The Play-Toy Of Three Lycan Kings-Chapter 380: In The Caves

SAGE

The doctor’s voice droned on like running water over stone—smooth, practiced, endlessly reverent.

"The goddess watches over this place," he was saying, hands gesturing toward the carvings as though they might rise and bow. "Every ritual, every trial, every drop of blood spilled here has been seen. Recorded."

I nodded when nodding was expected. Tilted my head when he paused, as if inviting awe.

Inside, I was bored.

Not the restless kind of boredom that made you fidget or sigh. No—this was sharper, edged with irritation. I had heard variations of this sermon in a dozen places, spoken by men who believed reverence was the same as understanding.

The goddess, the trials, the sacred balance. Always the same words. Always the same worship dressed up as wisdom.

What occupied me far more than the doctor’s monologue was the priest. His eyes had not left me.

Not openly—not enough for the others to call him out—but enough. Too often. Too intent. His gaze didn’t slide away when mine brushed it. It lingered, weighing, measuring, as if my skin were parchment and he was trying to read what lay beneath.

That was why I hadn’t wanted to come here.

Not because of the cave itself. I had walked through worse places than this, bled in hollower ones. No—the danger was people like him. People who had learned to listen for the wrong things. People who mistook curiosity for devotion.

People who could see.

The possibility coiled tight in my chest: that what I was might be revealed here. That what I was doing—what I planned to do—might echo too loudly against these walls. That the goddess, ever-watchful, might decide to intervene.

Let her.

A reckless part of me welcomed it. Welcomed the chance to bare my teeth at her altar and ask her, finally, if she intended to stop me. I had come here knowing that. Daring her. Daring fate itself.

If the priest found me out, if he named me, I would begin my revenge right here, in the heart of their sanctum. I would let the cave remember me not as a prophecy, not as a savior, but as a reckoning.

The thought warmed me.

"How do you see our pack?"

The priest’s voice cut cleanly through my thoughts—old, yes, but clear. Too deliberate to be casual.

I gave a curt nod, not bothering to look at him. My gaze drifted instead to the paintings etched into the cave wall: wolves in mid-shift, children standing knee-deep in glowing water, elders with hands raised to a faceless figure crowned in light.

"Good," I said. Then, after a pause, "Not bad."

The chamber hummed faintly, the air alive with old magic. This was the testing room. Where wolves were measured at sixteen—strength, affinity, control. The pool at the center churned softly, though no trial was being conducted. No reason for the waters to move at all.

My lips pressed together. Six years ago, the water had done the same thing. I hadn’t known why then. I knew now.

I felt the priest’s stare again, heavier this time, no longer pretending. I bit the inside of my cheek, jaw tightening, and turned my head just enough to meet his eyes.

"You have strong magic," he said, without preamble.

The doctor fell silent. Adam stiffened beside him. I felt the shift before I saw it—the way attention snapped into place, the way a room held its breath.

"And probably known to the goddess," the priest continued, voice thoughtful, almost pleased. "Most likely. Yes, you are."

I snorted.

It slipped out before I could stop it—irreverent. "Or," I said lightly, "maybe I just have good magic."

For a heartbeat, no one spoke.

I didn’t wait for permission. I turned on my heel and left the chamber, steps echoing softly against stone, leaving the three men behind with their questions and their careful glances.

The next chamber greeted me the same way the first had. The waters stirred.

Not violently—no—but insistently, as if recognizing something they didn’t like. Or something they wanted.

I stopped just inside the threshold, staring at the image carved into the southern wall: the goddess, arms outstretched, eyes blank and knowing all at once. She was taller here, more imposing, etched deeper into the stone.

"You’re crazy," I thought at her, slipping my hands into the pockets of my gown. "Very crazy."

The magic prickled along my skin, a whispering pressure that raised fine hairs on my arms. The air felt tighter here, charged. I made to leave—this was unnecessary, indulgent—but footsteps sounded behind me.

They had followed.

The moment they entered, the waters responded, their low rumble deepening. The doctor frowned, confusion creasing his brow. Adam’s attention snapped immediately to the pool, then to me.

The priest said nothing at first—only looked at Adam.

And Adam looked back.

I felt it then, the subtle hum of communication sliding between them. A mind-link. My fingers twitched at my sides.

I could break into it. Grasp what they were gossiping about.

The thought came easily, instinctive as breathing. With El’s aid, it would be simple. A nudge here, a twist there, and I’d hear everything—the suspicion, the fear, the conclusions forming too fast.

But I hesitated.

Being caught doing that wouldn’t just be inconvenient. It would be dangerous. It might scare them. Might earn me a name I wasn’t ready for yet.

Black witch.

Not yet, I decided. The rumor would come. I would make sure of it. Just not tonight.

The priest chose that moment to speak again.

"You are really a favorite of the goddess," he said, almost reverently now. "And that would make sense. You are the prophecy—the one meant to stop the darkness."

My nails bit into my palms.

"Adam tells me you are already doing that," the priest went on, turning slightly toward him. "With the dome."

I swore inwardly.

If I heard the word prophecy one more time, I would burn this cave to its foundations. I would scorch the goddess’ face from the stone and leave nothing but ash and silence.