The council's ultimatum haunted Aria long after they left the chamber. Every echo of the words reject her or face exile replayed in her mind, sharper than any blade. She tried to push them aside, but they followed her into her dreams, into every quiet moment with Damien, until it felt like her very skin hummed with the weight of them.
But it wasn't just exile or rejection that kept her awake at night. It was the word the council had whispered prophecy. And the way the scarred woman had looked at her, as though she were both curse and weapon.
She needed answers.
And she knew exactly where to begin: her mother.
---
The next morning, Aria stood in the old attic of her childhood home. Dust motes floated in beams of weak sunlight, and the air smelled of cedar and time. Her mother's things were stacked in forgotten boxes, their labels fading.
Her heart clenched as she opened the first one. Inside were yellowed photographs, soft sweaters, a cracked porcelain jewelry box. All pieces of a woman she remembered only in fragments her laughter, her warmth, the way her hands always smelled of lavender.
Aria dug deeper, fingers trembling. She needed more than memories. She needed truth.
At the bottom of the box, she found a leather-bound journal. The cover was worn, the corners softened from years of use. Her breath caught.
Her mother's handwriting filled the first page.
"To the daughter I may not live to raise. These are the truths our family has hidden. If you are reading this, then the secrets of our bloodline have found you too."
Aria's chest tightened. She sank onto the dusty floorboards, the journal balanced on her knees, and began to read.
---
Her mother's words unfolded like a confession.
"Our blood is not ordinary. Long ago, a pact was made between wolf and human a union meant to heal the rift between worlds. But the child born of that pact was neither fully wolf nor fully human. She was something in between. The prophecy says her descendants will walk the line between both worlds, able to bring unity or destruction."
Aria's hands shook. Her throat went dry.
Descendants.
That meant her.
Her mother's entries grew darker. She wrote of hunters who sought their bloodline, believing it cursed. Of wolves who feared it, whispering that such children would bring ruin.
"I tried to live quietly, to raise you away from their eyes. But blood cannot hide forever. The pull of the moon finds us all."
Tears blurred Aria's vision. Her mother had known this day would come. She had tried to shield her, even at the cost of her own peace.
The last entry was shorter, the ink smudged.
"If you find Damien, trust him. He is bound to this prophecy as much as you. Together, you may endure what I could not."
Aria pressed her hand to the page. The words vibrated through her, both a warning and a promise.
---
She didn't realize how long she sat there until footsteps creaked on the stairs behind her.
"Aria?"
Damien's voice.
She wiped her eyes quickly, closing the journal. But he'd already seen it. His gaze lingered on the worn leather, then rose to meet hers.
"You found something."
Aria hesitated. Part of her wanted to hide it, to keep this last piece of her mother safe. But the other part the part that remembered the ultimatum, the whispers of prophecy knew she couldn't.
Wordlessly, she handed it to him.
Damien took it gently, as though it might shatter in his hands. He read in silence, his brow furrowing, his jaw tightening with each page.
When he finished, he exhaled slowly. "I should have known."
Aria's heart lurched. "Known what?"
His eyes burned gold in the dim light. "That your bloodline was tied to the prophecy. It explains why Viktor is so fixated on you. Why the council fears you. Why…" He stopped, jaw clenching.
"Why what?" she pressed.
"Why I felt the bond before you even knew me," Damien said softly. "It wasn't just chance. The moon tied us together because of this. Because we are both bound to the same fate."
Aria's breath caught. The weight of it pressed down on her chest until she thought she might break. "So it was never real? Us? Just… prophecy?"
"No." Damien crossed the space between them, kneeling before her. His hands cupped her face, steady, grounding. "Aria, I would have fought for you even if destiny had never whispered your name. This bond may have been written in the stars, but the choice my choice is mine."
Her eyes stung with tears. She wanted to believe him. And part of her did. But the fear still gnawed at her.
"What if they're right?" she whispered. "What if I'm a curse?"
Damien's gaze didn't waver. "Then I'll bear that curse with you. But I don't believe you're meant for destruction. I believe you're meant for more."
The words sank deep into her bones, a warmth fighting back the cold dread.
---
That night, Aria dreamed of her mother.
She stood in the forest, the moon silvering her hair, her eyes soft and sad.
"You're stronger than I was," her mother whispered. "Don't let them break you. The bond you carry is not a curse. It is a choice. And you must choose what to make of it."
When Aria reached for her, the dream dissolved into mist.
She woke with tears on her cheeks, but also a strange calm. For the first time, she felt her mother's presence not as a memory, but as a guide.
---
The next day, she returned to Damien with the journal clutched to her chest.
"We can't let the council control this," she said firmly. "We can't let Viktor twist it either. If this prophecy is about me, about us then we have to decide what it means. Not them."
Damien's lips curved in the faintest smile. Pride glimmered in his eyes. "You sound like a Luna already."
The word still felt strange on her tongue. Luna. Leader. Mate. But as the weight of her mother's secrets settled into her, she realized she no longer felt only fear.
She felt resolve.
Whatever destiny waited, she would not face it hiding in shadows.
---
But even as she steeled herself, she knew others were moving. Viktor would not stop. The council would not wait. And the prophecy that tied her blood to the moon was no longer a secret.
The question wasn't whether she could endure it.
The question was whether she could survive it.