TO RUIN A KING

The moon was a swollen eye in the sky—watchful, silent, unblinking. Beneath its silver gaze, the city slumbered in ignorance, unaware of the ancient war slinking through its streets like vapor.

Selene Noir—no, Magdalene—moved like a whisper through the maze of alleyways behind the Crescent Quarter. Her heels clicked softly on cobblestone slick with mist, but her stride was deliberate. Calculated. Powerful.

Her disguise was flawless tonight—dark suit tailored to perfection, obsidian silk blouse open just enough to provoke, hair swept into a regal twist. A briefcase clutched in one hand. Confidence cloaking her like armor.

But beneath the glamour, a storm churned.

He was watching.

She'd felt Maddox Vale's presence the moment she stepped out of her sleek, matte-black vehicle. His scent haunted the air—burnt amber and something primal beneath it. Even now, her wolf strained toward it, a traitor beneath her skin.

"Focus," she muttered, touching the charm hidden beneath her blouse. The rune flared warm. Temporarily muted the pull.

She ducked through the wrought-iron side gate of a forgotten apothecary nestled between two crumbling bookshops. The place had been abandoned for decades—or so it seemed. Magdalene whispered the ancient password under her breath, and the sigil on the doorframe flickered.

A low growl echoed from the shadows beyond the door.

She didn't flinch.

The creature guarding the threshold stepped forward—fur black as pitch, eyes glowing faint violet. Not a wolf. A sentinel. One of the ancient spectral guardians who owed allegiance to no one but blood oaths and the Old Magic.

Magdalene reached into her coat pocket and withdrew a thin glass vial.

"Proof of lineage," she said, handing it over.

The creature sniffed, then dipped its head and stepped aside. The door opened on its own, creaking into the darkness.

She stepped inside.

The smoke hit her first—rich, clove-sweet and bitter with sage. A conjuring haze. She blinked as her vision adjusted to the flickering light of enchanted lanterns. Dozens of figures sat in hoods and masks, their features obscured, their energies cloaked.

This was not a business meeting.

This was a den of old allies, neutral players, and secret enemies. She had called it herself—under Selene Noir's banner—to pull strings that Magdalene Rivers could never have touched.

A woman in crimson robes approached. "Selene Noir," she said, voice laced with magic. "The circle recognizes your presence. Speak your terms."

"I come not with terms," Magdalene said smoothly, "but with opportunity."

That got their attention.

"I offer access to ValeCorp's restricted archives."

A ripple passed through the room.

"In exchange for what?" the robed woman asked, suspicious.

"Protection," Magdalene answered. "For the orphaned pack of Graymist Hollow. For the last remnants of the Order of Sael. And for one scroll… sealed in the Vault of Veilrun. You know the one."

Someone gasped.

A masked figure leaned forward. "The prophecy scroll?"

Magdalene didn't blink.

"I know the king wants it buried. I also know he can't read it. Not truly."

"And you can?" came a gravel-rough voice from the corner.

"I don't need to read it," she replied. "I am what it speaks of."

A slow hush fell. The silence before a storm. Then—

A sound split the quiet.

A deep, echoing snarl.

The lanterns flickered.

One figure leapt up. Another stood, weapons appearing from sleeves and shadows.

Magdalene spun around just as the door burst inward—splinters flying. Smoke flooded the chamber. Thick. Choking. Laced with wolfsbane.

"Down!" someone screamed.

But Magdalene didn't duck.

She stood tall, blinking through the smoke.

And there he was.

Maddox Vale.

Not in his tailored suits. Not in the polished armor of the corporate world. But in full shift—half-man, half-beast, his skin molten gold in the firelight, eyes a storm of fury and disbelief.

"Selene Noir," he growled.

No. Not growled.

Spoke.

And her name left his lips like a blade unsheathed.

The other figures scattered. Some vanished into shadows. Others tried to strike—but none reached him. Maddox was destruction incarnate, every step cracking the stone beneath his feet.

"Don't," Magdalene said, lifting her hand.

The spell on her ring pulsed. A barrier shimmered between them.

His claws stopped inches from her throat.

And then… he looked into her eyes.

His growl faltered.

Recognition flickered.

His lips parted. "Magda—"

She slapped him. Hard.

It wasn't just to buy a moment. It wasn't just rage.

It was pain.

Old. Deep. Bone-deep.

"I told you," she hissed. "You were never supposed to find me."

His jaw clenched. Blood trickled from his lip. "And yet… here you are. Bargaining with outlaws and traitors. Using my company. Hiding behind a false name—"

"As if you didn't bury yours beneath a crown of lies."

The barrier cracked between them. The air vibrated with power. Magic bled into the stone.

Behind her, someone whispered, "They're the ones from the scroll…"

The room watched. Frozen. Terrified.

"You have no idea what you're doing," Maddox said lowly, voice trembling with restraint. "You think revenge will fix what they broke? That prophecy doesn't guarantee your justice. It promises your ruin."

"Then let it ruin me," she whispered.

Their eyes locked.

And that's when the smoke thickened again—this time unnatural, with whispers curling through it like living things.

A third presence entered.

Cold. Ancient.

A shadow in the doorway.

"Children of the Vale," it said in a voice like cracking ice, "I warned you both. The Fates grow restless."

Magdalene turned slowly.

So did Maddox.

The shadow stepped forward—a figure robed in bone-white, its face hidden beneath a horned mask.

No scent.

No heartbeat.

Only dread.

The creature lifted one skeletal hand—and every rune in the chamber flared red.

Magdalene's chest seized. Her skin burned.

Beside her, Maddox snarled, shifting further, gold giving way to coal-black fur.

"You trespass where prophecy bleeds," the creature said. "And now… the veil will punish."

The lanterns burst.

Screams echoed.

Magdalene felt herself falling, but it wasn't her body—it was something deeper.

She clutched the rune beneath her blouse, trying to focus—

And then everything went black.