The door to the Lycan Archive groaned as it opened, thick with age and warded with magic so old Elena could feel it pulse against her skin. Mira stepped inside first, her presence still and commanding, torchlight casting flickering shadows along the stone walls.
Elena followed slowly, her boots echoing on the ancient floor. The air was thick with dust, memory, and the sharp bite of old power. Shelves lined with scrolls, bound tomes, and artifacts filled the circular room. It smelled of parchment, herbs, and smoke. But beneath it, something else—something alive—stirred.
"This place is older than the court itself," Mira said, brushing her fingers along a book bound in dark leather. "Only those bound to the bloodlines or the prophecy can open the door. You did it without effort."
"I didn't even know what I was doing," Elena whispered. "It just…responded."
Mira glanced back at her. "Because it remembers you."
Elena's skin crawled.
"I'm not the Moon Queen," she said sharply.
"No," Mira agreed, turning to a nearby pedestal. "But you are of her line. Magic marks its heirs even when they've forgotten it."
As Mira busied herself lighting the center brazier, Elena wandered deeper into the archive. Something drew her, like the gentle pull of a current beneath her skin. She passed a cracked mirror framed in ash wood, an obsidian dagger humming faintly in its sheath, and finally… a mural.
It was carved directly into the stone. A wolf with silver eyes stood in a forest of fire, beside a woman with long hair and a crown of antlers. Her hands blazed with light. She held back a tide of shadows that threatened to swallow the world.
"Who is she?" Elena asked.
Mira stepped beside her. "Velaria. The Moonborn. Half witch, half Lycan. The first of her kind."
"I keep seeing her," Elena said. "In dreams. In reflections. Sometimes I hear her voice."
"That's because your magic is awakening."
Elena turned sharply. "Stop saying that. I don't have magic."
Mira just tilted her head, unreadable. "Then what do you call this?"
She gestured toward the mural. As Elena looked, her pendant pulsed—once, twice—and then the carved eyes of the woman glowed faintly. The stone beneath Elena's feet began to shimmer.
Suddenly, the floor vanished.
Elena didn't fall.
She descended, gently, into a pool of light—until her feet touched solid ground again, now in a chamber below the Archive.
This room was colder. Quieter. Older.
Rows of glowing runes lined the walls, forming a circle around an altar made of moonstone.
Elena approached it cautiously.
Something lay atop the altar—wrapped in dark cloth. She unwrapped it slowly, fingers trembling.
It was a book.
Bound in silverthread and black leather, etched with a crescent moon and runes she couldn't understand. As she touched the cover, a jolt of warmth surged through her.
Blood to blood. Moon to moon.
The words formed in her mind, whispered in a voice both hers and not hers.
"Elena!" Mira called from above, her voice urgent. "You mustn't read from it. Not yet!"
But it was too late.
The book snapped open.
Elena's vision blurred as light engulfed her, searing and cold all at once.
Suddenly she was there—in the past, or a memory, or a dream.
She stood in a circle of witches under the full moon. The ground was soaked with blood. Wolves howled in the distance. A child cried.
A woman—Velaria—stood at the center, a silver dagger in her hands and agony in her eyes.
"They will come for her," Velaria said. "She must be hidden. Carried through time. Guarded by the stone."
One of the witches protested. "She won't remember you. She'll be alone."
"She won't be," Velaria said. "The king will find her."
Velaria raised the dagger—and stabbed it into her own palm. Blood spilled onto the pendant Elena now wore. Light burst from it like a star.
And then—darkness.
Elena gasped, stumbling backward. The vision broke. She was back in the hidden chamber, the book glowing faintly beside her.
Mira rushed down the stairs and grasped her arms.
"What did you see?" she demanded.
"She sent someone forward," Elena whispered. "A child. Through time. With the pendant."
Mira's eyes darkened. "Then it's true. The Moon Queen didn't just die—she scattered her bloodline. She planned this."
Elena clutched the pendant. "She planned me."
Mira didn't respond.
Because they both knew the truth.
Elena wasn't just some girl from the future.
She was a living weapon.
And now… she was starting to awaken.