Chapter 393: Episode 391: Comforting himself.

The doors of the western room were entirely, completely sealed.

Not a single sound escaped the thick stone framework. The toxic-green ward had dissipated, but Syris had seamlessly replaced it with a heavy, sound-dampening spell the absolute second the deadbolt had clicked into place.

Outside in the hallway, Torian paced back and forth, his boots making a rhythmic, agitated thud, thud, thud against the floorboards.

His arms were crossed tightly over his broad chest, his jaw clenched so hard his fangs ached, and his blue eyes were completely fixed on the impenetrable doors. He knew it was biology.

He knew the Snake King was starving. But the sheer, audacious visual of his Matriarch being violently snatched into the darkness by a giant serpentine tail was completely short-circuiting his possessive instincts.

From down the hall, the quiet, heavy footsteps of the Dragon King approached.

Zarek was walking back from the master bedroom, carrying a thick, warded blanket he had retrieved for Fedor’s bassinet. He paused at the intersection of the corridors, his golden eyes casually sweeping over the massive, frantically pacing Tiger.

“Don’t you get tired?” Zarek rumbled, his deep voice laced with a completely flat, entirely unbothered amusement.

Torian violently halted his pacing. He spun around, his blue eyes flashing with righteous indignation. He threw his massive hands into the air, opening his mouth to unleash a fully formulated, highly passionate rant about the absolute lack of Warlord etiquette Syris had just displayed.

“Listen here, you overgrown lizard, the sheer disrespect of that swamp-dwelling—”

But Zarek didn’t even break his stride.

Before Torian could get past the first sentence of his rant, the Dragon King simply turned his head back to the path ahead and continued walking right down the stairs. He completely ignored the Tiger Alpha, entirely unfazed by the dramatic abduction, knowing full well Roxy was perfectly safe and enthusiastically willing.

Torian stood completely frozen in the center of the hallway, his mouth hanging open in sheer, dumbfounded disbelief. He blinked twice at the empty space where Zarek had just been, his tongue entirely tied.

“Unbelievable,” Torian muttered to himself, throwing his hands down in defeat.

Unable to stand the suffocating silence of the corridor any longer, Torian stomped his way down the grand staircase, his heavy boots echoing his absolute frustration. He marched directly into the roaring warmth of the central living room, desperately seeking a more sympathetic audience.

What he found instead waKaelen was kneeling on the thick fur rug in front of the hearth, surrounded by several open wooden trunks. The King of the North, usually a stoic master of war and tactical precision, looked entirely out of his depth. He was s currently holding up a beautiful, silver-threaded winter dress, intensely analyzing its dimensions.

Standing in front of Kaelen, patiently waiting to be clothed, was Tanith.

The hibernation metamorphosis had been absolutely staggering. The lethargic, wobbly toddler that Syris had carried into the dark chamber months ago was completely gone. In her place stood a breathtaking, vibrant pre-teen who looked to be around ten years old. Her dark hair fell in sleek, straight waves down her back, and her pale skin possessed a faint, almost imperceptible iridescent shimmer in the firelight. She was tall, poised, and radiated the quiet, ancient magic of the deep swamps.

Torian stomped over to the nearest velvet armchair and threw his massive frame into it with a heavy, dramatic sigh.

“Did I do anything wrong?” Torian grumbled, resting his chin heavily on his massive fist as he glared at the crackling fire.

Kaelen didn’t even look up from the silver dress. He simply let out a long, long-suffering sigh that carried the weight of a thousand Vanguard headaches.

“The last time I remember Syris going into a deep hibernation, you paced outside his door for three straight days after he took Roxy into his room,” Kaelen stated smoothly, his icy blue eyes critically assessing the hemline of the dress. “You always conveniently forget that it is his heat period, Torian. He has literally starved his core for months. He desperately needs Roxy to stabilize his biology.”

“I don’t forget!” Torian argued defensively, crossing his thick arms and jutting out his lower lip in a massive, deeply offended pout. “But Roxy didn’t treat me this way during our own mating season! She didn’t let me just drag her into the shadows in front of the entire pack!”

Kaelen finally looked up. The Northern King leveled a completely flat, entirely unimpressed glare at the Tiger Alpha, before rolling his icy blue eyes so hard it was a miracle he didn’t strain a muscle.

“You practically tore the roof off the Manor during your mating season, Torian,” Kaelen reminded him dryly. “Do not attempt to rewrite history to suit your jealousy.”

Before Torian could formulate a defense for his past feral behavior, a soft, melodic voice broke the tension.

“Don’t worry, Papa Rian,” Tanith chimed in.

Torian blinked, looking over at the ten-year-old girl. Her voice was no longer the babbled, broken syllables of a toddler. It was incredibly clear, fluent, and carried a sweet, resonant depth that perfectly mirrored her father’s elegant cadence. She offered Torian a bright, deeply comforting smile.

“Mama still loves you,” Tanith assured him, her golden-green eyes shining with absolute sincerity.

Torian’s massive, jealous pout instantly melted. The fierce, protective father entirely overrode the Warlord. He leaned forward in the armchair, reaching out a massive, calloused hand to gently pat his daughter’s dark hair.

