A Werewolf's Unexpected Mate-Chapter 157: Tangled Threads

[Gale’s POV]

I let my fairy sight fade, the world snapping back into its ordinary, frustrating solidity. My gaze fell on the ridiculous fairy stuffed toy sitting on the chair beside the sleeping Ovelia. A cheap vessel for a priceless stone. A childish comfort for someone who had just witnessed hell.

"I only read about Thaumamorphs in the same forbidden, plagiarized text that mentioned the Flesh Hunters," I said, my voice flat. I looked at Ray, who was watching me with that unnerving, patient focus. "The entry was brief. It stated that Thaumamorphs are beings with both dark aura and dark mana flowing through them. That is the sum total of what I know." I spread my hands, an empty gesture. The admission of ignorance grated.

"Thaumamorphs and Flesh Hunters," Ace said slowly, thinking aloud. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Ovelia, but his mind was clearly working. "Do you think they’re related? The same organization, perhaps?"

Then I remembered. The flood of images when I destroyed the psychic pest—the masked figures in the burning village. My fairy sight had shown me clearly: dark mana and dark aura swirling around them and their weapons, a corruptive double-helix of power. According to the plagiarized text, Flesh Hunters used weapons infused with dark mana. It said nothing about the hunters themselves being saturated with it, or being wrapped in dark aura.

But the masked individuals Ace, Ray, and Ann had been chasing tonight... when I’d glimpsed them in the crowd with my fairy sight earlier, I hadn’t seen that signature corruption. No dark mana glow, no shroud of dark aura. They were just... men in masks.

A cold, sinking realization began to form in my gut.

What if... The thought was a sliver of ice. What if the attackers in Ovelia’s vision—the ones in that village—weren’t Flesh Hunters at all, but Thaumamorphs? Thaumamorphs wearing masks to obscure their nature? And what if the real Flesh Hunters are the ones Ace, Ray and Ann are actually pursuing?

Or... The ice spread. What if the Flesh Hunters are, or were, an organization comprised of Thaumamorphs? That would explain the dark power. And the masked men in the festival are just... human and werewolf lackeys? A false front?

"Is there any chance... they also killed humans?" Ovelia’s question from earlier echoed in my mind, sharp and poignant.

Is that why she asked? Because she’s also wondering if the monsters in her vision were truly Flesh Hunters? The pieces were a jigsaw from different boxes, none of them fitting. And a darker thought followed: Aside from the goddess sleeping inside her... what else is Ovelia hiding? What does she know that she isn’t saying?

The confusion was a tangled knot, tightening behind my eyes. Thinking about it now, without more data, was pointless and infuriating.

"Gale?" Ace prompted, his silver eyes finally leaving Ovelia to pin me with an expectant look. He was waiting for an answer I couldn’t give.

"I don’t know," I snapped, the irritation leaking out. I didn’t want to speculate aloud. It felt too much like guessing in the dark.

"You’re lying," Ray stated, his voice calm but absolute. His orange eyes held mine, seeing through the evasion.

Right. As if I could lie to the living lie detector. I let out a sharp, exasperated sigh. "Fine. Maybe they are connected. Thaumamorphs and Flesh Hunters. My head is full of ’maybes’ and ’what-ifs.’ Possibilities without proof. Dead ends." I picked up my bowl and took a swallow of the cooling broth, but it tasted like nothing. "I know both existed centuries ago. I’ve seen a vision of them. Now they’re just ghost stories. But my instincts... my guts are screaming that they aren’t just stories. That they’re still out there. Maybe closer than we think."

"If the Flesh Hunters are still active," Ace said, his voice grim, "the fragile peace we’ve maintained for decades will shatter. Completely."

"Of course it would," I retorted. "since they target magical beings."

My eyes drifted back to Ovelia, her peaceful face a stark contrast to the carnage she’d just relived. Hold on. Were the people in her village even... human? In the vision, I hadn’t seen the telltale glow of mana or even the normal, living aura of humans around the villagers. It was as if they were... blank. Or shielded. Or perhaps my sight had been blocked, forbidden from seeing their true nature. Another maddening question.

Ray let out a long, deliberate breath and then, surprisingly, offered a small, forced smile. It was the General switching gears, prioritizing morale. "Don’t think about it too hard right now," he said, his tone shifting to something lighter, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "We’re not alone in this. We have allies. Networks. We’ll gather more intelligence, especially about Flesh Hunters and Thaumamorphs." He stretched his arms above his head, the casual gesture at odds with the tension in the room. "When Ann comes back and Ovelia wakes up, let’s table this. Just for a few hours. Let’s forget the shadows and actually enjoy the rest of the festival before we have to leave this town." He was trying to be the steadying rock, to give us all a moment to breathe.

"Right," Ace agreed, his own expression softening as he looked down at Ovelia. "You have a point."

"Tsk. Suit yourselves," I muttered, finishing the last of my broth. But inside, a different, more corrosive feeling was taking root. A deep, gnawing sense of uselessness. Fairies were the chroniclers of the world. Our sacred duty, one I’d long scorned, was to observe and record history. And here I was, sitting with fragments of a catastrophic past and a threatening future, unable to give the people who needed it most a single clear answer. I can’t even do the one thing my kind claims as its sacred duty. Some chronicler I am. The thought was a spark that ignited a slow-burning anger at myself, at my exile, at the whole damned situation.

Suddenly, a sharp, polite knock rapped against the wooden door.

It was probably Ann returning. Or the server coming to clear the dishes. Simple, logical explanations.

But after the visions, the revelations, and the psychic attacks, a different, more primal fear whispered: What if it’s not? What if the masked men aren’t just out in the festival? What if they found us? What if they’re standing right outside that door right now? 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝙬𝙚𝓫𝒏𝓸𝓿𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝙤𝓶

The cheerful music from the main hall seemed to grow muffled, replaced by the loud, sudden pounding of my own heart.