Cracks traced with moss etched the outline of the door. He had practically memorized it in the hours since Gaius the jailor had left, pondering what he now understood about his father and his past, yet now his entire situation was even more perplexing. Which source of pain should he pursue, the fresh wound of the missing princess or the old scar reopened by the betrayal of his parents? Both assailants needed to be chased and destroyed as painfully as possible, and he could destroy them with ease. Already he knew his restraints would not hold, but with no plan and even less thoughts, there was no guarantee that once he broke free he could even accomplish anything worthwhile. Parents or princess? There was no one to tell him the right answer; alphas decide that for themselves. Perhaps he deserved this as punishment for his arrogance to Lucina, when he sent her away bearing his last link to his father, but then if it were punishment there would surely be a moment where he felt clarity and the correct path opened up to him.
He snapped the restraints, finally fed up with them. He needed to rub his eyes and wrists in order to think straight, anyway. Parents or princess? He had already told Lucina he had no interest in her, but the more time passed the more he realized how much of a lie that had been. She was the center of his daily routine in a way nothing had ever been, the most prominent issue of the day and most beautiful aspect of the night. Without her he was nothing and stood for nothing, and had no future save endlessly roaming the woods until something took him and buried his bones under the snow. On the other hand, now that he knew it was hopelessly pining after a heartless lover that had destroyed his father from the inside, he knew better. He was not about to make those same mistakes and be driven from the land he had dutifully served for his entire life. And now that he knew it was his mother to blame for his isolation, he could almost see a way forward. In some inexplicable way, understanding the past was giving him a future, one that had never seemed possible: reintegration into the town. He would have boulders to climb, to be sure, but no monumental mountains of doubt and secrets that held him away from people. Not to mention, the closure of understanding his past gave him the ability to live in peace now, regardless of who sat the throne and what the fate of Lucina was to be. But he could not bring himself to ignore her, even when he had already sent her off and declared his disinterest. She was in danger from every front and he was not the type of person to simply stand by as a creature was cornered.
Parents were in the past; Lucina was the present. He thought no more of the future and bounded across the room in two strides, pausing only to heave open the rotting door. It led to a wooden staircase, which he feared would break under his weight until he considered the idea that he had already been lugged down it by others. He lurched up the stairs, invigorated, and found himself in a shabby house with a quiet fire and two sleepy sellsword guards. They grabbed swords when they saw him but he subdued the first by flipping a table into his path while the second one swung his sword, missed, and found his wrists within Priam's iron grip. He swung that second misfortunate guard into the table, satisfaction swelling in his chest when he heard glass bottles clinking against iron cups. The first guard stood up and struggled to retrieve his sword from beneath a few loaves of bread and the table itself, and Priam shoved the second man over the table to topple the first. As they scrambled over one another he ducked into the corner of the room and followed the wall to the doorway. One guard recovered his sword but Priam was out the door already, and neither had the swift feet capable of giving pursuit.
Dawn was beginning to break outside, but barely. Night still ruled as he sprinted away from the house of captivity and through the uneven cobbles that paved this poor section of town. He heard shouts coming from the house, and footsteps in the otherwise silent alleys, but he had no time to worry. While he had no official plan, his two objectives were finding his wolf and then Lucina, assuming the latter had even come to town. Because it was night, he knew she would avoid people like a wild animal, but come actual daybreak she would be the princess he despised, and then it was all too likely that he would find her in the castle. He hoped this would not cause further conflict, but ignored the thought when he realized it was too conditional and too far in the future. The footsteps were getting louder, accompanied by the subtle click of plate armor and the hushed voices of irritated soldiers, so he ran harder. He was conditioned by life in the woods, able to flee with ease after years of being chased by the very creatures he now sought to save. When he was close to detection he stuck to muddy ditches behind buildings where his pursuers would be hesitant to walk, and when he saw the light of torches he changed direction at all costs. At last he came to a quiet street with not a waking soul, except a four-legged creature scratching at a wooden door. A few steps closer showed it to be a wolf; it dug at the door furiously and suddenly he recognized it as his companion. At its feet, much to his pleasure, was the wounded wolf that had accompanied Lucina away.
Immediately he assumed she was inside the house. Why else would both wolves be here, and why would the healthy one want to enter this particular building in the center of the street? The door was locked when he tested it, and the wolves whined in harmony while he gathered his strength and rammed his way through the door. Wood splintered and fled at his weight, and the door gave easily, but there was no one waiting in the entry and the house was one room, one floor. He paused and listened, detecting no breath, but the wolves darted in as if on the trail of a rabbit. With no better plan he followed them, inspecting the hanging herbs which must have been left to dry decades ago and the mounted pelts torn apart by moths. There were two beds, one large and one small, as if for parents and a single child. They sat on either side of a hearth, which held ancient coals and a rusty cooking pot, and there was a table shoved in the corner, set as if for a meal but covered in dust because no one had come. The healthy wolf jumped onto the large bed and dug back the musty sheets, while the injured wolf nudged him towards its companion.
The room was black as pitch but he still saw the metal gleaming when the wolf had pulled back enough blankets. He shoved it aside gently and admired the treasure uncovered: a sword and a note in sprawled handwriting. He recognized the sword from his prophetic dream, the blade he had used to slay a wolf and free a woman from its carcass. If he had hackles they would be raised, both from the manifestation of a dream and from the words of the note that seemed to have sprung out of the recesses of his memories:
Son, I know I've failed you in many ways. I'm bringing you to the woods to run from my problems, but maybe by the time you read this you'll have worked past them. Who can say. I want you to have my sword, though, so that when you come home you can have the life I almost ruined. Use it well. And I want you to know the truth about your mother too.
She was a trickster from the start. I loved her more than anything, but that was probably a trick too. I told her everything, all my secrets and all the secrets from my career too. She was a good listener at first and stuck by my side through everything. She had you and I thought I had done everything right. Then she was distant, and stopped talking or listening. I should have suspected things then but it wasn't until she began to abuse you that I started to care. I caught her performing spells numerous times, and all I remember about them was that you were at the center of one and that was the only time I was upset. I think I stopped her before anything happened. Then she left, and I lost my position as a knight.
I'm sorry my weakness led to this. I don't know what life I'm bringing you into, but I can only pray it's better than what we had. Whatever happens to me, I want you to stay safe. Don't seek out your mother, and don't make my mistakes. Good luck, Son.
And there it was, the answer to the question of how to proceed. The past was the past, and even his father knew it was to be left that way. He took the sword and found its sheath below it, so he buckled that on. Then, he lifted the sword and left the house with the wolves at his heels.