Ancestral Lineage

Emma sat frozen, her thoughts tangled and frayed, struggling to process what had just transpired. None of this was what she had expected when she first agreed to stay in Anbord.

The first shock had been the council itself. In every great kingdom she knew of, the structure was always the same: a sovereign at the head, perhaps wives or consorts in the shadows, and ministers or elders managing the rest. Businesslike. Cold. Predictable.

But Anbord was different. The council was not a collection of subordinates—it was a family. She had seen the way they looked at each other, the unspoken trust that bound them. Her spies had confirmed it, too, though she knew the empire was well aware she had spies. The fact that none of them were touched only made her more uneasy. It wasn't mercy. It was confidence. They allowed her to see what they wanted her to see. And the moment she realized that, she called off her own mission. Anything else would have been suicide.

The second crack in her certainty came when she met the prince. The encounter had been brief, almost insignificant on the surface, but it left her shaken. She had caught just a fraction of his aura, the raw instinct of what he was. To her horror, it wasn't the half-trained presence of a sheltered heir. No, it was strength—refined, natural, monstrous. The boy was already comparable to a full-grown werewolf, and that was only what she could sense. She hadn't dared probe deeper. If the prince was like that, what about the rest of them?

And then there was Ethan.

He had appeared without warning, without even brushing her instincts. That alone terrified her. Nothing should have been able to slip past her senses. Yet he stood there as if he had always belonged. Worse, he looked at her—not at the mask she wore, not at the titles she carried—but at her. He had peeled back every layer with a single glance and spoken her true name, the one buried in myth.

Fenrir.

The Wolf Primogenitor. The World Wolf.

For the first time in centuries, Emma felt stripped bare. She felt hunted. No blade, no chain, no spell had ever made her feel this way—but a single man's presence had.

Fear churned in her chest, mixing with something else she couldn't name. Not yet.

All she knew was this: in Anbord, power wasn't simply ruled. It lived. It breathed. It carried itself like a family, and at its heart was an emperor who had just broken through her walls with nothing but words and eyes.

And Emma… Emma didn't know how long she could keep hers from crumbling.

And then came his last words, heavy as thunder yet soft as a whisper:

"You can bare your fangs, threaten to kill me, deny what you feel—but you can't silence what we are. Not forever."

The words struck her deeper than claws ever could. Something inside her stirred—no, broke open. A part of herself she had sealed away long ago, waiting, guarding, testing the world for the one who would be worthy. Her soulmate.

Her lips had moved before her reason caught up. "If you want that, then you will have to prove yourself. You will have to make me give it!"

It wasn't reason that spoke. It was instinct. Pride. The primal roar of a Primogenitor, of the First Wolf who would bow to no one unless they were strong enough to claim her. She didn't regret it, but neither did she like how it sounded—like she had yielded too easily, like she had already acknowledged what her heart hadn't yet fully embraced.

But it was done. Spoken aloud. A vow in itself. She had, in truth, accepted him.

And his response… it rang in her ears like a song she had yearned for but never dared to believe she'd hear.

"I accept your challenge, my dear Fenrir."

Not only had he accepted her words—he had accepted her. Her pride, her ferocity, her stubbornness. He had not tried to break her spirit, nor soothe it with empty promises. He embraced it, respected it, even welcomed the challenge of it.

Something warm curled in her chest, dangerous and unfamiliar, and for a heartbeat, she hated it. For a heartbeat, she wanted to run.

But for the first time in a very long time, Emma—the World Wolf, the Fenrir—felt something stronger than fear or pride. She felt… seen.

Her mission in Anbord was over. But the path before her had twisted into something she never anticipated. Something infinitely more dangerous.

And infinitely more precious.

She clenched her jaw, her fangs glinting as she remembered. No wolf denied their mate. Not truly. She had fought that truth for so long, buried it under duty, politics, and survival. But now…

Now he had found her.

Her knees gave slightly, and she sank onto the bed. Her hands went to her face, covering her eyes as if to block out the flood of emotions rushing in. "Why here? Why now?" she muttered. "I was supposed to observe, to measure the empire, not…" Her voice broke off into a low growl.

And yet, beneath the anger, beneath the fear, there was something else. A warmth she couldn't name. A hunger she dared not acknowledge.

For the first time in ages, Fenrir felt vulnerable—not because she was weak, but because she might finally want something more than power, more than survival.

And that was far more terrifying than any god or war.

Her claws dug into the bedding as she tried to steady her breath. The silence wasn't empty anymore—it pulsed with a low growl. Not from the room. From inside.

"Why do you resist?"

The voice wasn't spoken aloud, but it echoed through her core, deep and primal. The wolf. The beast. Her other self.

"I don't resist," Emma muttered, though her voice trembled. "I'm cautious. He's dangerous."

"He is ours."

"No." She shook her head sharply, strands of white hair falling into her eyes. "He's… he's the emperor. A manipulator. A monster in his own right. He'll consume everything if I let him too close."

"And yet, when he spoke… You wanted him to."

Her chest tightened. She snarled under her breath, refusing to answer. But the wolf pressed on, relentless.

"You've waited. You've endured. Centuries of loneliness, of duty, of denying the bond. And now he stands before you—stronger than any you've met, seeing you for what you are. And you dare call it fear?"

"I dare call it survival." Her eyes flashed, blue glowing faintly in the dim room. "I've survived betrayals, wars. I've built walls so high no one could touch me. And you want me to let him inside?"

"Not want. Need." The wolf's voice was a low rumble, shaking her bones. "You are Fenrir. The World Wolf. Yet even you cannot silence what was written in your blood before the stars were born. He is the one."

Emma's hands curled into fists, her pride battling with something deeper, rawer. She hated how true the wolf's words felt. How every instinct in her body screamed not to run, but to yield.

She dropped her head into her hands, shoulders shaking—not from weakness, but from the fury of being cornered by destiny itself.

"Damn you…" she whispered, not sure if she meant Ethan, the wolf inside her, or herself.

But in the quiet that followed, one truth clawed its way up, undeniable.

She wanted him.