Ciara's Pov:
The east wing was colder than the rest of the city—beautiful, yes, with carved obsidian arches and walls veined with silver, but it felt like walking through the spine of a beast that hadn't quite died.
Kaelen left without a word once the guards opened the door. I heard his boots echo down the hall until the silence swallowed him whole.
Now I stood alone.
Well… not entirely.
Lucian leaned against the far window, half in shadow, one hand clasped behind his back and the other resting on the hilt of that strange sword he wore like a limb. He hadn't spoken since they left the throne room, and neither had she.
But my hand still burned.
Not from pain. From awareness. Like it had been waiting to wake up its entire life—and now that it had, it refused to go back to sleep.
I watched him silently.
The moonlight cut across his face, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the hollow beneath his cheekbones. His expression was unreadable, sculpted from centuries of silence and secrets. It was infuriating.
"So," I finally said, crossing her arms, "is this the part where you lock me up and claim I belong to you?"
His lips twitched—not quite a smile. "If I wanted you caged, I wouldn't bring you to my home."
"Then why bring me here?"
Lucian didn't turn. "Because you're marked. Because that mark ties you to something greater than you understand. And because it's waking up too fast."
Ciara's heart thudded. "Waking up?"
"You've seen the dreams, haven't you?" he asked. "The fog. The blood. Me."
I froze.
"I didn't summon them," he said. "That's the mark pulling your soul toward mine. You don't have a wolf, Ciara. You have something older. Something dangerous."
I swallowed. "Then tell me what it is."
Lucian finally turned, and for a moment, the weight of his stare felt like drowning.
"You are not just moonborn," he said. "You're not just a failed shifter or a cursed child. You are the vessel of a power that should've been buried a thousand years ago."
I took a step back. "I'm not a vessel. I'm a person."
"Are you?" His voice was gentle—but sharp enough to draw blood. "That mark chose you. Not the other way around. You don't know what's sleeping inside you."
My mouth trembled. "Then what do you want from me?"
Lucian stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately. The room felt smaller with every step he took.
"To keep you alive," he said. "To teach you how to control what's waking up. Before someone else finds you—and rips it out."
I shook her head. "And you're just going to help me? Out of what, kindness?"
"No," he said simply. "Out of necessity."
He was in front of me now. His presence pressed against me like gravity. "You're not the only one being hunted, Ciara. That mark is a key. To a war. To an empire. And to something buried beneath this world that should never be found."
I stared at him, my voice barely a whisper. "What if I don't want any of this?"
His gaze softened just slightly.
"Neither did I."
Their silence pulsed with something unspoken. Not trust. Not yet. But something sharp and fragile. Like truce.
Lucian reached for my hand again, slower this time. And when he touched my skin, the mark didn't flare in protest—it shimmered, like it recognized him.
"You'll stay here," he said. "In this wing. You'll be protected. Watched."
My brows rose. "Watched?"
"Not because I don't trust you," he said. "Because I don't trust what's inside you."
Before I could argue, a low, metallic chime rang through the air. It echoed from deep below the stone, cold and hollow.
Lucian's face darkened.
"What is that?" she asked.
He turned to the door, hand already on his sword.
"Trouble."
————————————————————————-
Lucian descended the hidden staircase first, his sword still drawn, the folds of his cloak whispering against the cold stone. The walls were carved with faded runes, old and cracked, some glowing faintly as he passed. Ciara hesitated only a heartbeat before following him, the mark on her palm pulsing with uneasy heat.
The air grew colder with every step, thick with damp and old power. She didn't ask where they were going—she wasn't sure she wanted the answer.
"I'm taking you to the Sanctum," Lucian said over his shoulder.
"What's that?" she asked, voice tight.
He didn't turn. "Where the truth begins."
The staircase spiraled endlessly downward until they reached a sealed door. It pulsed faintly with a soft red glow, veins of magic running through its obsidian surface.
Lucian placed his palm flat against it. The door didn't just open—it sighed, groaned like something waking from a long sleep. As it split down the center, warm red light spilled out, flooding the narrow tunnel with eerie illumination.
Ciara stepped inside behind him—and froze.
The Sanctum was a vast underground chamber, ancient and impossibly still. Pillars carved with celestial markings towered into darkness. The walls were lined with relics—blades, tomes, glowing vials—and floating above a circular dais in the center was a large fragment of stone, cracked but humming with power.
