The room was quiet save for the faint hiss of parchment being unrolled.
Aurean stood still as Rythe set the scroll on the table between them. Wax seal unbroken. The insignia on the crest wasn't the imperial dragon—but Rythe's personal sigil, the crowned wolf.
Aurean's eyes narrowed. "What is this?"
Rythe didn't look at him at first. He stared at the paper, then slowly slid it toward Aurean.
"Your freedom," he said.
Silence fell hard between them.
Aurean didn't move. His fingers twitched, but he didn't reach for the scroll.
"I spoke to the Emperor," Rythe said, voice steady but low. "You're no longer under restriction. No collar. No oath. You're free to walk the palace or leave it. As you wish."
Aurean's throat worked, but no sound came.
Rythe stepped closer, pulling another folded sheet from his cloak—thicker parchment, older ink.
"And this," he continued, "is the deed to your grandparents' estate. House Veldar's holdings have been divided. Your father and brothers can keep the rest—the silver mines, the lands they never walked—but this estate, the one your grandparents raised you in, now belongs solely to you."
Aurean blinked, staring.
Rythe's voice softened. "It was held in trust. Hidden in the old imperial registers. I claimed it on your behalf. No one can contest it now."
His hand dropped the second document beside the first.
"You won't have the title of Veldar anymore," he added, quieter now. "But that home—it's yours. Every stone. Every tree."
Aurean finally stepped forward, hands trembling as he touched the papers.
It felt unreal. Like touching a dream he'd long buried.
Still, he didn't speak.
"I'm sending you to Virelia," Rythe said.
Aurean's head shot up.
"Not as a servant. Not as a political pawn. You'll go as my emissary. Not the Emperor's. Mine. You'll carry my seal and speak on behalf of the Empire, but answer only to me."
Aurean looked confused, almost wary. "Why me?"
Rythe's gaze searched his.
"Because I know how tired you are," he said gently. "Because I see the way you've been holding yourself together with threads. And because Virelia… Virelia does not care what you were born as. Omega, beta, alpha—they don't use those terms like we do. Their people are judged by what they do, not what scent clings to their skin."
Aurean's eyes glistened.
"I want you to go," Rythe continued. "To heal. To rest. To find something beyond these walls. Beyond this war and this court and this pain."
He stepped back slightly, giving space.
"You'll carry my seal. But what you find there… that belongs to you."
Aurean looked down at the documents in his hands, as though afraid they would vanish.
When he finally spoke, it was a whisper. "Why are you doing this?"
Rythe didn't answer right away.
Then he said, "Because someone should have saved you sooner. And I was the last one who could."
A long silence settled between them, thick and full of things unsaid.
Aurean bowed his head—not in servitude, but in quiet, stunned gratitude.
Rythe didn't stop him this time.
Aurean's fingers clenched around the papers.
He rose slowly from the bow, the movement stiff, like a man shaking off years of weight.
His eyes met Rythe's—steady, burning, and vulnerable in a way Rythe had never seen before.
"I was raised less than a slave," Aurean said, voice trembling. "In my father's house… I was not a son. I was not even a mistake. I was an offense—a defect in their perfect line of alphas."
Rythe remained silent, his jaw tight.
"They hated me," Aurean went on, as if the words had been caged behind his teeth for years. "My mother would flinch when I walked into a room. My brothers sneered. My father spoke of me as a burden—not even worth the air I took."
He looked down briefly at the deed in his hand. "The only love I've ever known came from my grandparents. And even they…" His throat caught. "They didn't live long enough to see me grow. To protect me. They were gone before I was old enough to understand that what I was feeling wasn't weakness."
He lifted his gaze again.
"All I have ever known is pain," Aurean said. "Pain and death and silence. A future carved out for me in blood and obedience. A pawn. That was what I was born to be. A tool for my father to trade. To use."
His voice didn't rise. It didn't crack.
It bled.
"And yet," he whispered, "I still obeyed. I still loved them. I still tried. I wore their shame like armor and their scorn like skin—and when I failed them once, just once, they cast me out like something rotten."
A pause. A breath.
"No one begged for my life," he said softly. "Not my father. Not my brothers. Not a single soul from my house."
Rythe's knuckles were white at his sides.
"And so," Aurean finished, eyes shining now—not with tears, but with something older. Wearier. "Whatever life I build now… whatever place I find in Virelia or beyond… it will not be for them. It will not be for a name that spat me out."
He glanced down at the seal. At Rythe's crest.
"It will be for me."
The silence between them was no longer cold—it pulsed with the heat of something unspoken.
And Rythe, the wolf-prince, had no words. Only the sharp ache in his chest. Only the truth shining from the man before him
The room had gone silent after Aurean's voice faded. The weight of his pain lingered like incense, heavy and sacred.
Rythe stood there, motionless for a long while.
Then, as if each step cost him something vital, he walked forward.
"Aurean."
Aurean didn't turn.
"I need to say this before I lose the nerve."
His voice was quieter than it had ever been. Not commanding. Not cold.
Human.
"I fell for you in pieces. When you never begged. When you bled without complaint. When you refused to break, even when you were shackled and alone. When I realized the hounds trusted you more than they trusted me."
He stepped closer but didn't touch him.
"And then… that night. The child. I didn't just fail you. I failed him. I failed her. I don't even know. And that is my burden to carry for the rest of my life."
Aurean closed his eyes tightly, but the tears still came.
"I don't expect your love. I don't deserve it. I don't expect your forgiveness, and I will never earn it. I am not a good man, Aurean. I'm just a soldier—trained in war, fluent in pain. I was never taught how to love without hurting."
"Your estate—your grandparents' home and the lands surrounding it. It's yours. I made sure of it. House Veldar can keep their titles and poison. But that land is yours. What they tried to erase—you—they failed."
On top the table, he placed a heavy leather pouch.
"For the journey. Gold. Enough for a new life if you choose it."
And then, one final thing—his words, soft and final:
"I've arranged your departure. First light. You will go to Virelia—an emissary, yes, but also… free. Virelia doesn't care for caste or blood or scent. You may finally live a life that belongs to you."
He took one final step back, as if physically cutting the last thread.
"I've assigned Varnak and Mael to go with you. They will protect you… because they love you, too. And I trust them more than I trust any human in this empire."
Aurean opened his mouth to speak—but Rythe raised a hand.
"Don't," he whispered. "Don't say anything."
There was no pride left in his voice. Only rawness.
"I'm not strong enough to hear your answer and still let you go."
"But wherever you go, Aurean… survive. Live. Heal. And if the gods are kind… forget me."
Aurean's lips trembled, but no sound came.
Rythe gave him a final look, his eyes more open, more shattered than they had ever been—and then, without waiting, without another word, he turned…
…and left.
The door closed behind him with the softest thud.
And Aurean stood there, surrounded by silence, flame, and everything he'd never expected to be given.