Chapter 111: An Excited King
Zane~
A charged silence clung to the air like static, the mist curling through the dim chamber, thick and unnatural. The entire place was swallowed by the overwhelming presence that was Jacob Bartholomew—Mist, the Wolf Spirit.
My father—King Anderson Moor—stood frozen, his once-imposing figure seemingly dwarfed by the ancient power crackling in the room. His regal composure wavered, the weight of Jacob’s transformation pressing down on him like a storm. His fingers twitched slightly, betraying the battle between awe and authority raging inside him.
Then, suddenly, my father took a sharp breath and straightened his shoulders, forcing his expression into something resembling composure. But it was failing—miserably.
His mouth opened, but for once, words didn’t come. He looked between Jacob and me, as if expecting one of us to break the silence, but neither of us did. We let him sit in the reality of what he had just witnessed.
Then, in a voice that completely betrayed the composure he was trying to maintain, my father let out a breathless chuckle. Not a laugh of amusement—no, this was the kind of laugh that came when the mind struggled to grasp something unfathomable.
He took a cautious step forward, his eyes wide with reverence.
"I... I am honored," he breathed, bowing his head ever so slightly. Bowing. My father—the king—was bowing his damn head.
Jacob tilted his own head, his golden eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as the mist began to retreat.
"I had no idea," my father continued, his voice hushed, as though speaking too loudly would shatter the moment. "I had no idea I was in the presence of Mist himself."
Jacob’s form shimmered, the massive, glowing-eyed wolf melting away into something more human—tall, sharp-featured, his dark hair tousled as if he had just stepped out of a storm. He smoothed out the sleeves of his shirt as if he hadn’t just shifted into an ancient entity in the middle of the royal chamber.