Lucian walked straight to it. "This is what they tore from me," he said softly.
Ciara looked around, heart hammering. "What is all this?"
Lucian turned to her, his expression unreadable.
"This," he said, "is a fragment of the Moon Throne. The seat of the first true rulers—before the Temple, before the Elders twisted the lore. This is where the Eir was chosen."
Ciara's pulse jumped. "Eir? Like in the prophecies?"
Lucian's voice was low. "Not a myth. A title. A power passed by blood and flame."
He walked slowly toward her. "Every generation, the Eir is born to keep the balance—between moon and night, between chaos and control. But the last true Eir died centuries ago… and the Temple feared what would come next. So they buried her line. Broke the blood. Scattered the gift."
He stopped in front of her.
"And now it's in you."
Ciara shook her head. "That's not possible. I'm wolfless. I was born broken."
"No," Lucian said, stepping closer. "You were made to believe that. They silenced your wolf so the mark wouldn't awaken. They hid you… because they were afraid of what would happen if the Eir found her mate."
Her stomach turned. "You think I'm that Eir?"
Lucian reached out, brushing his fingers across the mark on her palm. "I don't think so. I know."
The mark blazed gold under his touch.
Power surged between them—wild, ancient, alive. It twisted through the air, warping the magic in the room. Runes on the walls flared. The stone fragment cracked louder, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
Ciara staggered back. "No. No, this can't be. I didn't ask for this—"
Lucian caught her arm. "Fate doesn't ask."
"I don't want to be anyone's chosen," she whispered.
"You don't have a choice," he said quietly. "But you do have a chance. To claim it before they do."
A long silence passed between them.
Finally, she whispered, "What if I fail?"
Lucian's gaze darkened. "Then the world burns. And you burn with it."
Ciara pulled away from Lucian's grasp, her skin still tingling from where his fingers had touched. Her mark pulsed, but now it felt less like a curse and more like… a warning. A warning that something had shifted. That the truth was no longer sleeping—it had been stirred.
"I don't even know what it means to be this… Eir," she said, her voice small beneath the weight of the chamber. "What am I supposed to do? Lead vampires? Lead werewolves? They'd tear me apart."
Lucian's silver gaze lingered on her. "You don't have to lead anyone," he said. "Not yet. You only need to survive long enough to awaken what's inside you."
She laughed bitterly. "You say that survival is simple."
"It is," he said smoothly. "When you have someone like me to ensure it."
Ciara's brows drew together. "Why are you helping me? Really."
Lucian hesitated. Just for a breath. But it was there.
"When I was cursed," he said slowly, "the priestesses said my mate would destroy me. That her blood would be my ruin. So I searched for her—at first to kill her. Then… to protect her. Because I realized what they feared wasn't me."
He stepped closer again, his voice lower now. "It was us. Together."
Ciara's breath caught. "You think I'm the one from the prophecy."
"No," he said, his tone like steel wrapped in velvet. "I know you are."
The room felt smaller, the air denser.
"But if the prophecy says I destroy you," she whispered, "why not kill me now?"
Lucian gave her a cold smile. "Because I don't believe in endings written by cowards."
She stared at him, searching his face for anything that resembled mercy or madness. He offered neither. Only the truth.
Before she could speak again, a sudden sound split the air—distant, sharp, like metal meeting stone.
Lucian's head snapped toward the corridor.
"We're not alone."
Kaelen appeared at the door within seconds, swords in both hands.
"They found her," he said grimly. "Too soon."
"Who?" Ciara asked, heart racing.
Lucian's voice dropped to a growl. "The Temple's Hunters."
Kaelen's jaw clenched. "Three cloaked figures breached the veil. They're in the upper court now. Searching."
Lucian turned back to her. "You have a choice."
"I don't feel like I do."
"You either stay here and hide again—helpless, hunted—or you come with me and learn how to make the mark burn for you, not against you."
Ciara's mark pulsed, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
Outside, footsteps echoed. Steel rang. Shadows moved.
"I don't trust you," she said.
Lucian smiled darkly. "Good. That's how you stay alive."
She nodded once.
"Then teach me."
His smile vanished. "It'll hurt."
"I've hurt my whole life," she whispered.
Lucian turned to Kaelen. "Get her a blade. If they come, she bleeds with us."