Page 113 of The Hyena’s Guardian

The force behind the words cut through the chamber hard enough that nobody spoke afterward. Matt had never heard shame in Theron’s voice before. Now it sat inside every syllable.

Theron released Matt’s arm and stepped away toward the edge of the bridge overlooking the abyss below. His shoulders had gone rigid again, every wall slamming back into place so quickly Matt almost physically felt it happen through the bond.

“The First King was my ancestor,” Theron said without turning around. “His son carried the bloodline forward. Every ruler who followed inherited something of him, whether they wanted it or not.”

Matt stared at him silently.

Below them, the breathing continued in slow, patient rhythms, like something enormous resting in the dark while it waited for them to come closer.

Theron’s gaze remained fixed on the throne. “When the First King fell, my bloodline became responsible for containing what he became.” His jaw tightened once before he continued. “Every generation inherited that duty. Eventually there was only me left willing to carry it.”

The words landed heavily in the chamber.

Matt finally understood why Theron had spoken about dying here with such certainty earlier. This had never been survival for him. It had been penance.

Theron had not merely remained inside the mountain for centuries. It had preserved him for the duty his bloodline left behind.

Baptiste lowered his eyes briefly. Even Vale’s expression had hardened into something quieter now, less tactical and more human.

Matt stepped toward Theron. “You stayed here because you thought his blood made this your responsibility.”

Theron gave a bitter, exhausted laugh under his breath. “You say that like it was a choice.”

Matt stopped directly beside him. “Maybe not at first. But you chose to keep carrying it alone.”

Theron finally looked at him then, and Matt saw the anger there now. Not directed at him. At himself.

“At what point exactly?” Theron asked. “Before or after my family unleashed centuries of death across half the continent?”

“You didn’t do that.”

“My blood did.”

“That is not the same thing.”

The response came, sharp enough to echo through the chamber. For the first time since Matt had met him, Theron looked genuinely shaken by something other than the mountain itself.

Everything the voice had been saying inside Matt’s head finally made horrifying sense. The King did not see Theron merely as blood capable of opening the seal. He saw the last surviving branch of the line that had defied him.

The mountain pulsed violently beneath them again, and this time the chains surrounding the throne pulled tight enough to scream against the stone. The sound echoed through the chamber like metal under impossible strain.

Then the voice returned, closer now and unmistakably angry.

Bring him to me.

The red pulse beneath the throne stumbled again the instant Matt's hand found Theron's arm, and this time the King's rage crashed through the chamber with enough force to shake the remaining chains.

Theron stiffened beside him.

Matt looked toward the throne. “He can hear us now.”

Theron never looked away from it.

“Yes,” he said. “Until now, we’ve only been fighting his corruption.” He drew a slow breath. “Now we’re fighting him.”

Another pulse climbed through the abyss and shook the floor. Far below them, something enormous shifted in the darkness beneath the throne platform.

Whatever had changed beneath the throne, its pressure now centered entirely on Theron.