The first rays of morning light crept through the tall windows as Joshua's eyes blinked open. The familiar ceiling of his room greeted him, comforting in its sameness. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms and immediately spotted Lancelot, already in the midst of his morning exercises.
"Morning, Lancelot," Joshua said with a hoarse voice.
Lancelot stopped mid-push-up, leaped to his feet, and rushed to Joshua's side. He grabbed Joshua's shoulders, his face glowing with relief.
"You're awake! I thought you'd never wake up!" he shouted with a wide smile, half-laughing, half-crying.
Joshua blinked, confused. "What do you mean? I only slept for one day."
Lancelot let go and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. "You've been in a coma, Joshua. Three days. Everyone thought… they thought we'd lost you."
Joshua's heart dropped. "Three days… How is everyone else?"
Lancelot leaned back, arms supporting his weight. "Shaken, of course. But they've started moving on. The King, Queen, my father, your grandma, Tiffany, and Jonathan, they just returned from the marriage arrangement meeting with my cousin. They were furious when they heard what happened."
Joshua nodded, thoughtful. "I'm glad they're alright. What about the marriage arrangements?"
"They pushed the wedding to three months from now instead of one. Gives me some breathing room."
Joshua gave a small smile. "That's good. More time. And… how are things with Merlin?"
Lancelot exhaled through his nose. "We're… on speaking terms now, at least. But I can't face her. Not after what happened."
Joshua grinned faintly. "Why? Because you screamed you loved her while crying?"
Lancelot flushed. "You heard that? I thought you were unconscious…"
Joshua nodded. Lancelot's voice dropped.
"So… you probably also heard me screaming for someone to save her."
He stood, pacing the room with clenched fists.
"I was too weak. If you hadn't come, she would've… Merlin would've been raped and killed by those monsters. I couldn't do anything. I don't deserve to face her. Not until I'm strong enough to protect her. To stand up to my father. Then and only then, will I confess how I feel."
Joshua watched him silently, understanding.
"I'm leaving today. I'm going to the mountains," Lancelot continued, nodding toward the bags at the foot of his bed. "To train under my grandfather."
Joshua frowned. "She'll be furious if you leave without saying anything."
"I know," Lancelot admitted. "But I'll ask for her forgiveness when I return."
A silence fell between them before Joshua's expression dimmed. Lancelot noticed.
"What's wrong?"
Joshua hesitated, then spoke. "I've been thinking about Jack… about what he said. His mother was pregnant when I ran away. That means his sister's only fifteen now."
Lancelot crossed his arms. "He could be lying."
"No," Joshua said firmly. "Jack wouldn't lie about something like that. If he says my uncle is doing those things to his sister… then it's true. I can't even imagine the pain he's going through. Powerless. Waiting for someone to help. I made him a promise, Lancelot, when we were kids. That I'd save him if he ever needed it."
Lancelot looked him in the eye. "You don't go back on your promises. So… you're going to save him?"
Joshua nodded. "Yeah. He always saved me when we were little."
Lancelot smirked. "Then train and get stronger. When I return from the mountains, we'll go save Jack and his sister. Together."
Joshua smiled, genuine, bright.
Without another word, Lancelot slung his bags over his shoulder and left.
It took Jack three long days to walk the desert path that linked the human and werewolf kingdoms. He was too injured to take the more direct but dangerous route. His body was battered, every step sent jolts of pain up his spine. When he finally stumbled through the gates of the noble house, blood trickled from his arms and legs, his clothes torn and filthy.
He collapsed into the dining room, where three people stood: his little sister Sam, a noble witch with flowing black hair and golden eyes named Catherine, and King Siegfried, the white-haired, blue-eyed pureblood werewolf who ruled with cruelty and immortality.
"Jack! Are you okay?" Sam cried, rushing forward.
"I'm… I'm okay, sister," Jack muttered. Blood ran down his face, dripping onto the floor.
