he access granted to Selene arrived faster than anticipated, yet it was profoundly… circumscribed.
Lucian provided a specialized tablet, synced to the Thorne estate's encrypted network. Its interface was stark, featuring only two new icons: 「Fundamental Energy Theory」 and 「Clan Historical Archives (Restricted Access)」. There was no trace of the direct materials she most desired—nothing on curses or forbidden arts, not even a digital version of Lunar Eclipse and the Bloodline Shackles.
"The Master believes your current level of understanding is best suited to foundational knowledge," Lucian stated, his tone, as ever, unreadable as to whether it was mere relay or held personal opinion. "Sections of the historical archive contain sensitive information. Your reading will be monitored and logged."
Selene accepted the tablet, the reality clear. Lysander had acquiesced to her request, yet had drawn firm boundaries, retaining full control. He was permitting her knowledge, but dictating its depth. It was a carefully measured concession, meant to sate her curiosity enough to prevent blunders born of ignorance, while ensuring she could not touch the core secrets.
She felt no discouragement. This first step was victory enough.
In the days that followed, Selene's routine gained a new fixed element: study. She became a sponge plunged back into an ocean of learning, greedily absorbing knowledge that had once been worlds away.
The 「Fundamental Energy Theory」 section explained, in almost pedagogical terms, the wellspring of Lycan power—a vital energy known as Lunar Essence. It stemmed from their bloodline, waxing and waning with the moon's phases, peaking in turbulent potency during the full moon. Lycans channeled and wielded this force through esoteric means, granting them speed, strength, and regeneration far beyond human limits. Yet, due to its wild nature, those with weaker control risked losing themselves to it during the full moon or times of intense emotion. Certain ancient, powerful bloodlines also carried unique "Bloodline Shackles" or curses, binding immense power to profound suffering.
The term "Bloodline Shackles" made her heart stutter. It pointed unmistakably to the curse Lysander bore. Yet, the material offered only the concept, devoid of any description of its form or means of breaking it.
She turned to the 「Clan Historical Archives」. The content here was far more fragmented—excerpts from Lycan chronicles and biographies of significant figures. She skimmed over lengthy accounts of tribal migrations and wars, focusing her search on any trace of "special humans," "Oracles," or "Pure Yin Constitutions."
The process was like sifting an ocean for a single needle. The archive's search function was deliberately crippled, forcing her to manually scan reams of digital documents. Many ancient records were couched in obscure language, peppered with lost terms from the old Lycan tongue, making reading a laborious task.
She often spent entire afternoons in the library, hunched over the tablet, her brow furrowed in concentration, slender fingers sliding across virtual pages, pausing occasionally to consult the limited translation glossary provided within her access. Matron Wu would tread softly when bringing her tea, observing her focused profile.
Lysander would sometimes appear soundlessly at the library's entrance. He did not enter, but stood at a distance, silently watching her studious背影. He saw the momentary spark in her eyes when she found a clue, the frustrated bite of her lip when the trail went cold. That focused, vital determination was utterly alien among the faces of awe, sycophancy, or calculation that typically surrounded him.
He never disturbed her, merely watched for a time before melting away.
One evening, Selene finally found it—a passage within a sparse account of the millennia-old War of the Shadowed Moon. The text was deliberately obfuscated, but the key information was discernible. It mentioned that during this war, which decided the fate of the Lycans, a human woman possessing the "Ultimate Yin Force" had used her very soul as a conduit to help the Lycan King of that age seal away a powerful "Betrayer." She had dissipated in the process, and the royal bloodline had borne an "Eternal Shackle" ever since.
Ultimate Yin Force! Eternal Shackle!
Selene's heart hammered against her ribs. This was as close to a confirmation as she could get! That human woman was likely a "Pure Yin Constitution" like herself! And the curse upon Lysander originated from this!
Her finger swiped eagerly for the next page, only to meet empty air. A prompt flashed: "Insufficient Clearance. This segment is encrypted."
Insufficient clearance again! Frustration surged, hot and sharp. The truth was right there, barred by an invisible wall.
