Two days passed since the discovery of the bloodstained locket in the Crown Prince's estate. The journey back to the Beastfolk Kingdom had been quiet, marked by long stretches of silence and the steady crunch of boots on dry earth. Ivan walked with calm, measured steps, his cloak flapping lightly in the wind. Reeva and Kahl, walking beside him, said little, but Ivan could sense their emotions—rage, grief, anticipation.
They were still holding back the storm.
A little past noon, they came across a withered grove, where several young beastfolk—children, no older than ten—huddled beneath a crooked tree. Their fur was matted with dust, their clothes ragged and torn. One child gnawed on a misshapen fruit, his sharp eyes watching the travelers with the weary caution of someone who'd been abandoned too many times.
Kahl stopped in his tracks. "They're from the outer villages," he murmured. "Probably lost their homes in one of the border raids."
Ivan slowed his pace and glanced over. Without saying a word, he pulled a bundle from his satchel—wrapped bread, dried meat, a waterskin—and crouched before the children.
"Eat," he said gently.
The children hesitated. Reeva stepped closer, trying not to look too intimidating. "It's safe. He's... not like the others."
Gradually, one by one, the children accepted the food. Ivan stayed crouched, offering a soft smile, watching as their tiny hands trembled with hunger and relief. He didn't say much. He didn't need to. The image of a human feeding helpless beastfolk children was worth more than words.
Reeva looked at him differently after that. So did Kahl.
They resumed the journey shortly after. That small act of kindness echoed in the hearts of the beastfolk walking beside him—its sincerity never questioned.
By nightfall, they reached the towering wooden gates of the Beastfolk Kingdom. The guards recognized Kahl and Reeva immediately and let them in. Word of their return traveled faster than footsteps. By the time they reached the central hall, members of the Council were already waiting.
The trio was led into a broad meeting room carved from ancient stone and supported by pillars made from enchanted wood that glowed faintly with tribal runes. At the center of the room sat the High Elder, his fur graying and eyes sharp despite his age. Beside him stood the Beast King himself—King Raghur, tall, broad-shouldered, and brimming with fury even in stillness.
As Ivan entered, several members of the council gave him wary stares. He could feel it—the tension. The suspicion. He was human, after all.
The Elder's voice cut through the air like a blade. "What is this? I thought the mission told you—you were to find the princess, not come back empty-handed." The elder is notified who takes on the mission.
Reeva stepped forward but was stopped by Ivan's quiet but firm voice.
"My apologies, Elder," Ivan said with a respectful bow, "but we found something... something that may lead us to the truth. However... you must prepare yourselves. What we found may suggest the worst."
Silence fell.
Reeva and Kahl began to recount what they had seen. The locket. The dried blood. The Crown Prince's bedchamber. The servants' odd behavior. The aura of fear and guilt surrounding the mansion. They told it all.
As their words filled the hall, the King's expression darkened. He clenched his fist until his claws dug into his palm.
"That bastard..." King Raghur muttered. "That Prince... I warned Alexus. He asked for my daughter's hand, and I told him the decision was hers, not mine. And now he—"
The king slammed his palm on the council table. The sound echoed like a thunderclap.
"MEN! PREPARE TO GO TO WAR!" he roared. "Summon the generals. Ready the packs. The Crown Prince dares insult our kingdom, our people—he dares touch my daughter?!"
He turned and stormed from the chamber, throwing his royal coat over his shoulder as his eyes blazed with wrath. The other beastfolk stood with him, their expressions dark, their bodies already tense for battle. The hall erupted into orders and shouting.
Only the Elder remained seated.
He turned to Ivan, now seemingly forgotten amid the storm.
"...Young man," the Elder said, his voice low but firm, "as promised, here are the two magic crystals."
He handed them over, their glow pulsating faintly in Ivan's palm.
"But I must ask you to leave. The others may not take kindly to your presence now. The emotions of war... do not often spare reason."
He stood and bowed—not in mockery, but in respect.
Ivan returned the gesture. "Understood."
Reeva and Kahl walked beside him as they exited the meeting hall, still quiet, still thinking about the King's reaction.
Outside, beneath the pale moonlight, Ivan glanced down at the glowing crystals in his hand.
"Well," he said with a slight shrug, "I suppose the gold coins are off the table. Guess it doesn't count if we don't have a body."
His voice carried a note of disappointment, though faintly exaggerated.
Reeva touched his shoulder gently. "You did what you could, Ivan. None of this is your fault."
"We're lucky we even made it back alive," Kahl added. "Your help means more than you know."
Ivan nodded slowly, offering a tired smile.
But in his heart, he wasn't disappointed.
He had exactly what he wanted—magic crystals, rising chaos, and a kingdom now ready to march into war.
And no one suspected a thing.