Chapter 405: Episode 403: Leaving for the Fox Territory.

Kaelen was the first to react.

The King of the North closed his eyes, his broad chest expanding as he took a deep, shuddering breath. When his icy blue eyes snapped open, the absolute terror of the husband clashed violently with the tactical precision of the Alpha.

“No,” Kaelen stated, his voice a low, frigid absolute. “I agreed to respect your boundaries, Roxy. I agreed not to cage you. But traversing the frozen expanse to a dead, trap-ridden kingdom while you are actively draining yourself to nurture a new life? That is a death sentence. I completely reject this plan.”

“Kaelen,” Roxy started, her green eyes flashing with determination.

“He is right, Matriarch,” Torian rumbled, leaning heavily on the mahogany table, his blue eyes pleading. “The roads are treacherous. The winter has barely thawed. If a rogue beast so much as breathes on your carriage, the stress alone could sever the magical tether to the child.”

Roxy’s hands tightened into fists, entirely prepared to fight them tooth and nail. She opened her mouth to argue, but to her absolute shock, the defense didn’t come from her own lips.

“She has to go, Kaelen.”

The entire table turned to look at Syris. The Snake King was sitting back in his chair, his elegant fingers steepled beneath his chin. His vibrant, golden-green eyes were completely devoid of their usual mocking amusement, replaced by the ancient, calculating intelligence of a Warlord who understood the grand, cosmic chessboard.

“Do you think hiding her under a pile of dire-wolf pelts in the master bedroom will stop the Architect?” Syris asked smoothly, his tone laced with a dark, terrifying reality. “Abaddon orchestrated the Trickster’s death from the heavens. He manipulates the very code of this universe. Keeping our Matriarch ignorant of his plan is far more dangerous than the cold weather.”

Zarek pushed off the stone pillar, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards as he stepped up beside Roxy. The Dragon King crossed his massive arms, his golden eyes locking onto Kaelen.

“The serpent is right,” Zarek grunted, his voice a low, gravelly rumble of absolute agreement. “If the Demon King attacks while we are blind, we die. All of us. If that diary holds the key to the system, if it tells us how to fight back against a god, then we march. We cannot protect this new child if the sky is falling.”

Kaelen stared at Zarek, and then at Syris. The Wolf Alpha’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek. He looked down at Roxy, seeing the unyielding, fierce devotion in her eyes. She wasn’t being reckless; she was being a Queen preparing for war.

Kaelen let out a long, ragged exhale, the icy resistance finally shattering under the sheer weight of tactical logic.

“Fine,” Kaelen growled, his voice dropping an entire octave into a lethal, uncompromising Vanguard command. “We go to the Fox Kingdom. But we do it on my terms.”

He leaned over the table, his combat aura flaring to life, plunging the ambient temperature of the hall into a biting frost.

“We are not taking a small stealth team,” Kaelen declared, his blue eyes sweeping over the Alphas. “We are not sneaking through the mountain passes in the dead of night. If we move the Matriarch while she is with child, we do not hide. It will be the most intense, heavily fortified escort ever assembled in the history of this continent. It will be a royal caravan of apex predators. We will make so much noise, and radiate so much power, that we will dare anything in this miserable world to try and attack us.”

Zarek’s lips curved into a dark, bloodthirsty smirk. His hellfire sparked in his palms. “Now you’re speaking my language, Wolf.”

“I will summon the elite aquatic guards from the deeps,” Caspian nodded firmly, his striking eyes hardening with militant resolve. “They will flank the convoy.”

“And I will pull the heaviest Iron-Wood armor from the armory,” Torian boomed, his protective instincts violently pivoting from caging her to entirely fortifying her.

For the next three days, the Iron-Wood Manor transformed into an absolute, frenzied military encampment.

The courtyard echoed with the deafening sounds of blacksmiths hammering runic steel, the heavy snarls of massive dire-wolves being fitted with thick leather pulling harnesses, and the sharp, barked commands of Vanguard generals assembling their elite squadrons. Kaelen’s royal caravan was not an exaggeration; it was a small, unstoppable army.

On the second day of preparations, a massive shadow swept over the courtyards.

With a deafening roar that rattled the frosted windowpanes, a massive teenage drake landed violently in the center of the training grounds, kicking up a massive cloud of snow and dirt. Drax had flown at absolute breakneck speed from the Dragon Peaks the moment Malcor had received Kaelen’s missive.

Drax shifted into his human form before his boots even hit the ground, marching directly into the Manor covered in volcanic soot.

“I hear there is a new baby and a war,” Drax announced, bursting into the central parlor where Roxy was carefully packing her saddlebags.

