinching as the fire burns down his throat. Rain hammers down on the rooftops, the thud of harsh raindrops echoing off the palace's stained glass windows.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"It's not going to stop spreading. It'll kill off a quarter of the pack if you don't get off your ass and do something," Morrow urges. "If you don't fucking send a messenger out to any of the provinces, I will."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan laughs. "You have no authority over my sentinels."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Gods, Morrow despises him. He's neglecting half of Tabrien just to protect the other, but a wolf pack doesn't split. Or at least, not Tabrien. If there's a chance of eliminating the blight, then the province needs to remain united.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fine. I'll fly over to Yestrea myself and speak with Novus—"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Just as the words leave Morrow's lips, Kodan hucks his bottle of whiskey towards Morrow's wing with a skilled shot. His aim had always been impeccable. The bottle shatters against black feathers, glass shards cutting into his delicate fleshed wing.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎A pained groan tears from Morrow's throat as he clutches the newfound wound given to him by his father.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Damn you!" Morrow howls. He can't fly from the cuts, not as far as Yestrea. Now, the air smells like whiskey and blood, and the scent causes his wolf to curdle with a gurgling fire.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"You will not undermine me," Kodan snaps, rising from his throne as a pair of claws tear into the velvet. "You come searching me out every night just to tell me that I'm slacking in my duties as alpha. I was born in purity, a worthy descendant of the Killian name! You might have my blood, but you are also something cursed. It disgusts me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Cursed. He always knew he was, but no one but Kodan saw him like that.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Do I remind you of her?" Morrow seethes. "Of Lililya? Because she's my other half. She's the part of me that makes me so cursed."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎To this, Kodan manages a hysterical laugh. "There's no part of you that is of Lililya. She would never look at you now and think you were worthy of her love. Think about what she was, and then think about what you've grown up to be. It's monstrous to think that she even birthed a thing like you."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Bullshit. Mom loved the living hell out of me."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"She's not here to tell you that now, is she?"

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's wolf stirs within him, a harbinger of the apocalypse he can no longer prevent. The raindrop echoes outside the palace fail to mask the growls rising from Morrow's chest. Ligaments crack as his back hunches, sharp teeth jutting from his soft pink lips. His loathing for his father finally overflows, leaving only one recourse.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He will challenge his father for the alpha title.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎This decision is rooted in years of humiliation and abuse. Kodan was never a father to Morrow, nor an alpha worthy of leading the pack. His punishment came in tides of torture, sending Morrow into the fight ring, indifferent to his victory or defeat. It was either his son killing for the sake of killing, or the opponent disposing of his unwanted winged offspring. For Kodan, it was a win-win, a ruthless game of roulette he relished.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow will take the risk if it means ridding Tabrien of Kodan. Only now, his final hunt will be on his father. When the title of alpha is passed, it's done in one of two ways. The first is when the alpha willingly forfeits his title to the next in line, a feat done honourably in old age. The second, a challenge to the death. Winner reigns. The one who falls short will never watch the sun rise again.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan lowers his eyes in a burdening sigh. "Now this is an overreaction. There's no need to get that bull-headed wolf of yours out."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Are you scared of him?" Morrow purrs, knowing how volatile his inner wolf is. His wolf is a danger unseen in centuries in the were province, a creature that won't ever be tamed.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"I will put you on a leash," he hisses.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"There's no need to, because by morning, I'll have your blood spilling on your throne." Morrow licks his lips, his knuckles and wrist cracking into place as he hunches over more, his shadowed black wings sheltering his deadly grin. "I challenge you, Kodan Killian, for the title as alpha of Tabrien."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Are you sure this is what you want, Morrow?" the alpha growls as the two begin to circle in the empty sanctum.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Somewhere beyond them, thunder roars, shaking the palace. Morrow keeps his meadowed hues locked on his father, knowing that any moment now, his wolf will take over his body and go in for the kill. For once, they both have the same wishes, same goals. Morrow's not wrestling his inner demons just to keep his wolf calm.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎With one final snap of his bones, Morrow lets out a wall-quaking growl as his wolf takes full form. He's a four-legged beast with fur as dark as charcoal, with wings upon his back as menacing as a vulture about to strike. The mere size of his body only speaks of the volumes of puissance woven into his anatomy. Muscles ripple from beneath his dark coat, and his claws are sharper than knives and daggers. That's all before he taps into the energies of his witches' runes.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan's not long to shift into his own wolf, a black canine that eerily mimics Morrow's. Between them, claws scrape against the sanctum's floors, leaving scars of the skirmish about to unfold. Challenges are normally done in front of an audience, but neither of them can wait another second to let the blood pour from one another. Their feud has been brewing for decades, one that began the day Morrow was born.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The tension snaps.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan lurches forward, a growl rumbling from his chest as he bites his teeth at Morrow's neck. Of course he'd go for the neck. It's vulnerable, the place where a were mate leaves their mark, a place where the blood is most easily accessible by a bite.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Only, Morrow has no mate. If Kodan seizes him within his jaws, the pain of shredding skin and crimson gurgling in his throat will become the last he feels before his death.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow skids out of the way, his runes itching beneath his fur as they activate their full potential. He heaves forward, claws extended as he tackles Kodan's wolf down to the ground. The runes give him vehemence, a strength and intensity that'll end the life of his father.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He tears into his father's hind leg, ripping into his coat and pulling at his skin. Despite Morrow's strength, Kodan's always been strong. His pure alpha blood and own witches' spells allow him to shake Morrow from his back, thrusting his son onto the ground with a shrieking thud.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow attempts to run, but Kodan's wolf pounces upon his back, claws gripping into his wounded wings and pulling him back towards him. For a moment, Morrow fears that Kodan will cut his wings before he ends his life entirely.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But then again, why would Kodan waste the time?

