Chapter 4 We Love Her

Anastasia sat frozen in the iron chair, her heart hammering in her chest.

Could this be true?

The words echoed relentlessly in her mind as tears welled up, blurring her vision. She twisted against the wolfsbane chains, her voice cracking with desperation.

"Mother... Father... what is he saying?" she stammered. "Are you not really my parents? Am I not your biological daughter?" Her voice broke into sobs. "Surely, this isn't true. Mother, tell him it's a lie!"

Tears streamed down Lydia's face. Jeremiel's jaw trembled, his fists clenched at his sides. But neither of them spoke.

The hall, heavy with judgment moments ago, now brimmed with pity. Even the stern faces of the Council softened as they watched the raw heartbreak unfolding before them. For a brief moment, the mystery of Anastasia's powers faded into the background, replaced by the devastating fragility of family bonds.

Elder Magnus, however, could not let the truth remain hidden.

He struck his staff against the stone floor-BOOM-the sound reverberating through the hall.

"Speak!" he roared, his voice cutting through the silence. "Let the truth be known!"

Lydia could barely hold herself together as she looked at Anastasia-her daughter, though not by blood. Her voice quivered as she finally spoke.

"Even though I did not birth you," Lydia whispered through tears, "you are my daughter. I love you more than I love myself-more than I ever thought possible. You are mine."

Jeremiel stepped forward, his own eyes brimming. "You may not carry my blood, Anastasia, but you carry my heart. You have been the joy of my life-the brightest part of it-and nothing will ever change that. I am not worthy to call you my daughter, but you are, and always will be, my child."

Anastasia's heart shattered. Gratitude and love swelled inside her, but so did the sharp sting of betrayal.

"You... lied to me my whole life," she choked out, the tears falling faster now. "How could you hide this from me? I trusted you!"

Her sobs became uncontrollable. "Who are my real parents? Who am I? What am I?" Her voice cracked under the weight of her emotions. "Tell me!" She tried to speak again, but her throat closed with grief, and she broke into tears.

Lydia wiped her eyes with trembling hands before answering.

"Twenty-three years ago," she began, "your father and I lied when we told everyone we adopted you from the werewolf orphanage-the place where pups of fallen warriors were raised! That was never the truth."

The hall was deathly silent.

"We were out fishing one morning when we saw something strange-a wicker basket floating down the river. Inside was a baby."

Anastasia's breath caught.

"Your father dove in and pulled you from the water," Lydia continued, her voice soft but raw. "The moment we saw your chubby little face... we were lost. We couldn't have children of our own, and in our hearts, we believed-you were a gift from the gods."

She hesitated, wiping fresh tears.

"We planned to tell you the truth when you were older, when you could understand. But then... one day, you called me Mama." Lydia's voice broke entirely as tears poured down her face. "In that moment, you wounded my heart with a dart of love so deep, I couldn't bear the thought of ever making you feel like you didn't belong. We decided then-you were ours. And that was all that mattered."

Anastasia was silent, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Her entire world had been ripped apart.

But through the chaos, one truth burned steady: they had chosen her. And that, despite everything, meant something.

Elder Magnus turned his cold gaze toward Jeremiel and Lydia, his expression carved in stone. His voice, low and heavy with authority, filled the hall.

"So... does this mean you have no knowledge of Anastasia's true lineage? Of who her real parents are?"

Lydia, her eyes still glistening with tears, raised her chin defiantly. "No, we do not know who her biological parents are. But that does not matter to us. We are her real parents. She is our daughter, and we love her-no matter what."

Jeremiel stepped forward, his voice full of unwavering conviction. "We do not care what she is. We care about who she is-and she is our daughter. That will never change. Even if she were a vampire, we would still love her just as much as we do now. Nothing will ever shake that love."

Gasps echoed through the hall.

The Council stiffened. Even Anastasia's heart skipped a beat.

Those words-even if she were a vampire-hung in the air like smoke.

But for Anastasia, they were like a balm to a gaping wound. The sting of betrayal she had felt moments ago dissolved in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming wave of love and gratitude. Her heart softened, the pain of the truth fading under the warmth of her parents' devotion.

But Elder Magnus was unmoved.

His face darkened. He stood abruptly, his towering figure casting a long shadow across the hall. With a thunderous crack, he slammed his staff onto the stone floor.

"You FOOL!" he roared, pointing an accusing claw at Jeremiel. "How could you utter such a preposterous thing? Love her-even if she's a vampire? Have you lost all sense? Vampires are our sworn mortal enemies! They have hunted and slaughtered our kind for centuries. Such a statement borders on treason against the royal family!"

The hall erupted into murmurs, some in agreement, others in shock.

Anastasia's stomach twisted. Even after all this... they see me as a threat.

But before Magnus could continue, another voice broke through the noise.

"Enough, Magnus," Elder Lucius spoke calmly, his silver hair glinting under the lantern light. He sat with his hands steepled, his sharp eyes thoughtful rather than enraged. "There is no reason to stir chaos over mere sentiment. We all know that vampires cannot procreate. It is a fact of supernatural law." He glanced at Anastasia. "So, there is no way she is a vampire."

The hall quieted again, the weight of Lucius' words settling over them.

But his logic only deepened the central mystery.

If she isn't a vampire... then what is she?

The question rippled through the minds of everyone present.

Even Anastasia felt it clawing at her soul.

In the midst of the deafening silence, a voice broke through-hesitant, but clear.

One of the five warriors who had brought Anastasia back stood up, his face pale but resolute.

"There's something we forgot to mention," he said, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. "Anastasia didn't attack us without reason. She... she was protecting a vampire."

The hall gasped.

The warrior pressed on, despite the hostile stares now fixed on him. "We saw the vampire with her. We tried to kill it, but Anastasia stopped us. She threw us into the forest-so hard we blacked out. By the time we woke, the vampire had escaped."

A heavy, damning silence followed.

Then, with a roar of fury, Elder Magnus shot to his feet. His staff struck the stone floor with a thunderous crack.

"ANASTASIA! You have committed TREASON!"

The hall exploded in chaos.

The werewolves roared, their claws scraping against stone, their howls echoing off the walls.

"She fought her own kind-to protect a vampire!"

"She's a traitor!"

"She protected the enemy!"

Anastasia's heart pounded in her chest. Her vision blurred with panic as sweat poured down her face. The weight of their hatred bore down on her, suffocating and inescapable.

The crowd's cries grew louder, more frenzied.

"There is only ONE punishment for treason-DEATH!"

"ANASTASIA MUST DIE!"

"KILL THE TRAITOR!"

Anastasia's breath quickened. Her mind screamed for an escape, but the wolfsbane chains bit deep into her skin, anchoring her in place. Her entire world spun around her in a whirlwind of fury and fear.

And then-

Darkness.