Chapter 172: The Unfolding Truth LII

Third Person POV

"Azura," the old matron repeated, carefully dipping her quill into black ink and writing the letters down in her heavy leather ledger.

"And what shall we record for her family name, my lady?"

Genevieve hesitated for a long moment.

She looked at the baby’s unique hair once more.

She knew that a child with these specific markings would draw far too much attention from the surrounding kingdoms if a royal name were attached to her.

"Moryn," Genevieve said quietly, her voice firm.

"Record her as Azura Moryn."

The old woman nodded and wrote it down without another word.

"She is to be taken care of with the absolute highest standard of care," Genevieve ordered, her voice turning sharp and commanding, radiating her Luna aura.

"Properly fed, properly clothed, and properly loved. If anything at all happens to her... if I find out she is being mistreated, neglected, or harmed in any way by anyone in this village..."

She let the heavy threat hang in the freezing air of the room.

The old matron swallowed hard, fully understanding the absolute power of the woman standing before her.

"Of course, my lady," the old woman said, bowing her head deeply."She will be perfectly safe and protected under our roof. I swear it to you."

Genevieve nodded her head, satisfied.

She took a deep breath, turned her body away from the table, and prepared to walk back out into the cold night.

Suddenly, the baby let out a sharp cry. It wasn’t a loud, piercing scream like before.

It wasn’t the desperate, agonizing wailing she had heard echoing through the riverbank.

It was a much smaller, quieter sound, the soft, pathetic cry of a lonely soul who had finally found a warm, safe place to rest and was now watching that safety walk straight away from her.

Genevieve froze dead in her tracks.

She slowly turned her body back around to look at the table.

The tiny baby’s arms were reaching out into the empty air toward her position, her little fingers opening and closing rapidly.

Her face was beginning to crumple up into tears once again.

"Oh, my sweet little one," Genevieve whispered, her heart breaking.

She walked straight back across the wooden floorboards, picked the baby up, and held her tight against her chest.

The small child immediately grabbed a handful of her heavy cloak with her tiny fist, clutching the fabric as if her life depended on it.

"I promise you I will come back to see you," Genevieve whispered into her soft hair, kissing her tiny forehead.

"I promise."

But the baby only held on tighter, her little fingers tangling in the wool.

Genevieve closed her eyes, a heavy weight pressing down on her mind.

She knew she could do it. She possessed the magic. She could easily cast a small sleep spell over the child, just a tiny, gentle spark of energy to make the infant drift off into a deep slumber, making the harsh separation easier on both of them.

But as she looked into those grey eyes, she chose not to use her power.

She wanted the child to remember her warmth without magic.

She turned her eyes to the old woman.

"Take her from me."

The old matron stepped forward and carefully lifted the crying baby out of her arms.

Azura immediately began to wail louder, her small body straining forward, trying her best to reach back toward Genevieve’s warmth.

"I will return for you," Genevieve said, her voice cracking with raw emotion.

She turned around and quickly walked straight out of the wooden front door, stepping out into the cold.

Behind her back, the baby’s heartbreaking cries slowly began to fade away as the old woman gently rocked her by the fire, as the other caretakers gathered around with warm milk, and as the heavy wooden door clicked shut, creating a massive distance between them.

Genevieve walked away down the dirt path.

She did not look back a single time. The dirt road ahead of her was completely empty.

Genevieve walked with slow, dragging steps, her leather boots scuffing carelessly against the dirt.

Her mind felt entirely hazy, wrapped in a thick, confusing fog.

She stopped walking and frowned deeply, looking down at her hands.

She honestly could not remember why she had been walking down this specific road today.

She could not remember why she had left her young boys behind at the manor house.

She could not remember...

She blinked, her head throbbing. She slowly turned her body around, looking back toward the tree line.

Standing right there at the edge of the dusty road was a large, stone building.

An old orphanage.

Why exactly was she standing all alone in front of an orphanage?

She stared blankly at the structure.

The glass windows were completely dark, and the front door was firmly shut.

There was absolutely nothing familiar about the place to her mind.

There was no logical reason why she should have been drawn to this random location.

"What on earth am I even doing out here?" Genevieve muttered to herself, rubbing her temples.

She distinctly remembered being with her sons earlier today.

They were supposed to be traveling... somewhere.

Doing something important for the pack.

She couldn’t fully recall the details through the fog in her mind. She shook her head violently, trying to clear the haze.

"I need to find my boys," she whispered to herself. "First, I must find the boys."

She turned her back on the stone building and started walking briskly down the path again.

She finally found them just around a sharp bend in the dirt road.

Three young boys were standing together.

Two older ones were walking beside, while the youngest was in the middle of them.

Her oldest son was Rhydor.

His thick brown hair was grown out to shoulder-length, falling wild across his face, and his facial expression was completely sullen and angry.

