Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 180: Done Running

Though her words painted a grim picture, Rhaegar didn’t flinch. The weight of her warning settled heavily on his shoulders, but he steadied himself. None of what she described sounded remotely tolerable, yet he knew he had no choice.

For nine long years, he had lived in the shadows, hiding from the world. And what had come of it? Nothing but loss and regret.

His amber eyes hardened with confidence. He was done running. Too many people had suffered while he clung to a safer, cowardly existence. It was time to step into his destiny, no matter the cost.

You were meant for greater things, Tayiid’s voice echoed in his mind, sending an involuntary shiver down his spine. Was he really? He wouldn’t know until he tried. He had promised that to Laesh—and, most importantly, to himself.

I am standing here now because Laesh, Tayiid, and Lorelai were brave in my place. It’s time to change that.

Furrowing his brow with determination, Rhaegar clenched his fists, his resolve hardening. "I want to shift. Help me, Naveen."

The witch regarded him silently for a moment before giving a small, approving nod. She turned to begin preparations for the ritual but suddenly paused, her sharp blue eyes flicking back to meet his.

"I still do not know your name."

"Rhaegar," he replied without hesitation, his voice firm. "My name is Rhaegar."

***

The air inside the tent was heavy, thick with the pungent aroma of herbs and burning incense.

Rhaegar sat cross-legged in the center, his hands clenched into trembling fists as he tried to steady his breathing. Surrounding him were strange symbols drawn on the dirt floor in dark red, their jagged patterns glowing faintly under the flickering light of dozens of candles.

Naveen, draped in her black cloak, moved methodically around him, her steps precise, her lips murmuring an incantation in a language he didn’t recognize.

"This will hurt," she said flatly, her piercing blue eyes locking onto his. "More than anything you’ve ever endured. But if the seal isn’t broken now, your body will tear itself apart the next time the moon rises."

Rhaegar’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need her warnings to feel the storm brewing inside him. The pulsing heat at the back of his head—the mark of his seal—had been growing unbearable since he woke in this forsaken kingdom. The pressure was mounting, like a dam threatening to burst.

Naveen extended her hand, holding a curved blade with a golden handle wrapped in black leather. "This blade is infused with moonstone. It will break the magic holding your power back."

The boy’s heart pounded. He could already feel his instincts screaming at him to run, but there was nowhere to go. "Do it," he rasped, his voice rough with both fear and determination.

Naveen stepped closer, placing her other hand on the seal at the back of his head. Her fingers were icy cold, sending a shiver down his spine. With a swift motion, she pressed the tip of the blade against the mark, and a searing pain erupted like molten fire coursing through his skull.

He cried out, his body jerking involuntarily as a bright light engulfed him, spreading from the mark down his neck, through his chest, and into his limbs. It felt as though every cell in his body was being set ablaze, his bones grinding and reshaping beneath his skin.

Rhaegar fell forward onto all fours, gasping for air as his muscles twitched and stretched. His nails lengthened into razor-sharp claws, his hands twisting into monstrous paws. The transformation was not graceful; it was brutal and raw, a cacophony of snapping bones and tearing flesh.

He screamed—a guttural, inhuman sound—as his spine arched, his ribs expanded, and his jaw elongated into a fierce muzzle. His once-smooth skin gave way to sleek black fur, each strand sprouting like needles piercing his flesh. His amber eyes glowed with an otherworldly light, feral and wild.

Through the agony, a surge of power coursed through him, primal and unrelenting. It was as though he had been caged his entire life, and now, for the first time, he was truly free.

When the pain finally subsided, Rhaegar stood on four powerful legs, towering and imposing. His black fur glistened in the candlelight, his massive frame exuding raw strength. He let out a deep, resonating howl, a declaration of his new form.

Naveen watched silently, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Welcome to your true self," she murmured.

Rhaegar’s glowing eyes met hers, and though his body ached from the transformation, his spirit burned with newfound relief.

Again and again, Rhaegar shifted between his human and wolf forms, each transformation an excruciating struggle against his body’s limitations. His muscles tore and reformed, his bones cracked and realigned, and his raw skin burned with the intensity of the change. His nails were bloodied from clawing at the floor, the agony leaving him trembling and drenched in sweat.

Yet, he refused to give up. He knew he had to endure this torment to permanently break the seal and allow his body to accept his second form without resistance.

Finally, his strength gave out. Collapsing onto the floor, Rhaegar let out a long, exhausted sigh, his chest heaving with each labored breath. He closed his eyes, surrendering to the overwhelming weight of fatigue. He had done it—he was now a true lycan. The first step had been taken, and the threshold crossed.

"I’m going to send a message to the nomads," Naveen said calmly as she draped a light blanket over his trembling body. "If you’re lucky, they’ll take you in and help you with the rest."

Rhaegar could only manage a low groan in response. The searing ache that coursed through every fiber of his being rendered him unable to do anything more—not even nod. The witch allowed herself a faint smile as she watched him.

"What are you going to do once you’re ready?" she asked softly.

"...Lorelai," he whispered, the name barely audible.

Naveen arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "Who?"

"Lorelai..." he repeated, as if the name itself was his lifeline; the only thing he knew. "Lorelai..."