Night had thickened into something ancient.
Lucian stood alone now in the gardens behind the council keep, where black thorns curled around the trees like memory. The fire of the ritual still pulsed beneath his skin—proof of a bond the old ones could not undo. The bond had not broken them… but something else had shifted.
The scent of rose ash and old wine filled the night. He touched the edge of the stone fountain where his mother once whispered lullabies in a tongue no one remembered. Now he remembered. Every word. Every curse tucked into her songs.
"Firstborn of fire. Last child of ruin."
A line she always sang when the stars were watching.
He heard footsteps.
Kyrell.
But when Lucian turned, it wasn't him.
It was Renak, holding the torn letter he'd found hidden in Silas's private vault.
"The seal is broken," Renak said softly, holding it out. "Do you want to read it?"
Lucian didn't take it. "I already know."
Renak stepped closer, voice lowered. "Your name wasn't just erased. It was replaced. The council put another heir on the throne before they slaughtered your bloodline. Silas was just a pawn in a deeper game."
Lucian turned to the shadows. "I need you to find out who replaced me."
"I will. But there's more." Renak hesitated, then drew a second parchment. This one older, the ink faded.
"The prophecy the council read aloud? It wasn't the only one. Silas hid this… from everyone. Even Mareth."
Lucian's eyes narrowed.
Renak read aloud:
> "The fanged heir shall rise in exile, bound to the marked one.
Together they shall open the sealed gate.
One to bring ruin.
One to resurrect the old throne.
And the one they forgot shall bring death to both."
Lucian stepped back. "The one they forgot?"
Renak nodded. "A third player."
Silence fell between them. The fountain behind them bubbled faintly, as if the garden itself listened.
---
Kyrell stood high on the tower wall, wind in his hair, watching the eastern mountains. Something called to him from the horizon—an ache in his chest, like a tether being pulled taut.
He didn't want to leave Lucian. Not after that kiss. Not after that vow. But he felt it—something unfinished. Someone watching.
He closed his eyes.
A voice whispered inside his head.
"You've forgotten what I am to you."
He turned sharply. No one was there.
And yet… the air reeked of Damien.
---
Mara didn't go far.
She stood beneath the scorched statues of former high elders, her face pale and unreadable. She held a blade in her hand—not to kill, not yet—but to remember.
"Prophecy didn't choose me," she whispered. "But I can choose what prophecy never saw."
Behind her, a voice murmured, low and coaxing.
"It chose you in another version. You just weren't strong enough to hold it."
She didn't need to turn.
"Who are you?"
The man stepped forward from the shadows.
Gold eyes. A smile like broken glass. The Forgotten.
"Someone who was there when the bloodline began. Someone erased like you."
Mara stared at him. "You want Lucian dead?"
"No," he said. "I want him unchosen. And I want you… sharpened."
---
Later that night, Lucian sat in his chamber, alone except for the cracked pages of Silas's hidden letter, now spread across the table.
The wax seal had once borne the symbol of the First Blood House—an open eye beneath a crown of thorns.
His eye.
He traced the outline with his fingertip, memories storming through him.
He should've been king.
He would've been king.
But they had taken it all.
And now Kyrell stood beside him—prophesied destroyer, fated lover, fire to his storm. But if the other prophecy was true, someone else lurked just out of sight. The Forgotten.
Lucian whispered to the wind, voice soft, guttural.
"I will not lose it all again."
A crow tapped once against the window.
When Lucian opened it, a single black feather drifted in.
---