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Before Morrow can flinch, Kodan digs his claws deep into Morrow's chest, pulling at his heart and clenching it within his claws.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow howls as Kodan ever slowly lets the blood from his son's body leach into his own black fur. It stains the gleam in the floors and darkens the air in the room. Thunder cackles as the world dissolves into a grey abyss, leaving Morrow with nothing to do but watch.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's satisfaction in his father's eyes. Not once had Kodan Killian ever loved his son. Not once did he give a damn about anyone other than his own self. Maybe long ago, but not in years. He ruled to become blinded by his own gains.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan holds his son's heart in his claws until Morrow's eyes roll back.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow's senses drown out for milliseconds as he hears his father shift back into his human form. A laugh of victory clambers off the sanctum's towering ceilings, a sound that imbeds itself deep in the hollows of Morrow's memories.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎"Fool," Kodan growls, his voice dripping with contempt. "You would have made a pathetic alpha."

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎But...

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan never knew about Morrow's bargain to live for eternity.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kodan Killian turns his back to return to his seat on the throne, not knowing the monster that lurks in his shadow. Bare. Blood covered. Vulnerable. A perfect target for his son to kill.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎For the only time in his life, Morrow's wolf lets his human self take back control. He shifts back into his two legged self, chest opened wide, heart slowly beating next to his exposed lungs. Blood stains his equally bare skin and drenches his black wings. The blood belongs to him. Alpha's blood.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎The title will be his.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Before Kodan reaches the steps to his throne, Morrow thrusts his own fist right between his father's ribs, his monstrous strength derived from years of tearing flesh and knowing only murder. Bones crack. Blood pours from his father's body to mix with his own. And the sounds. Kodan's screams echo from the heavens down to hell where he belongs. He enjoys it all, taking every last ounce of life from his father's body until—

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Ripppp.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow pulls his father's heart out into his hand, the organ beating softly until it ceases. Those vengeful green eyes stare wide at the ceiling above him, still unable to meet the gaze of his son.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Dead.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎There's no audience to celebrate. No one to see the unfathomable chasm opened in Morrow's death as he escapes it for the first time of nine.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Morrow staggers over to his father's throne, taking a seat on the velvet. He stares out to the sanctum, at Kodan's corpse dismembered on the steps. He thought he'd feel guilty for killing the head of his bloodline, but all that remains is lingering relief for what he'd just managed to escape.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎His meadowed hues fall droopy, tired. After all, he did just die and remain alive. His body needs to heal first in order for Tabrien to heal second.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He is the leader now, and he will protect his pack. All of it. He must.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He's the only one with the insanity to save it.

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

▬▬▬▬▬

this chapter was not supposed to be over 6000+ words long, but morrow's backstory just never ended. i honestly could write a whole other book on morrow's upbringing and how sad it truly is.

also, i apologize for the changing verb tenses. first draft issues. i know. it'll get fixed eventually.

anywho, enough of the backstory. let's get back to elowen and morrow, shall we? we need something a little happier after reading this.

ivy <3