Wash my dreams away

News of Scylla's whereabouts and condition was nonexistent from the moment she left Elysium, a fact that greatly bothered Saracyn. He knew he had no right to keep tabs on her, not after the way he'd scorned her, nor the way she'd sacrificed her happiness for his and left him with the care of their pups so he could have his happily ever after at her own expense. But Saracyn was not a reasonable brute. He was possessive and envious, covetous for what he knew he could not have. Scylla Klein had left her mark on him forevermore. He knew that she was at least alive from his father's report, but after that, it was as if the fae simply... ceased to exist.

That had been the status quo for quite some time. As the weeks crawled by into months and Saracyn busied himself raising his family, caring for his three children and Avacyn during her transition of power from alpha to family matriarch, rumors began to spread of a shift in the political powers of the world. Valta had fallen, abdicated by its reigning alpha to a new upstart who had taken it in the most unorthodox manner. Sara didn't pay the rumors any mind—until he heard the name of its new Sovereign. Scylla Klein had found herself in control of a pack. So, under the guise of diplomacy, Saracyn ventured from Elysium the short trek south to where their former allies had once been. He had to see for himself if the rumors were true—and if Scylla really had obtained everything she ever wanted.

Nearing the borders of what had once been Valta, Saracyn picked up the unmistakable scent of Scylla. He had buried his nose in her nape enough times to have her smell seared into his memory for all time. Her scent caused his heart to wrench, his stomach to churn with uncharacteristic anxiousness as he prepared to face her. The crimson brute stopped with his toes right at her border, peering into the lands as if there was an invisible force field keeping him at bay. For a long while, Sara debated on whether he should call her or not. She was clearly moving on with her life; maybe he needed to do the same. But that selfish, possessive part of him refused to just give up. And so, when his baser instincts won out, Saracyn tipped his head and called for an audience with the new alpha of these lands. It was do or die now.

"Saracyn Mendacium"