Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 178: You Are A Lycan

Cara once said that only another strong witch could unseal my true powers... The memory of her voice lingered like a faint echo in his mind. I wonder if I’ll ever find one.

The weight of that thought settled heavily on his chest. What would it mean to truly embrace what lay beneath the seal? Would it make him unstoppable—or destroy him completely?

Exhaling a shaky breath, Rhaegar shifted and rested his weary head against the cool, hard floor of the hollow tree. His body ached from the day’s relentless struggle, but the shelter felt safe enough for now. As the wind howled faintly outside, his eyelids fluttered shut, and he surrendered to the comforting pull of sleep.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the boy slipped into slumber’s calm embrace, his thoughts drifting far away from the harsh realities of survival.

***

"Now, what do we have here...?"

A tall woman clad entirely in black stood before the towering tree at the center of the desolate landscape. The cold night wind tugged at the edges of her half-translucent veil, revealing fleeting glimpses of her sharp features. A few loose strands of short gray hair fluttered in the breeze, framing her face like threads of silver under the pale glow of the moon.

Her piercing blue eyes gleamed like twin sapphires, catching the moonlight and radiating an otherworldly intensity. She stood motionless, her gaze fixed on the boy curled up at the base of the tree.

He was no more than a child, tucked into himself like a sleeping kitten. Soft snores escaped his lips, the sound almost too gentle for the harsh emptiness around them. His long black lashes quivered ever so slightly, as though he were chasing fleeting shadows in his dreams. Without warning, he shifted in his sleep, rolling over to face away from her, his back now fully exposed to the moonlight.

Her breath hitched. For a moment, her heartbeat quickened, pounding like a drum in her chest.

There it was—a mark she knew all too well. The seal etched onto the back of his freshly shaved head glowed faintly in the moon’s silvery light, its familiar design a shocking sight she could scarcely believe.

"Could this be...?"

***

Rhaegar blinked his heavy eyelids open, his body aching with a weariness that clung to him like a wet blanket. He shifted onto his back, the soreness in his muscles demanding relief.

Obeying his body’s silent plea, he stretched—only to wince sharply as pain shot through his limbs, jolting him fully awake. He sprang to his feet, his heart pounding.

What met his eyes left him stunned. The wooden hollow he had fallen asleep in was gone. Instead, he now stood upright in a shabby, dimly lit tent, its oppressive atmosphere swallowing him whole.

It was otherworldly—like stepping into a dream that didn’t belong to him.

Above him, bundles of strange, colorful herbs hung suspended from the ceiling, their dried petals and twisted stems forming eerie, lifeless bouquets.

Tables cluttered with tiny glass bottles lined the tent, each bottle filled with shimmering powders, strange liquids, and angular rocks—some even containing tiny, glinting gems that seemed to pulse faintly in the low light.

Candles of varying shapes and hues flickered ominously, their wax dripping onto battered cauldrons of every size. Scattered around were carcasses of small animals—rats, crows—alongside ancient, crumbling books left open to pages smeared with handwritten notes and unintelligible symbols. The air was thick with the mingling scents of herbs, wax, and decay, a cloying mix that made Rhaegar’s head swim.

At the center of the chaos, sitting cross-legged on a worn rug, was a woman cloaked in black. The lower half of her face was veiled by a sheer black cloth, her bright blue eyes peering out like cold, unyielding flames.

"Awake?" she asked suddenly, her voice slicing through the thick stillness like a blade. The chill in her tone sent a shiver racing down Rhaegar’s spine, more piercing than the cold night wind.

"You must have been utterly spent," she continued. "You didn’t even notice me bringing you all the way here."

The boy instinctively reached for his knife, only to discover that none of his possessions were on him. His heart raced as his eyes darted frantically around the tent.

At last, he spotted the rusty blade and the silk pouch lying on a nearby table, but before he could make a move, the woman rose to her feet. Her imposing figure towered over him, her sharp gaze pinning him in place like a predator watching its prey.

"Who are you?" Rhaegar asked, his voice steady, betraying none of the unease he felt under her piercing stare.

The woman exhaled, a trace of exasperation in her sigh, before crossing her arms over her chest. "My name is Naveen. I am a witch. And you? What is your name?"

Rhaegar narrowed his amber eyes, suspicion flashing in their depths.

A witch? His mind turned the word over, weighing its meaning as he studied her appearance. The explanation fit. With the countless herbs, powders, and odd trinkets surrounding them, she seemed exactly the kind of person who might call herself a witch.

Still, he couldn’t ignore the gnawing sense of unease. After wandering alone for so long, without crossing paths with a single soul, why now? Why here?

"How...?" he began, choosing his words cautiously. "Where are we?"

"The Beast Kingdom," Naveen answered without hesitation.

"What?!" Rhaegar’s voice rose in alarm, his body stiffening as shock rippled through him. "How long was I asleep?"

"A week," she replied, just as composed as before, her expression unchanging. "You had quite a fever when I found you. I decided not to wake you. Instead, I treated you with herbal tinctures and brought you here, to my home. I’m glad you didn’t die."

A powerful wave of anxiety crashed over him, sending shivers racing across his body. The Beast Kingdom? No. He couldn’t be here—not yet.

His frown deepened, his voice sharpening as he nearly barked at the witch, "Give me my things back and let me leave! Now!"

Still composed, Naveen arched a brow, her cold blue eyes narrowing slightly in what could only be described as a silent warning. "I’m afraid that’s not possible. If I let you go now, you won’t survive until the next full moon."

"What...?" Rhaegar’s disbelief was palpable as he stepped back, his amber eyes wide. "And why is that?"

"You’re a lycan, my boy. And looks like it’s time for you to shift."