?Chapter 623:


    Bryan bowed his head, seeming too distressed to go on.


    At that moment, Dominic, who had been quiet, spoke in a calm voice. “On that day, the three of us were attacked and nearly lost our lives…”


    Dominic’s POV:


    I stared out the window, the sunlight streaming in as if my eyes could cut through its brilliance, pulling me back to that devastating war from more than ten years ago.


    shback:


    The white wolf n had nearly been wiped off the map in their brutal war with the Lycan royal family. What remained of the werewolves’ strength was fragile, the remnants of an empire too weak to defend itself. That was when the Wizard n saw their moment. They descended like vultures and forced the werewolves to retreat time and time again.


    Then came that cold, dull, gray evening. The sky hung heavy with clouds, as though the world itself knew something terrible wasing. A sense of dread settled in our chests, thick and suffocating.


    The wizards had found a crack in the werewolves’ defenses. They struck without warning, sneaking into the pce as if they had been there a thousand times before.


    Suddenly, chaos erupted. The pce became a battleground, the sharp ng of metal ringing through the halls, mingling with the sickening scent of blood—so thick in the air it burned in my lungs.


    We were still just children—too young, too small to fight. Our father, frantic and panicked, ordered our immediate evacuation. He had us escorted to a secluded side hall deep within the pce, a ce where he thought we might be safe.


    We huddled together in the corner, trembling, our hearts pounding with fear.


    gα?ησν????s is your gateway to fiction


    There were soldiers outside—tough, stoic men standing guard with weapons raised, ready for anything.


    But the wizards were strong, relentless, and they knew exactly where to strike. Their sole mission, after all, was to destroy the Lycan dynasty.


    They had already mapped out the pce, and in no time, they found the very hall where we had sought refuge.


    When they appeared, the soldiers didn’t hesitate. They rushed to face them, weapons shing, cries of defiance filling the air.


    Outside the hall, the sounds of the battle were deafening, a reminder of how powerless we were. Only one maid remained with us in the hall—her name was Anthea Smith.


    She was still a teenager. Her face was pale with fear, and her slight frame was barely more than a shadow in the dim light.


    Facing the ferocious wizards, we had steeled ourselves for the worst.


    But at that critical moment, Anthea made a decision none of us could have predicted. She lifted a weathered wooden nk, revealing a dark, narrow cer beneath the floor, and ushered us inside, warning us to stay quiet. The moment she reced the nk, the wizards stormed into the hall.


    We watched through the sliver of light between the boards, helpless and horrified, as Anthea stood her ground. She grabbed a sword—far toorge for her delicate frame—and lunged at the invaders. Her bravery was a dagger to our hearts, sharper than any de.


    If she had died right then and there, perhaps the guilt wouldn’t have been so unbearable. But the wizards didn’t grant her that mercy. We watched in muted agony as they gang-raped her. When they were tired of their depravity, they whipped her with barbedshes until bloody trails carved into her skin and soaked her clothes red.


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