Chapter 106: The Origin of Four Thrones

Author’s pov~

Long before the Four Thrones existed, before the Lycan territories were separated by borders and ruled by four different crowns, there was only one kingdom.

The Lycan Empire.

Just one crown. One vast empire. And one single royal family holding it all together.

The ancient Lycan Empire stretched out further than any map today can remember. Its endless, thick forests belonged entirely to the wild powerful wolves, its towering mountains were guarded by pure royal blood, and every single pack scattered across the land answered to one throne alone.

Right at the center of it all sat the First Lycan King and the First Lycan Queen.

One vast kingdom ruled beneath a single crown by the First Lycan King and the First Lycan Queen, the first rulers of their kind and the ancestors from whom every royal Lycan bloodline would eventually descends.

The first rulers chosen and crowned beneath the sacred light of the Moon Goddess herself.

The First King was said to possess a wolf unlike any that had walked the earth before him. His strength was feared even by the oldest packs, while the First Queen carried a different kind of power, an ancient bloodline that the Moon Goddess herself had blessed.

Together, they built a magnificent empire that was never, ever meant to be shattered.

And for many years, it remained that way.

The First King and Queen had five children.

Four sons.

And one daughter.

Their four sons were raised as princes, trained from childhood to rule, fight, and protect the kingdom. Each blessed with a terrifyingly powerful wolf and each inherited the heavy, dominant, powerful blood of the First King, and each possessed the potential to become the next King.

Their sister, however, was entirely different.

She inherited the blood of the First Queen.

She wasn’t weaker, and she wasn’t lesser. She was just... different. A quiet, deep presence that even the ancient walls of the palace seemed to bow down to.

She had no desire for a throne, no army waiting behind her, and no ambition to rule over her brothers. She was simply the youngest child of the royal family.

At least, that was what everyone believed.

For a time, the five siblings remained close.

They hunted together.

Trained together.

Grew up beneath the same roof.

Yet, while the King and Queen watched their children grow, they never once imagined that the absolute greatest threat to their great empire would crawl from inside their own bloodline.

As the four brothers grew into towering, powerful young men, ambition slowly poisoned their minds.

They began to understand what their father’s crown meant.

There could only be one King.

Each brother genuinely believed that he—and he alone—was worthy of wearing the crown. Each of them convinced himself that the kingdom would only survive if he was the one ruling it.

At first, their bitter arguments were nothing more than sharp, heated disagreements between arrogant young princes.

Who was stronger.

Who was faster.

Who would lead a battle.

Who their father trusted most.

But soon, jealousy crept in. Then came dark suspicion. And finally, a raw, unquenchable hatred.

Their loyal followers quickly began taking sides. One single, united throne fractured into four violent possibilities. And eventually, the brothers stopped fighting over who simply deserved to inherit the kingdom.

They began fighting as though only one of them deserved to stay alive.

The First Lycan King tried to stop them with iron laws and absolute authority. The First Queen wept openly, pleading with them day and night to remember the shared blood running through their veins.

Nothing worked.

The civil war spread like a raging wildfire from the golden halls of the royal palace out into the farthest territories.

Packs that had hunted and lived side by side in peace for centuries suddenly turned on each other, slaughtering one another in the dark. Blood soaked the ancient earth until the soil turned black, and entire families vanished overnight.

The Lycan race was slowly tearing its own heart out.

And high above them all, the Moon Goddess watched.

She had never, ever intended to divide the empire. She had always wanted the Lycan race to remain whole, united, and strong under one moon. But the four ruthless brothers had left her with zero other choices.

If the bloodshed continued unchecked, there would be nothing left of the kingdom. No royal bloodline to lead. Maybe not even a Lycan race left to save.

So, beneath a terrifying, blood-red moon, the Moon Goddess descended upon the ancient capital in a blinding storm of divine wrath.

And she broke the empire apart.

The single kingdom became four.

The single crown was violently shattered into four separate crowns.

The four brothers were forcefully torn away from each other and banished to four isolated territories, given four separate thrones, and bound to four separate, unyielding royal bloodlines.

The kingdom had been divided, not because the Moon Goddess wanted it that way, but because she had no other way to save the Lycan race from destroying itself.

From that day forward, the descendants of the four brothers would rule four separate territories.

The Four Thrones were born.

And then, there was the First Queen’s daughter.

She had no throne. No massive army. No legal claim to rule a single inch of the earth.

Yet her existence frightened the four princes.

Because she carried the sacred, unbroken blood of their mother, the First Lycan Queen.

A rare, ancient blood that had never been split among the four thrones. A primal blood that somehow connected and transcended all of them.

The brothers began to see their sister not as family, but as a potential threat.

The First King and Queen understood what was happening.

They knew what their sons were becoming.

Then the official news spread: The First Queen’s daughter had died of a sudden, wasting illness.

Her tragic passing was publicly mourned throughout the fragmented kingdom.

Her name was systematically scrubbed and erased from the sacred royal histories and from almost every document that mentioned the First Royal Family. Her very existence was buried under centuries of dust, turning into little more than a forgotten, pathetic footnote.

There were no surviving details about her final moments.

The royal archives contained only a brief record of her death.

Even the records concerning her birth were incomplete.

Some believed the documents had been destroyed during the war.

Others believed the princess had simply been forgotten after the kingdom was divided.

Over time, people stopped asking questions.

The First King and Queen were remembered.

Their four sons were remembered.

The Four Thrones were remembered.

But their daughter became nothing more than a shadow buried beneath centuries of history. Lycan world completely forgot that there had ever been a fifth child.

And with her disappearance, the world firmly believed the last visible trace of the First Queen’s blood had been wiped out forever.

Or so they thought.