Chapter 1285
Chapter 1285:
Clayton kept his back to us, his voice muffled. “I locked him in the dungeon.” He hesitated for a moment. “At first… I wanted to wait for Makenna to come back before dealing with him…”
His voice faltered on the last words.
I stood silently behind him, watching as he roughly wiped his face.
Dominic’s POV:
“Let’s go. It’s time to see him.” Clayton’s voice was calm yet unyielding as he stepped forward, taking the lead without another word. He guided us through the dungeon’s damp corridors, where the cold seeped from the stone and chilled our very bones.
Decay and rust tainted every breath we drew, while torchlight danced across the walls, painting twisted shadows that writhed like living nightmares.
At the dungeon’s furthest reach, we stopped before a cell encased in specially forged black iron bars that caught the torchlight and reflected it back like malevolent eyes.
Beyond those bars sat our father, chained to a stone chair. Heavy links dragged at his wrists and ankles like iron anchors.
Tattered rags clung where once royal robes had gleamed, and his gray hair fell in wild tangles around shoulders that had long forgotten the weight of a crown. Venom dripped from his whispered curses as he muttered into the darkness. “That damned Makenna… that cursed white wolf… She should have perished twenty years ago…”
His words struck like blows, and my hands betrayed me, curling into fists so tight my nails carved crescents into my palms.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bryan’s jaw harden into granite, while something glacial and lethal flickered behind Clayton’s eyes.
Our footsteps gave us away, and our father’s head jerked upward like a predator catching scent of prey.
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Torchlight deepened the shadows etched into his twisted features, yet still his mouth curled into a smile that belonged to nightmares. “Ah! My beloved sons have finally graced their father with a visit, haven’t you?”
The words grated from his throat like rusted metal scraping stone. “All this destruction… for a woman? You dare betray your blood? To cage your father like some common criminal?”
“Father.” Clayton stepped closer to the bars, his voice softening, hope flickering faintly that reason might yet reach the man who had raised him. “The path back still exists. You can still choose to walk it.”
“Silence!” The roar exploded from our father’s chest as he lunged forward, chains shrieking in protest against his fury. “You spineless whelp! What gives you the right to preach to your king?”
Laughter burst from him—wild, unhinged, echoing off the stone walls like the cries of madmen. “Your precious Makenna already destroyed herself trying to master the sacred artifact, and now she lies broken somewhere in that godforsaken abyss! The beasts have likely stripped her bones clean by now, haven’t they? And for what did you cage me here? To play at revolution?”
Rage ignited in my veins at his words, my blood molten, flames consuming my chest from within. Yet as I stared into the face that had once been my father’s, I fought down the killing urge clawing up from my gut, even as bile burned a bitter path up my throat.
Bryan moved with purpose, placing himself firmly between our father and me like a living shield. “Father, Makenna showed you mercy when death would have been justice. The rest of your days will be spent here—these walls will witness your repentance for every sin you’ve committed.”
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