Chapter 449: Episode 447: Get your fathers.

Zarek did not flinch.

The Dragon Alpha simply crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at his furious son with a mixture of deep amusement and pride.

"Lower your voice, whelp," Zarek rumbled. "Your mother is the Matriarch of the Vanguard. When she demands to cross a continent to crown her son, I do not deny her. I simply move the heavens to ensure her path is comfortable."

Roxy placed a gentle, calming hand on Drax’s rigid forearm. "He is telling the truth, Drax. They practically built a rolling fortress for me. I am perfectly fine."

Drax looked between his mother’s radiant smile and his father’s smug pride. The teenager let out a long, heavy sigh, the aura instantly bleeding out of his shoulders. He gently placed his hand over Roxy’s, his dark green eyes softening entirely.

"Welcome home, Mum," Drax whispered. Then, turning back to the carriage and the imposing retinue of Alpha Kings and Vanguard pups, Drax straightened his spine and stepped fully into his role as their sovereign host. "Follow me. The Palace awaits."

The journey up the final ascent of the Dragon Peaks was a breathtaking, terrifyingly steep trek.

Under normal circumstances, the massive volcanic fortress carved directly into the summit of the mountain was a harsh, unforgiving monument to draconic superiority. The floors were usually scorching hot black stone, the air thick with sulfur, and the furniture crafted from heavy, jagged iron.

But as the heavy, enchanted iron-wrought gates of the Obsidian Palace groaned open to admit the Matriarch, Roxy realized that Zarek had completely, ruthlessly terrified the local dragon lords into submission.

The ancient, battle-hardened elders of the Peaks had completely bent to their King’s paranoid demands. The volcanic fortress had been spectacularly transformed into a heavily cushioned, ridiculously luxurious terrestrial paradise.

Every single inch of the scorching black stone floors had been covered in the thickest, softest dire-wolf and snow-leopard pelts imported directly from the North. Massive, overstuffed terrestrial cushions were piled high in every corner of the grand halls.

Before Roxy could even take a single step inside, Kaelen moved past her. The King of the North raised his hands, releasing a massive, controlled wave of his glacial magic into the very foundation of the palace. He meticulously layered complex cooling enchantments into the dark stone walls, instantly neutralizing the oppressive, suffocating heat of the magma flows and leaving the interior air crisp, clean, and perfectly temperate.

"Better?" Kaelen asked, looking back at her over his broad shoulder.

"It’s perfect, Kaelen," Roxy smiled, entirely overwhelmed by the absolute lengths her monsters would go to for her comfort.

In the grand dining hall, a massive, ridiculous feast was already waiting. It wasn’t the standard, charred slabs of meat the draconic Warlords usually favoured.

Zarek had explicitly ordered the palace kitchens to cater exclusively to Roxy’s erratic, terrestrial pregnancy cravings. There were platters of fresh, imported berries, sweet pastries, nutrient-dense broths, and delicately roasted fowl, all laid out before a massive, heavily pillowed throne meant exclusively for her.

As the Vanguard family settled into the dining hall, the local dragon lords and ancient elders of the Peaks formally entered to pay their respects to the Matriarch and to confer with their future King.

Roxy reclined in her plush throne, resting a hand on her swollen belly as she quietly observed the political theater unfolding across the room.

Drax stood at the head of the long obsidian table, entirely surrounded by ancient, heavily scarred dragons who had lived for millennia. He was doing a phenomenal job.

He spoke with absolute, terrifying authority, issuing commands regarding the border patrols and the preparations for the summer solstice coronation. He did not waver. He commanded absolute respect, holding the attention of the continent’s most lethal fire-breathers with the sheer, undeniable gravity of his Vanguard bloodline.

But a mother always knows.

Beneath the flawless, untouchable Warlord exterior, Roxy’s brilliant green eyes caught the subtle, agonizing cracks in his armor. She saw the minute, rigid tightness in his jaw. She noticed the way his armored fingers twitched against the hilt of his broadsword, and the heavy, almost imperceptible exhales he took when the elders turned their backs.

The weight of the Obsidian Crown was already incredibly, suffocatingly heavy. He was terrified of failing them.

Later that night, long after the chaotic feast had ended and the younger Vanguard pups had been wrestled into their massive, shared furs by the Alpha Kings, the Obsidian Palace finally settled into a quiet, simmering silence.

