The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 412

Chapter 412: Home

Draven.

The gates of Stormveil opened without a word. Two lines of guards stood on either side, their armour polished to a dull gleam beneath the fading night.

When my car rolled forward, they bowed in unison—heads lowered, fists pressed against their chests.

The silence that followed was sharper than any fanfare.

The engine’s low hum filled the air as the convoy moved past the guards. My eyes swept the inner walls—unchanged, yet older somehow.

The scent of pine, smoke, and iron lingered in the morning air, wrapping the city in its familiar austerity.

People had gathered along the narrow streets. Not a crowd, but clusters—workers in half-buttoned coats, soldiers on leave, a few merchants who had risen early.

Their eyes followed the convoy as it made its way through the city. Some bowed when they recognized the crest on the cars; others stared in muted awe, trying to make sense of what they saw.

Low voices rippled across the silence.

"Is that him?"

"The Alpha from the Royal line... Alpha Draven."

"Why wasn’t there an announcement?"

"Who are the people with him?"

I caught fragments through the half-open window, their uncertainty cutting through the crisp air.

Father had kept our return quiet, as expected. Randall Oatrun did not celebrate early victories, and he did not indulge rumours.

As we drove deeper into the heart of Stormveil, the streets grew cleaner, the stone under the tyres smoother. The air was heavier here—older.

Every structure carried the mark of history, carved with the symbols of lineage and conquest.

I glanced sideways. Meredith sat straight-backed, eyes fixed on the view outside. The early light cast pale gold across her features, softening the shadows under her eyes.

She hadn’t said a word since the gates opened. She didn’t need to. I could read the tightness in her jaw, the faint tremor in her hand resting on her thigh.

She heard the whispers, too.

Some of the onlookers bowed when they saw her seated beside me. Others didn’t.

A few looked away entirely. Old rumours travelled faster than truth, and Stormveil had a long memory.

To them, she was still the same—cursed by the Moon goddess herself—the wolfless mate, the symbol of weakness the city could never afford.

Her gaze flicked toward the window again, unflinching. If the words hurt her, she hid it well.

But I saw the way her shoulders drew in, just slightly, the way her breathing steadied itself by force of will.

I didn’t speak. She didn’t need comfort. She needed time and a chance to make them see what I already knew.

The convoy took the final turn, the narrow street widening into the grand avenue that led to the Oatrun estate.

The estate rose ahead, silent and formidable—dark stone walls enclosed sprawling courtyards and towers crowned with silver crests.

The great gates bore the emblem of our line—a half moon encircling a wolf’s head, carved deep into iron.

As our car slowed, I saw movement beyond the gate. The guards there bowed low, just as the first ones had, and the gates swung open without hesitation.

The Oatrun estate was alive with disciplined order. Warriors stood in lines along the courtyard’s edge, servants at attention near the grand steps.

The smell of polished wood, cold steel, and the faint incense of burned sage reached even through the glass.

At the top of the steps stood my father, unbent by age. Beside him, several members of the Council of Elders waited in quiet formation, their robes stark against the morning light.

Our car came to a stop. Engines quieted one by one until the courtyard was filled with nothing but the sharp, cold air of dawn. The stillness that followed was almost reverent.

Doors opened across the convoy in perfect rhythm—metal against stone, boots meeting the ground.

Our people, warriors, and attendants stepped out, forming disciplined lines beside the fifty vehicles.

In moments, the courtyard transformed into an unbroken sea of silver and black uniforms, every face turned toward the grand staircase where my father stood.

My father didn’t move at first; he just watched. Then, he lifted his hand, and the entire formation bowed instantly—fists to hearts, heads lowered.

That sound—hundreds of warriors moving in one breath—rolled like thunder through the estate grounds.

I stood at the front, the line of vehicles behind me stretching back to the gates.

Meredith was beside me, silent but straight-backed. Her gaze stayed fixed ahead, though I could feel the tension beneath her composure.

The weight of Stormveil’s eyes had always been heavier on her than anyone else.

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