His jaw was clenched tight and he was aggressively kicking a large stone across the dirt as he walked.

Beside him, holding his hand tightly, was his three-year-old brother.

The toddler had thick pitch-black hair and large, brown eyes, with heavy tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.

He was crying steadily, not letting out loud screams, but weeping with that constant, pathetic sniffle that children always made when their little feet hurt, when they were exhausted, and when they didn’t understand why they were being forced to walk so far.

Walking right beside them was Silas. His neat black hair was perfectly combed despite the long journey, and his expression was completely calm and patient.

He was carrying a heavy leather bag slung over his right shoulder.

Genevieve rushed toward them, her maternal worry flaring up.

"What happened to you all? Where is the carriage?"

The tiny three-year-old boy immediately let go of Rhydor’s hand the moment he saw her.

He stumbled forward on his chubby legs and ran straight into her skirts, burying his wet face deep into the fabric of her dress.

"Mama!" the little boy sobbed, his toddler voice thick, messy, and broken as he complained.

"Whydor... Whydor sent da... da big cah-widge away! He told da horse man to go all da way home!"

"Now... now my leggies hurt so bad, Mama! It hurts!"

Genevieve’s eyes snapped up, glaring sharply at her oldest son.

"Rhydor. What exactly did you do?"

Rhydor didn’t look up, aggressively kicking the stone into a bush. "I didn’t do anything wrong."

Silas stepped forward from behind his shoulder, looking deeply apologetic as he bowed his head.

"I tried my best to stop him from doing it, Luna Genevieve. I explicitly told him that the walk would be far too long and exhausting for Nick, but he refused to listen to me. He said he wanted to walk all the way back to the manor in his wolf form."

Genevieve let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose as a headache throbbed behind her eyes.

"Rhydor," Genevieve said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, strict register.

"You only started experiencing your wolf transformations a few weeks ago. And you seriously decided it was a good idea to send our carriage driver home just so you could practice walking in your wolf form?"

"It helps us strengthen our inner wolves, Mother," Rhydor argued, shrugging his shoulders carelessly. "The more frequently we force the shift, the easier the transformation becomes for us. Everyone knows that."

Genevieve stared at him in absolute disbelief. "And you didn’t think about your toddler brother’s well-being for a single second before making that choice?"

Rhydor muttered under his breath, looking away. "He needs to learn how to toughen up anyway."

Hearing his brother’s harsh words, the little boy buried his face deeper into Genevieve’s dress and began to cry significantly louder, his tiny shoulders shaking.

Genevieve immediately knelt down in the dirt, using her gentle fingers to wipe the hot tears away from his chubby cheeks.

"Hush now, my sweet boy. Stop crying. Mama is right here with you. You don’t have to walk anymore."

Rhydor rolled his eyes dramatically, letting out a loud scoff of disgust. "Mother, seriously, if you keep petting him and babying him like that every time he cries, he is going to end up turning into a weak little girl."

Genevieve stood back up to her full height.

She glared down at Rhydor with an intense expression that promised a very serious, very painful conversation later that evening.

"I am going to deal with your behavior the very second we get back inside our home, Rhydor," Genevieve said flatly. "Do not doubt me."

Rhydor’s mouth twisted into a deep frown, but he didn’t dare argue back.

He just kicked another stone across the path, harder this time.

"Lun Genevieve, I am deeply sorry," Silas said quietly, stepping forward again. "I really should have tried much harder to physically restrain him from sending the driver away."

"It is not your fault at all, Silas," Genevieve said, her tone softening as she looked at the patient boy.

"You are definitely not his keeper. But as for Rhydor..."

She cast one final, stern glance at her oldest son.

"He desperately needs to learn that being physically strong does not mean you have a right to be completely careless with the people you love," she said firmly.

Rhydor didn’t offer a single word in response.

He refused to look his mother in the eye, keeping his gaze locked on the dirt.

Genevieve reached down and effortlessly lifted her weeping three-year-old son up into her arms.

The tired little boy immediately wrapped his chubby arms tight around her neck, burying his face deep into her shoulder as his crying subsided into quiet hiccups.

"Come along, boys," Genevieve said to all of them, turning back down the path. "Let us finally go home."

She began to walk down the road, carrying the sleeping toddler.

The two older boys followed silently right behind her footsteps.

Behind their backs, down the long winding road, the old stone orphanage grew smaller and smaller with every step they took, until the building completely disappeared behind the thick curtain of ancient trees.

And somewhere deep inside that dark stone building, a tiny baby girl with midnight-black hair and a little white streak was slowly falling asleep inside the arms of a complete stranger.

She did not know her own name yet. She did not know the horrific fate that had befallen her mother. She only knew the freezing, terrifying truth that she was completely alone in the world.