Unyielding, she exited the document, scrambling to search the archives for "Ultimate Yin Force," "soul as conduit," "Eternal Shackle." Most results returned "No Entries Found" or the familiar clearance warning. Only one marginal text, a miscellany on ancient Lycan rituals, noted that the sustenance of certain powerful curses was tied to the "bloodline descendants" of the original caster or a key medium.
Bloodline descendants…
The memory of Lysander's words slammed into her—"The descendant of the King's blood and the Oracle's, a willing sacrifice."
Could it be… that the sacrificed "Oracle" from a thousand years ago had a bloodline that persisted? Was it… her? Was that why her blood, her touch, affected him so uniquely? Because her very lineage was part of this curse—both the lock and, potentially… the key?
The deduction chilled her to the bone. If this were true, was her existence, from the very beginning, destined for the altar?
"It seems you've uncovered something… intriguing."
The low voice startled her. She spun around to find Lysander standing behind her, his gaze fixed on the tablet screen displaying the ritual miscellany. His eyes were deep pools, revealing nothing.
Instinctively, she moved to shut off the screen, but his hand closed over her wrist, stopping her. His fingertips were cool against her agitation-warmed skin.
"No need for alarm." He released her, moving to lean casually against the reading table. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but his eyes were sharp as honed steel. "Tell me, what have you inferred from these dusty records?"
Was this a test? A probe of her limits?
Selene drew a steadying breath, forcing calm. She lifted her chin, meeting his probing stare. Her clear voice cut through the library's silence.
"I infer that I am not a chance-found 'antidote.' My bloodline is likely intrinsically linked to the 'Shackle' you bear. I am a component of the curse itself. That is why my blood, and… my presence, can influence it."
She paused, searching his face for a reaction, but it remained an impassive mask, as if this was already known to him.
She pressed on, the words fueled by a desperate courage. "I also infer that the 'Oracle' from a thousand years ago was likely my ancestor. And this so-called 'willing sacrifice'… perhaps requires her direct bloodline descendant."
She delivered the final sentence slowly, each word dropping like a stone into the space between them.
Lysander watched her in silence. The only sound was their quiet breathing. His dark eyes were like unfathomable ink, swirling with emotions she couldn't decipher—appreciation? Wariness? A thread of something complex, akin to a mocking twist of fate?
After a long moment, he spoke, his voice low and even. "Your deductive skills are better than I anticipated."
He neither confirmed nor denied.
But this near-admission sank her heart into an abyss. Her fears were likely horribly close to the truth.
"Then," Selene heard the faint tremor in her own voice, "did you know from the very beginning, Mr. Thorne, that my ultimate value might be… sacrifice?"
Lysander straightened to his full height, looking down at her, his shadow enveloping her. He reached out, not to touch her, but to pick up the cold, limited-authority tablet from the desk.
"Too much knowledge is not always a blessing, Selene," he said, his thumb tracing the tablet's edge, his tone reverting to its customary frost. "Before you possess the strength to change anything, focus on your current duties."
He turned to leave, pausing at the doorway, his back to her.
"There is a charity gala tomorrow evening. Rivals will be present. Expect… tests. Remember your role as Mrs. Thorne. And remember…" He half-turned his head, the profile stark. "You are far from needing to contemplate your 'final worth' just yet."
With that, he was gone, leaving no room for questions.
Selene sat alone in the vast, silent library, watching the night deepen outside the window, a profound cold seeping into her bones.
She had touched the tip of the truth's iceberg, only to find it brutally sharp. She was not just a prisoner, a medicine, but a marked, future sacrifice.
What did his final words mean? Comfort? A warning? An assurance of her current utility? Or… something else entirely?
She clenched her slightly trembling hands. Fear washed over her in waves, but from its depths, a more tenacious will took root.
She would not accept this fate.
Now that she knew of the lock, now that she knew she was part of the key, she would find a way, before any final sacrifice, to break these chains of destiny.
Knowledge was the first step. Next, she needed power. Allies. And… a sliver of viable chance within Lysander's complex, inscrutable stance.
A charity gala? Another den of wolves.
But this time, she would face it with clearer eyes and sharper vigilance.