Chapter 133: Who’s Eiravelle’s Alpha Parent?

Arielle took the flying carriage to get back to the Arthion manor immediately. The iron vehicle soared through the winter sky, its enchanted wheels spinning silently above the clouds, and Arielle sat rigid in her seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her mind racing faster than the carriage could fly.

The sky outside was grey and heavy, the clouds thick with the promise of snow, and the wind buffeted the carriage, making it sway slightly in the air. Arielle did not notice any of it. She did not notice the cold that seeped through the windows, did not notice the way the enchanted wheels hummed beneath her, did not notice the distant mountains that rose and fell on the horizon like the backs of sleeping giants.

She was lost in her thoughts, her mind churning with questions and doubts and a growing, terrible certainty that she could not shake.

She stepped out of the iron vehicle the moment it touched down on the gravel path, and she didn’t even look back as it flew away, its dark silhouette disappearing into the grey afternoon sky. She walked with urgency, her boots are crunching against the frost-covered ground, and servants bowed as a greeting to her, but she didn’t even glance at them.

She continued walking toward the door until she got inside, her cloak was billowing behind her, and her expression set in lines of grim determination. The cold air followed her through the door, a sharp gust that made the servants shiver, but Arielle did not feel it. She felt only the fire of her own thoughts, burning through her mind like a wildfire that could not be contained.

Some servants murmured when they saw her serious face, their voices low and worried, but some just continued with their chores. They had learned, over the months, to read the moods of the Arthion family, and Arielle’s mood was one that demanded silence and obedience.

The foyer was warm, the fire in the hearth crackling softly, but Arielle did not stop to warm herself. She did not even remove her cloak. She simply walked through the corridors, her footsteps echoing against the polished wood, until she reached the sitting room.

The door was open, and the light from within spilled out into the corridor, warm and golden. Arielle paused for just a moment, her hand on the doorframe, and then she stepped inside.

Arielle entered and only found her mother, Elaria, sitting alone on the sofa while healing a wounded fawn. The fawn was small and trembling, its leg wrapped in a makeshift splint, and Elaria’s hands were glowing with a soft, green light as she worked her magic.

The light pulsed gently, like a heartbeat, and the fawn’s trembling slowly subsided, its eyes closing as the pain faded. Arisia was playing with her powers to make some things in the house float, her brow furrowed with concentration as she levitated a candlestick and a small vase.

The candlestick wobbled in the air, its flame flickering dangerously, and the vase spun slowly, its delicate porcelain catching the light. Ariphale was silently reading a book far from Elaria on the sofa, her eyes were fixed on the pages, while her expression was unreadable. The room was peaceful, quiet, the kind of domestic scene that spoke of comfort and safety and the simple pleasures of family life.

"Mother, we need to talk," Arielle suddenly dropped, and her voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet of the room like a blade. The peace shattered. Elaria slowly looked up with a smile as she pet the healed fawn in her lap, her fingers gentle against the soft fur. The smile was warm, unaware, the smile of a mother who had not yet realized that her world was about to be turned upside down.

"Yes?" She asked softly, and her voice was calm, unaware of the storm that was about to break.

"It’s about Eiravelle," Arielle dropped, and everyone became more silent, more deafening. The candlestick and vase dropped to the floor with a clatter, the candlestick rolling under a chair and the vase shattering into a dozen pieces. Arisia gasped, her powers flickering out, and she stared at Arielle with wide eyes.

Ariphale looked up from her book, her eyes narrowing, her fingers frozen on the page. Elaria sighed and gently put the fawn beside her on the sofa and stood up, her movements slow and deliberate.

The fawn looked up at her, its dark eyes confused, but Elaria did not notice. She was looking at Arielle, and there was something in her expression—a flicker of fear, of guilt, of a secret that had been kept for too long.

"What do you want again? If we’re going to fight about Eiravelle again, I have no energy to do so," she said, and her voice was tired, resigned. She had been through this before, had fought with Arielle about Eiravelle more times than she could count, and she was tired of it.

She was tired of the guilt, tired of the arguments, tired of the constant reminder of her failures as a mother. She had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that the subject was closed, that Arielle had finally accepted the way things were, that they could move on and be a family again.

Arielle shook her head, her expression unreadable. "No... It’s about whether she is really my father’s child or not," she said, and Elaria gasped, her hand flying to her chest. The words hung in the air like a stone dropped into still water, and the silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

Arisia’s mouth fell open, and Ariphale’s book slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a soft thud. The fawn, startled by the sudden tension, scrambled off the sofa and fled to a corner of the room, its hooves clicking against the wooden floor.

"Why are you bringing this up again?! Me and your father just reunited. I won’t have you ruining that peace!" Elaria said, and her voice was sharp, desperate. She turned around, her back to Arielle, as though she could hide from the question, as though she could pretend it had never been asked. Her hands were trembling, and she clasped them together in front of her, trying to still them, trying to compose herself.

"You never once confirmed who’s Eiravelle’s alpha parent?! Mother, tell me the truth," Arielle said, and her voice was insistent, unyielding. She took a step forward, her hands clenched at her sides, and Arisia and Ariphale held their breath, their eyes fixed on their mother, waiting for her to speak.

The room was so quiet that they could hear the fire crackling in the hearth, could hear the wind rattling the windows, could hear the rapid beat of their own hearts.

Elaria sighed, and her shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of her. She averted her gaze, her eyes fixed on some point in the distance, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

"She was a female alpha from the tavern. It was a moment of weak emotions after me and your father fought." She explained, and the words came out slowly, reluctantly, as though she were pulling teeth. She did not look at Arielle. She did not look at anyone. She simply stood there, her back to her daughter, while her voice was barely audible.

