Fated reborn - Chapter 229: Chapter 229

Victor's pov.
The afternoon sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a golden glow over the streets as we stepped out of the restaurant. The air was crisp but not unpleasant, a light breeze weaving through the buildings, carrying with it the scent of fresh bread from a nearby bakery and the faint hum of the city moving as it always did.
Dorian walked ahead, his posture still tense but not as rigid as before. He was trying, at least. That was something. His gaze moved over the people passing by, over the storefronts, the small groups chatting outside cafés, the kids darting between street vendors without a care in the world. It was a strange contrast—his turmoil against their ease.
Luciano clapped a hand on my shoulder, nodding toward the main square. “We should show them around,” he said, voice casual but purposeful. “Give them a feel of the pack, the city. Might help take the edge off.”
I glanced at Dorian. He hadn’t said much since we left the restaurant, but he was listening. He always was. He didn’t protest, which was as good as agreeing.
Marcus smirked. “Not a bad idea. Besides, it’s not every day we have visitors from outside.”
That was true. Our pack was strong, independent, and while we weren’t closed off to outsiders, we didn’t go out of our way to invite them in either. Those who came here were either welcomed with open arms or warned to tread carefully. Respect was everything. It wasn’t just given—it was earned, and it was maintained with purpose.
The people knew who we were the moment we stepped onto the main street. Heads turned, conversations quieted just a little, not out of fear but out of deference. There was an unspoken rule among our people—when the leaders were present, respect was given without hesitation. It wasn’t about power. It was about trust.
Dorian and his group weren’t exactly outsiders, but they weren’t fully part of this world either. Not yet. And that’s why this mattered. If he was going to be tied to us in some way, he needed to see what kind of pack we ran. He needed to understand.
We started with the heart of the city, the place where everything connected—where businesses thrived, where pack members gathered not just to work but to live. The market stretched along the main road, a collection of stalls and shops selling everything from handcrafted goods to fresh produce. It was always busy but never chaotic, a rhythm to it that made sense, that felt like home.
A few vendors nodded our way, some offering greetings, others just watching, knowing better than to interrupt. A woman from the bakery—an older pack member who had been around longer than most—offered a warm smile as we passed.
“Long day?” she asked, her voice carrying that familiar motherly tone.
Luciano chuckled. “Something like that.”
She nodded knowingly, her gaze flickering to Dorian, assessing but not unkind. “Good to see new faces around here,” she said, then without waiting for a response, turned back to her stall, hands busy kneading dough as if the conversation had never happened.
Dorian said nothing, but I could tell he was taking everything in. The way people moved, the way they interacted, the way the pack operated with an unspoken understanding that wasn’t forced, just natural.
We led them through the market, pointing out the places that mattered—the training grounds just beyond the shops, where younger wolves sparred under the watchful eye of their instructors, the council hall where major decisions were made, the forge where weapons were crafted with precision and care. Every part of the city served a purpose. Every member of the pack had a role, a place.
“This is how we run things,” Marcus said, his tone even. “It’s not just about strength. It’s about structure, about making sure everyone has what they need to thrive.”
Dorian nodded, his expression unreadable.
Luciano tilted his head slightly. “What about your pack?” he asked. “How different is it from this?”
Dorian exhaled, considering. “Similar in some ways,” he admitted. “Different in others.” He glanced around. “You have order. Stability. Not every pack has that.”
“That’s because we work for it,” I said simply. “It’s not just given. It’s built, day by day.”
He didn’t argue.
We moved on, making our way toward the residential areas. The houses here weren’t just structures—they were homes, built with care, each one holding stories, memories. Families gathered outside, kids playing in the yards, elders sitting on porches, watching the world go by with knowing eyes.
A group of warriors stood near one of the training posts, their conversation pausing as we passed. They nodded in acknowledgment, a silent show of respect before returning to their discussion. They didn’t need to be told what to do or how to act. They just knew.
Dorian observed it all, but he didn’t say much. Maybe he was thinking about his own pack, about what it meant to lead, to be responsible for so many lives. It wasn’t a small thing. It never was.
As we walked, the afternoon stretched on, the golden light shifting into something softer, the edges of the sky tinged with the first hints of evening.
We ended up near the training grounds, watching as a few young wolves ran drills, their movements sharp, disciplined. Their instructor—a seasoned warrior named Elias—glanced our way but didn’t stop his lesson. He knew we weren’t here to interrupt.
One of the trainees hesitated for just a second, catching sight of us before quickly focusing back on the task at hand. A good reaction. Respectful, but not distracted.
“They’re strong,” Dorian noted.
“They have to be,” Marcus replied. “Strength isn’t just physical. It’s in how you think, how you move, how you lead.”