Siegfried's boots clicked against the stone as he approached.
"Weakling. You're bleeding all over my floor," he snarled and then slapped Jack so hard he crashed to the ground.
Still on the floor, Jack whispered, "Your nephew… he's semi-awakened. His eyes were glowing green…"
Siegfried paused mid-step, thoughtful. (That sounds troublesome. But I'm immortal. That trash is no threat to me.) He waved a hand. "Catherine, heal him."
Catherine ran to Jack, concern darkening her expression.
Siegfried turned to Sam. His voice dropped into something cold and vile. "I'm feeling horny. Come here, whore."
He grabbed Sam by her hair.
"No... please!" she cried, eyes locked with Jack's in silent terror.
Jack couldn't move. He couldn't stop it. He began to sob.
Catherine's golden eyes filled with sadness. She knelt beside Jack, cradling his head gently. One hand stroked his hair while the other began to glow softly, pouring healing magic into his broken body.
Jack lay there in silence, curled into a ball, Sam's screams echoing down the hall.
Meanwhile, back in the human kingdom, Joshua walked slowly through the halls, now fully awake and steady. He stepped outside into the sunlit garden and spotted Blanchette, radiant as ever, sitting alone on a stone bench.
She turned at the sound of his steps, her eyes lighting up. "Joshua!"
She ran toward him and leapt into his arms, knocking both of them to the grass. She clung to him, tears already forming.
Later, they sat side by side on the bench.
"My future husband," Blanchette teased, poking his side, referring to the words he had blurted out during the chaos.
Joshua's cheeks turned red. "Don't bring that up…"
They laughed and talked until the sun began to set.
As evening fell, Joshua kissed her gently on the cheek before heading inside.
In the hallway, he found Merlin, Tiffany, and Grandma chatting.
"Joshua!" Merlin and Grandma cried in unison, rushing to hug him.
"I thought you'd never wake up," Grandma said, weeping.
"I was so worried, dummy," Merlin added, holding him tight.
After they calmed down, Joshua asked, "Grandma… when I was unconscious, I felt like I almost awakened. How is that possible?"
Grandma's expression shifted. "So… you're the same as Merlin."
"The same?" Merlin asked.
"You know how every race can awaken but only during childhood? If they miss that window, it's gone forever," Grandma explained. "But there are exceptions. Rare ones. They're called Mutated Awakened. One in a million. Their traits are unique, hair, eyes, abilities. And unlike others, they can control their awakening at will."
Tiffany murmured, "That's why Merlin has purple hair. I've never seen a witch with that color before."
"And that's why Joshua's eyes turned green when he fought," Merlin realized. "Alpha werewolves usually have blue…"
Joshua frowned. "But Merlin's still super weak. Are you sure she's a Mutated Awakened?"
Merlin smacked his head.
"Ouch!"
"I am weak," she pouted. "I've got purple hair and nothing else. Do you have purple hair too, Grandma?"
"I do. It runs in our bloodline. Your mother had green glowing eyes too," Grandma added.
Joshua's gaze fell. "I remember…"
Grandma's voice turned grave. "The reason you never awakened is because your gift is… dangerous. I'll tell you when you're ready."
Merlin crossed her arms. "So I've got a useless power I can't even use."
Joshua laughed, earning another smack.
"Stop hitting me, old hag!" he shouted as he darted away.
"What did you just call me!?" Merlin shrieked, chasing after him.
He barely lost her an hour later.
"Merlin is relentless," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow before collapsing onto his bed.
"It's quiet without Lancelot," he said softly. Then he closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.
Far away, beneath the cold glow of moonlight, Lancelot continued to scale the jagged cliffs of the mountain range.
"I thought it was closer… I've been climbing for hours," he grunted, every muscle burning. "Grandpa isn't called Alexander the Great for no reason…"
But he kept climbing. Driven by purpose.
By love. By guilt. By the promise of power.
And the will to protect the one who mattered most.