Chapter 3: The Mark Beneath the Moon
The moon rose high over the cliffs of Duskwatch as if summoned by prophecy itself. Its pale light bled into the great halls of Blackthorn Castle, casting strange patterns across Selene's chambers. The walls—made of obsidian and ancient stone—seemed to hum with the kind of magic that only came alive at night. It had been one week since Selene was brought to the castle, and though she was no longer confined to her room, she remained trapped by something deeper than locks: silence, secrecy, and the growing weight of her unspoken bond to the Night King.
Selene stood at the open balcony, her silver hair loose, her skin bathed in lunar light. Her senses had sharpened. She could hear the footsteps of guards two floors below, the flutter of a raven's wings as it landed on a tower far across the courtyard. Her body was changing, adapting, as if it knew something monumental was near.
"You've begun to feel it, haven't you?" a voice said behind her.
She turned. Valerian stood in the shadows. No guards. No formality. Just him, a black tunic clinging to his broad frame, his presence like stormclouds before a downpour. Dangerous. Magnetic.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, folding her arms tightly.
He took a step forward. "The mark beneath your skin. The pull of the bond. It doesn't happen often. Only when fate demands it."
Her heart pounded, and not just from fear. He was right. A mark had appeared on her collarbone the day she arrived. Faint and golden, like ink made of sunlight—shaped like a crescent with lines radiating out. She'd tried to wash it off. It glowed brighter when she was near him.
"I didn't ask for this," she whispered.
"Neither did I," Valerian replied.
The wind stirred, wrapping around them like an invisible thread. They stood there, bound by the same truth. Prophecy had not asked for their permission.
---
Selene began to explore more of the castle, led by a young servant girl named Mira. Mira had soft green eyes and an easy smile, though she avoided speaking about anything beyond her daily duties. But one afternoon, in the library's maze of forbidden books, Selene found her courage.
"Mira," she asked softly, "what happened to the last omega brought to Blackthorn?"
Mira's eyes darted around. "No one speaks of her. She disappeared before the final blood moon. They say the bond rejected itself."
"Rejected?"
"She tried to run before the ceremony. The King nearly lost control."
"Control of what?"
Mira hesitated. "The curse, my lady. The curse that birthed the Night King's throne."
---
That night, Selene couldn't sleep. The mark burned. Not from pain—but from connection. She dreamt of an ancient voice whispering her name. She saw herself, cloaked in white, standing at the edge of a battlefield with fire on one side and darkness on the other. In the center was Valerian, half-shadow, half-flame.
And then she woke up in his arms.
Literally.
Valerian had burst into her room mid-nightmare, drawn by the bond. He held her now, cradled against his chest, his fangs retracted but his eyes glowing crimson. He didn't speak. He just held her like she might vanish if he let go.
When her trembling slowed, he whispered into her ear, "You are not the first omega I've touched. But you will be the last."
She pulled away slightly. "Because of the bond?"
"No," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Because you are the prophecy itself. And if fate demands blood... I will drown kingdoms before I let it take you."
---
Far beneath the castle, in a sealed chamber guarded by spells older than the crown, a raven flew in. It landed atop an altar carved with the prophecy's words:
The marked omega shall bind the king of night. Love her, and he falls. Kill her, and the world dies.
The bird transformed into a hooded figure cloaked in ash and bone.
"She has awakened," it said aloud, to no one and everything. "And the stars have begun to