Behind Drax, acting as a highly coordinated, unified front, were Axel, Onyx, Iris, and Tanith. The pre-teens were fully dressed in thick winter traveling leathers, each of them armed with small, perfectly balanced hunting daggers and a terrifying abundance of adolescent determination.

“We are coming with you,” Drax stated, crossing his arms over his broad, soot-stained chest.

Roxy paused, looking at her five oldest children. “Drax, sweetie, the journey is going to be grueling. And the Fox Kingdom is…” Her voice faltered slightly, the phantom ache of Ren’s territory catching in her throat.

“Exactly,” Onyx interrupted, stepping forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the teenage dragon. “It’s going to be dangerous. Which means you need all of your Warlords. Even the ones in training.”

“I can use my illusions to hide the carriages if we get ambushed,” Iris offered fiercely, her violet eyes blazing.

“And I can bite people,” Tanith added cheerfully, her iridescent snake scales briefly shimmering along her cheekbones.

Roxy looked at the absolute, unyielding devotion in their faces and felt a massive wave of tears threaten to spill. She looked over at Torian and Zarek, fully expecting the overly protective Alphas to immediately forbid the children from entering a combat zone.

But Zarek simply grunted, his golden eyes filled with profound pride. “A Vanguard pup learns to hunt by following the pack. If the Demon King strikes, they are safer surrounded by four Kings and an army than they are left behind.”

Roxy smiled, her heart swelling until it ached. “Alright. Go pack your furs. You ride in the second carriage.”

On the morning of the third day, the departure was a breathtaking, terrifying spectacle.

The Matriarch’s carriage was a literal rolling fortress. It was constructed from pure, enchanted Iron-Wood, reinforced with heavy sheets of runic steel that Syris had personally warded with thick, toxic-green magical barriers. The interior was lined with half a foot of plush, white dire-wolf pelts, enchanted by Caspian to remain perfectly, blissfully warm regardless of the freezing temperature outside.

Roxy stood at the heavy iron gates of the Manor, wearing a thick, crimson winter cloak, holding a sleeping Little Fedor securely against her chest.

Torian, shifted into his colossal White Tiger form, stood at the absolute vanguard of the caravan, his massive fangs bared at the tree line. Zarek was currently circling high above in the sky, his massive black dragon silhouette casting a protective shadow over the convoy. Syris and Caspian rode on heavily armored war-horses, flanked by two hundred elite Northern, Swamp, and Aquatic soldiers.

Kaelen stepped up beside Roxy. The King of the North was dressed in his heaviest, most terrifying battle armor, a massive broadsword strapped to his back. His icy blue eyes swept over the tree line with absolute, lethal paranoia.

“It is time, Matriarch,” Kaelen murmured softly, his large, gloved hands gently gripping her waist to effortlessly lift her into the luxurious, warded carriage.

Roxy settled into the plush furs, nestling Fedor into her lap. “We will be fine, Kaelen. We have an entire army.”

“I will not rest until those vault doors are closed behind us,” Kaelen replied grimly, shutting the heavy reinforced door of the carriage.

As Kaelen mounted his own massive black war-steed at the head of the royal caravan, he raised his arm. The heavy iron gates of the Iron-Wood Manor violently groaned open, revealing the long, winding, treacherous mountain road that led down into the neutral territories.

“Move out!” Kaelen roared, his voice echoing across the peaks.

The colossal dire-wolves surged forward. The heavy wheels of the carriages began to turn, grinding against the frosted stone. The Vanguard armada officially began its march toward the dead kingdom.

But just as the Matriarch’s carriage crossed the physical threshold of the gates, the bright, freezing morning light abruptly, violently vanished.

Roxy gasped, looking out the reinforced window of the carriage.

High above the mountains, a massive, unnatural shadow completely swallowed the sun. It wasn’t a cloud. It was a suffocating, pitch-black eclipse that bled across the sky like spilled ink, carrying a deep, terrifying, and distinctly demonic cosmic resonance that chilled the very marrow of her bones.

Abaddon knew she was leaving the safety of her territory. The Architect was watching.

Riding at the front of the convoy, Kaelen violently pulled the reins of his war-steed, his mount rearing up as the unnatural darkness washed over them. The Wolf King looked up at the suffocating, eclipsed sky, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm of absolute, agonizing dread against his ribs. The cosmic war had officially begun.

Kaelen couldn’t help but worry, his grip tightening on the hilt of his broadsword as he whispered into the freezing, shadowed wind, “And may the gods who are always with you protect you.”

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