Roxy could not sleep. The heavy, rolling kicks of the pup in her belly and the lingering, restless energy of the volcanic mountain kept her completely awake. Wrapping a thick, silken shawl over her nightgown, she slipped quietly out of the royal chambers, her bare feet silent against the fur-lined floors.

She walked aimlessly through the grand, dimly lit corridors until she felt a familiar, heavy draft of cool night air.

Roxy stepped out onto a massive, sweeping stone balcony that overlooked the jagged, fiery peaks of the draconic mountain range. Rivers of glowing, orange magma carved slowly through the blackened earth far below, casting a violent, beautiful light against the dark sky.

Standing perfectly still at the very edge of the balustrade, silhouetted against the glowing magma, was Drax.

The teenage King had discarded his heavy obsidian cloak, his broad shoulders slumped slightly as he stared out into the dark abyss of his kingdom. He looked entirely overwhelmed, completely swallowed by the massive, isolating reality of the throne.

Roxy moved quietly across the balcony, stepping up right beside him.

"It looks a lot bigger when you are the one responsible for it, doesn’t it?" Roxy asked softly, her voice barely a whisper against the mountain wind.

Drax jumped slightly, his head snapping toward her. When he saw it was only his mother, the rigid tension in his neck completely melted. He let out a long, ragged sigh, resting his forearms against the stone railing and letting his head drop.

"I don’t know if I can do this, Mum," Drax confessed, his voice thick with raw vulnerability. The fearsome Warlord was gone, leaving only the terrified teenager. "I look at Father, and I look at Kaelen and Torian... they are forces of nature. They possess this absolute, unshakable certainty. I am just pretending. What if I fail the pack?"

Roxy’s heart physically ached for him. She reached out, placing her soft, warm hand gently against his cheek, forcing him to turn his dark green eyes to meet hers.

"Listen to me, Drax," Roxy said, her voice ringing with absolute, profound Matriarchal authority. "You are looking at power through the eyes of a soldier, not a King."

Drax blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"A true King isn’t just someone who incinerates his enemies," Roxy explained, her words carrying the heavy, beautiful wisdom she had learned from surviving the absolute worst the universe had to offer. "Destruction is easy. Anyone with a spark of magic can burn a forest to the ground. But that does not make them a ruler."

She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his broad waist and resting her head gently against his chest.

"A true King is someone who knows how to fiercely, unconditionally love his pack," Roxy murmured, her transmigrated core pulsing with gentle, radiant warmth. "Power is not meant to be a weapon of terror, Drax. With power, you can give your pack the security they desperately need. You can build walls so the children can sleep without fear. You can forge alliances so the mothers don’t have to weep for their sons. Your strength is a shield, my beautiful boy, not just a sword. If you rule with love, your kingdom will never, ever let you fall."

Drax stood perfectly still, entirely absorbing the profound, earth-shattering weight of her terrestrial philosophy. The dark, suffocating terror of his imposter syndrome, the agonizing fear of not being ruthless enough, completely evaporated into the night air. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

He didn’t need to be a mindless monster. He just needed to be the Vanguard.

A slow, massive, and entirely genuine smile broke across Drax’s face. The heavy, crushing weight of the crown lifted from his shoulders.

Drax wrapped his massive arms entirely around Roxy, pulling his mother into a fierce, suffocating, and incredibly grateful hug. He buried his face in her dark curls, inhaling the sweet, comforting scent of terrestrial vanilla and safety.

"Thank you," Drax whispered fiercely into her hair, completely reassured. "I am ready. I am going to make you so proud."

"You already have," Roxy smiled, patting his broad back.

Drax gently stepped back, keeping his large hands securely on her shoulders, his dark green eyes practically shining with confidence.

But as the distance between them opened, the serene, beautiful peace of the moment violently, catastrophically shattered.

Roxy suddenly violently gasped.

All the color completely drained from her face. Her hands flew down, gripping the heavy, swollen curve of her belly with terrifying, desperate force. A sharp, undeniable, and entirely agonizing spike of pain shot directly through her lower abdomen, so intense it completely buckled her knees.

"Mother?!" Drax shouted, his Warlord instincts instantly flaring as he caught her heavily before she could hit the stone floor.

Roxy gripped the fabric of Drax’s dark tunic, her knuckles turning completely white. She looked up at her son, her brilliant green eyes wide with absolute, undeniable terror and the sudden, explosive onset of transmigrated labor.

"Drax..." Roxy choked out, her voice a raw, ragged, and breathless command. "Get your fathers."