Arielle took a step forward, her eyes narrowing. "What is she?" She pressed, and her voice was sharp and demanding. She was not going to let her mother escape this time. She was not going to let her hide behind half-truths and vague explanations. She needed to know. She needed to understand.

Elaria shot a glare at her, her eyes flashing with anger and pain. "Still not enough?! You’re digging up the past!" She yelled, and her voice cracked, the tears she had been holding back finally spilling over. They streamed down her cheeks, hot and bitter, and she wiped at them with the back of her hand, but more came, and more, and she could not stop them.

"I have to know!" Arielle yelled back, and her voice was just as loud, just as desperate. She was not doing this to hurt her mother. She was doing this because she needed to understand. She needed to know the truth. She needed to know why Eiravelle had suffered, why she had been cast aside, why she had been treated like she was less than nothing.

"For what reason?!" Elaria yelled again, and no one even noticed that Arthion had returned. He had entered the mansion quietly, his boots soft on the marble floor, and he had been walking toward the sitting room when he heard the raised voices.

He froze in the doorway, his hand on the frame, and he listened. His face was pale, his jaw tight, and there was something in his eyes—a flicker of fear, of guilt, of a secret that he had kept for too long.

"Mother, you have to tell me! This made Eiravelle suffer her whole life. What kind of creature was the alpha you’re thinking that got you pregnant?!" Arielle raised her voice, and her words were sharp, cutting, filled with a fury that she had been holding back for years.

She had watched Eiravelle suffer, had watched her be cast aside and humiliated and treated like she was less than nothing. And now, finally, she was beginning to understand why.

"She was just a normal shape-shifting raven! A messenger between the Divine and Demon realm! Okay?! Happy now?!" Elara yelled once more before she teared up, her face crumpling, her body shaking with sobs.

The words echoed through the room, and for a moment, there was only silence. Arisia stood and hugged her mother, her arms wrapping around Elara’s trembling form, and she glared at Arielle over their mother’s shoulder.

"Sister Arielle, what are you doing?! Why do you have to treat mom like this?!" Arisia got mad and comforted her mother, her voice shaking with anger and confusion. But Arielle was thinking of a deeper thought that made her freeze.

Her mind was racing, piecing together the fragments of information, the clues that had been scattered throughout her life like pieces of a puzzle. A shape-shifting raven. A messenger between the Divine and Demon realm. That was not a normal creature. That was not a simple alpha from a tavern. That was something else entirely.

"Sister Arielle, you’re crossing the line," Ariphale chimed in, her voice cold and sharp. She had closed her book, her eyes fixed on Arielle with a mixture of anger and disappointment. But Arielle couldn’t hear them. She was lost in her own thoughts, her mind working through the implications of what she had just learned.

"It’s impossible," she said as she thought about it, her voice barely a whisper. A shape-shifting raven. A messenger between the Divine and Demon realm. That was not a normal creature. That was not a simple alpha from a tavern. Something that should not have been able to produce a child with the Arthion claws. That was something else entirely but whatever it is, it is irrelevant.

The Arthion bloodline was not just a matter of genetics. It was a matter of magic, of destiny, of something that went deeper than blood. The Arthion family had been blessed by the gods, had been given gifts that set them apart from other alphas. And if Qazaevelle had the Arthion claws, then there was more to this than anyone had realized.

"Arielle, what is this all again?" Arthion’s voice shot through the room and he approached Elara, who was crying. He pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her, and he comforted her, his hand moving in slow circles on her back.

"You don’t have to keep disrespecting your mother like this! I don’t know what is happening with you, but that Eiravelle is not a good influence on you from the start!" Arthion spoke, and he was just trying to contain his fury. He had never liked Eiravelle, had never approved of her, and he was not going to let her tear his family apart. His voice was loud, authoritative, the voice of a man who was used to being obeyed.

"No... It doesn’t add up," Arielle said as she thought about it. She looked at her father and mother, her eyes sharp and calculating. "If Eiravelle’s alpha parent is just a normal shape-shifting raven... Then why is Eiravelle’s daughter showing a different species trait?" She murmured to herself as she thought about it, her brow furrowed, her fingers tapping against her thigh.

There was a long silence, a silence that stretched on and on, heavy with meaning and implication. Arthion and Elara looked at her, their faces a mixture of confusion and fear, and Arisia and Ariphale exchanged glances, their earlier anger replaced by a creeping unease. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the wind rattled the windows, and the shadows in the corners of the room seemed to grow darker, deeper.

"Maybe you never got pregnant with that raven, Mother... What if Eiravelle is father’s daughter all along?" Arielle dropped, and the silence became more deafening and heavy.

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, echoing through the room, and no one spoke. No one moved. They simply stood there, frozen, as the implications of Arielle’s words washed over them like a wave.

Elaria’s face went pale, her eyes wide with shock. Arthion’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. Arisia and Ariphale stared at their sister, their mouths open, their minds reeling. And Arielle stood in the center of it all, her expression unreadable, her heart pounding in her chest.

She had not expected to say those words. She had not expected to voice the thought that had been forming in her mind since the moment she had seen the nails on Qazaevelle’s tiny hands.

But now that she had said it, she knew it was true. She knew it with a certainty that went beyond logic, beyond reason, beyond anything she had ever felt before. Eiravelle was not the daughter of a raven. Eiravelle was an Arthion. And that changed everything.