“Look at you,” Torian rumbled, a huge, incredibly proud smile breaking across his rugged face as he completely ignored Kaelen’s lecture. He gently teased a lock of her hair. “You went to sleep as a tiny little pebble, and you woke up as a whole mountain! You are so much taller, little serpent. And your words are so fluent!”

Tanith beamed, her cheeks flushing slightly at the praise. She spun around gracefully, showing off the silver dress that Kaelen had finally managed to properly adjust over her shoulders. “I learned a lot in the dark. My mind grew just as fast as my scales.”

“You are beautiful, Tan Tan,” Torian praised, his chest swelling with pack pride. He leaned back slightly. “Have you gone to play with your younger brother yet?”

Tanith’s eyes lit up with pure, unadulterated excitement. She clasped her hands together in front of her chest.

“Oh, yes! I peeked into the bassinet!” Tanith gushed, bouncing slightly on the heels of her bare feet. “Little Fedor is so cute! He has the prettiest red hair. I am going to go play with him and Iris in the playroom the absolute second Papa Kae is done with my sashes!”

Torian smiled at her enthusiasm, but as he glanced back up toward the ceiling, directly beneath the western corridor, his Alpha possessiveness flared up once more. He couldn’t help himself.

“Well, you should go enjoy your siblings,” Torian muttered, pressing his lips into a tight, thin line as he dramatically gestured a massive thumb toward the ceiling. “Aren’t you worried that your father is going to stay for days with Mama locked in that room?”

Kaelen didn’t even hesitate. The King of the North reached out and swiftly, violently backhanded Torian directly against the kneecap.

“Ow!” Torian yelped, flinching backward and rubbing his knee, glaring indignantly at the Wolf Alpha. “What was that for?!”

“Do not project your ridiculous separation anxiety onto the child,” Kaelen hissed sharply.

But Tanith didn’t look worried at all. The young snake-shifter simply shook her head, her long dark hair swaying gently. A profound, deeply emotional maturity settled over her ten-year-old features, completely sobering the two Warlords.

“I am not worried, Papa Rian,” Tanith said quietly, her golden-green eyes turning intensely serious. She looked up at the ceiling. “Papa was having nightmares during his hibernation.”

Torian completely stopped rubbing his knee. Kaelen froze, the silver sash he was holding slipping slightly from his fingers.

The idea of Syris suffering from nightmares was a deeply unsettling concept.

“He was calling out Mama’s name in his sleep,” Tanith revealed, her voice dropping into a soft, sorrowful whisper that echoed loudly in the quiet parlor. “Over and over again in the dark. I could feel his core trembling. Papa misses Mama a lot.”

Tanith looked back at Torian, offering a small, reassuring smile that carried the ancient, profound wisdom of her bloodline.

“They are both safe in each other’s arms now.”

Torian pressed his lips into a tight, thin line, but this time, there was absolutely no jealousy in the gesture. A heavy, dark frown of deep empathy settled over his rugged features. The crushing weight of the Trickster’s death and the Architect’s apocalyptic threats had clearly penetrated the impenetrable obsidian doors, haunting Syris even in his deepest, most primal slumber.

Both Kaelen and Torian slowly raised their heads, their eyes meeting across the space of the living room. They exchanged a single, incredibly heavy look of shared brotherhood and absolute understanding.

The Vanguard pack carried the weight of the universe together. If Syris needed a few days to bury himself in their Matriarch to banish the nightmares, none of them would ever begrudge him the time again.

Kaelen cleared his throat, pushing the heavy emotional gravity aside for the sake of the newly awakened child. He finished tying the silver sash around Tanith’s waist and gave her shoulder a gentle, encouraging squeeze.

“There. You look perfect,” Kaelen said softly, forcing a warm smile onto his stoic face. “Go on, Tan Tan. Go play with your sister and your new brother.”

“Thank you, Papa Kae!” Tanith beamed. With a final, graceful wave to Torian, the young snake-shifter turned and rushed out of the living room, her bare feet making almost no sound as she bolted toward the eastern playroom.

The absolute second her presence faded from the hall, the two towering Warlords completely deflated.

Kaelen let out a massive, exhausted groan, entirely dropping his immaculate Northern posture. He slumped backward, collapsing heavily onto the plush velvet sofa. Torian mirrored his movement, sinking deeper into his armchair, scrubbing his large hands over his face.

For a long minute, the only sound was the crackling of the massive stone hearth.

Kaelen was the first to break the heavy silence. He tilted his head back, staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling.

“Rice wine?” Kaelen asked, his voice entirely deadpan.

Torian let out a deep, rumbling laugh that vibrated through the floorboards. He dropped his hands, looking over at his brother. “We are Vanguard Warlords on active perimeter duty, Kaelen. We can’t afford to get drunk while the Demon King is watching.”

Kaelen only smiled, a faint, rare, and entirely wicked curve of his lips. He slowly started getting up from the sofa, brushing a stray piece of lint from his dark trousers.

“Caspian and Zarek can handle the perimeter for one night,” Kaelen countered smoothly, already turning his body toward the direction of the Manor’s expansive, heavily stocked cellar.

Torian watched the usually strict, rule-abiding King of the North casually abandon his post for a drink. A massive, brilliant grin broke across the Tiger Alpha’s face.

Torian replied. “Then count me in.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep