TO RUIN A KING

Magdalene awoke to the scent of ash and copper.

Pain laced her every limb—dull, ancient, as if her bones remembered a fall far greater than the one she'd just taken. She tried to rise, but her limbs were heavy, as though the earth itself refused to let her go.

She blinked.

She was no longer in the Crescent Quarter. No longer in the apothecary.

No longer in the world she knew.

The sky above her rippled like dark water, and the stars hung in odd configurations. Constellations twisted. The moon split into two, silver halves locked in eternal eclipse.

"Where—?"

"You're in the Veil Between," came a voice behind her. Low. Gentle. Female.

Magdalene turned sharply.

A woman stood at the edge of a pool that shimmered with black fire, cloaked in robes woven from shadow and star-thread. Her face was veiled, but her presence was unmistakable.

A Seer.

One of the Anointed Three.

"You tampered with the prophecy's guardians," the Seer said, stepping forward with unnatural grace. "The Veil noticed. And so you were pulled into the memory of it."

Magdalene sat up slowly, her senses struggling to adjust. "This isn't real."

"It is older than real," the Seer replied. "This is the place where truth is born and twisted. Where fate is inked, blood-bound into the lives of kings and wolves alike."

Magdalene's heart pounded. "Then show me."

The Seer tilted her head.

"You're not ready to see it. Not all of it."

"I don't care. I didn't come this far to be denied now."

A pause.

Then… the Seer nodded.

She knelt beside the black pool, dipped one pale hand into its surface, and drew a spiral across the air. The black fire hissed and parted.

And Magdalene saw it.

A chamber carved from moonstone, guarded by silver wolves, where an ancient scroll floated midair. Its edges curled with age, its runes pulsing red.

"The prophecy was written in blood," the Seer whispered. "By one who saw the end before it began."

The pool shimmered again—revealing two figures bound by fate. A girl with eyes like stormlight. A boy with hands stained in fire. They stood on opposite ends of a crumbling throne.

"It speaks of the Heir of Ruin," the Seer continued. "A child born under false light. One who carries vengeance in her veins and binds the last Alpha King to her fall."

Magdalene's throat closed. "Me."

The Seer nodded once.

"You are the key and the consequence. You are the one meant to end the bloodline… or redeem it."

Magdalene clenched her fists. "Why me?"

"Because your soul is split," the Seer said softly. "One half screams for justice. The other… for him."

Magdalene looked away. She could still feel Maddox's claws inches from her skin. His breath. His confusion. His fury.

He had almost said her name.

He was close to remembering everything.

"What happens if he does remember?" she asked.

The Seer did not speak.

Instead, she turned to the pool once more and whispered a single name:

"Maddox Vale."

The water darkened.

And Magdalene saw him.

He stood inside the ruins of the apothecary, rubble and smoke around him. His eyes were bloodshot, his claws still extended. A dozen unconscious figures lay scattered around him, bodies breathing but broken.

And in his hand—her charm.

The one she'd worn beneath her blouse since the day her father died.

He stared at it, unmoving.

The confusion in his eyes warred with memory.

"She wore this," he murmured to himself. "The girl in the fire…"

His voice broke.

He sank to his knees in the ash, the charm clutched to his chest, as if by holding it, he could remember everything that once made him human.

But it was slipping.

And the beast inside him knew it.

"Maddox," whispered Magdalene, watching through the Veil.

And as if her voice carried across worlds, he looked up suddenly.

Right at her.

"Selene?" he breathed.

Magdalene staggered back from the pool.

"He can see me?"

The Seer's tone tightened. "Only because your bond has awakened. And it is no longer dormant. The moon chose this timing. You were meant to cross."

Magdalene's pulse roared. "He's close to the truth."

"Yes," the Seer said. "And that truth will either bind you together… or burn you both to ash."

Magdalene looked again at Maddox—still clutching the charm, still broken and furious and beautiful beneath the wreckage.

She could feel his pain. Not just empathize—but feel it, like her ribs cracked around it.

Her soul had already begun to split.

And the closer they came… the harder it became to lie.

"Take me back," she said.

The Seer nodded.

"But when you wake," she warned, "you will bear the mark."

"What mark?"

The Seer raised her hand.

A black sigil flared on Magdalene's wrist—the rune from the scroll. The mark of the Ruinbearer.

A symbol that would reveal her true identity to any creature old enough to remember the prophecy.

It pulsed with heat.

"Now go," said the Seer.

Magdalene's vision blurred.

And then the Veil vanished.

She came to in a dark corridor, a cold floor beneath her, walls flickering with torchlight. She smelled moss. Damp earth. And blood.

She blinked.

Not alone.

Two hooded figures stood over her. Cloaked in midnight robes. Unfamiliar.

"You survived the smoke," one of them said.

"She bears the mark," whispered the other.

They bowed.

"We serve the Old Pact. We were sent to find you. To take you to the Temple."

Magdalene pushed herself up, heart still pounding from the vision. Her voice rasped. "Why?"

"Because the Blood Council has convened," the first said. "And they've called upon the Ruinbearer to answer for the prophecy's stirring."

She stiffened. "I never asked for this power."

"It asked for you," the second replied.

Before she could argue, something echoed down the corridor.

A howl.

Not angry. Not violent.

Wounded.

Her wolf surged forward inside her, recognition slamming into her chest.

Maddox.

She turned toward the sound instinctively, her heart pulling before her mind could stop it.

"Where is he?" she whispered.

One of the cloaked figures sighed. "He followed your scent into the shadow pass. He's caught between the mortal world and the realm of Fates. If he crosses fully…"

"What?"

"He may not return."

Magdalene's chest tightened. The wolf within her howled.

She looked at her wrist—the mark still glowed, darker now.

The path ahead was impossible. Return to Maddox and risk revealing her identity—and the prophecy. Or go with the Pact and claim the knowledge that could destroy everything he was trying to rebuild.

She closed her eyes, heart torn.

Then… her decision formed.

She turned toward the sound of Maddox's howl and started walking.

The hooded figures didn't stop her.

The prophecy was moving. Faster than they expected.

And love—love was never part of the plan.