TO RUIN A KING

She woke with blood in her mouth and dirt in her lungs.

The world above had vanished, swallowed by the collapse. Silence pressed in from all sides, broken only by the low, animal groan somewhere nearby. Her limbs refused to obey at first—everything throbbed—but Magdalene forced herself to move. She blinked through the dust cloud, gasping.

"Maddox?" she rasped. "Cassian?"

No answer.

Just the dim echo of dripping water and the eerie pulse of distant, arcane energy.

She dragged herself up. Her shoulder screamed. The bandage had come loose during the fall. She could feel the blood soaking again through fabric. But pain, she could manage. Alone… was worse.

Then she heard it.

A cough. Guttural. Familiar.

She turned sharply and found Cassian half-buried beneath a slab of stone, his legs pinned, sword arm stretched out defensively even in unconsciousness. She scrambled toward him.

"Cass," she whispered, brushing dust from his face. "Open your eyes. Please."

He groaned. "Gods… you hit harder than I thought."

Relief turned into a shaky laugh. "You idiot."

He grimaced. "You always call me that when you're about to cry."

"I'm not crying."

"You will if I die."

"You're not dying." She glanced down at his legs. "Though your left tibia might have other plans."

Cassian shifted but winced instantly. "Damn… can't feel my toes."

"Try not to move." She gripped his hand. "I'll get help."

"From who? The dirt sprites?" he grunted. "We fell a hundred feet, Mags."

"Not alone," came another voice—rough, low, familiar in the way storms are familiar before they arrive.

Maddox.

He limped toward them from the darkness, blood streaking down one side of his face, his white shirt torn and damp. But he was alive. And his eyes still burned that molten gold that looked like both salvation and ruin.

Magdalene stood. "You're bleeding."

"You're worse."

"Cassian's legs are pinned—"

"I'll lift the stone," Maddox said simply.

She blinked. "You're not in wolf form."

He didn't answer. He just knelt, braced himself, and lifted.

The crack of muscle and bone groaning beneath weight should've been impossible, but Maddox growled through it, teeth bared, shoulders shaking. The slab moved—inch by agonizing inch—until Magdalene dragged Cassian free.

Maddox dropped the stone. Collapsed beside it. Breathing hard.

"You'll kill yourself," she said, half fury, half awe.

He smiled, blood on his teeth. "Too late."

They caught their breath in the dim hollow of whatever chasm they'd fallen into. The air was damp and old. Older than any ruin above ground. Something here pulsed with forgotten memory.

Cassian was conscious but fading.

"We can't stay here," Maddox said after a long beat. "This place… it hums like a tomb."

Magdalene looked around. The walls weren't natural. Stone, yes—but carved. With symbols. Spirals. Eyes.

"I think we're not the first to fall here."

Maddox stood, slower this time. His hand brushed the wall, then stopped.

"Look."

Magdalene turned—and gasped.

Carved into the stone was a sigil. An unmistakable one.

The mark of the First Pact—the ancient bond between werewolf kings and the Daughters of the Rivers. Long believed myth. Legend passed in lullabies. But here it was, etched in time and blood.

Maddox traced it like he'd done it before. "My father told me once… this bond was sealed underground. Hidden from the eyes of man. A promise buried where the gods couldn't reach it."

Magdalene stepped closer. "This place is the bond."

"But why bring us here?" Cassian muttered. "Why lead us into the past?"

"Because the past," Maddox said, eyes locked on hers, "is what we've been trying to rewrite."

The hum intensified.

A breath passed between them—and then the wall shifted.

Stone cracked, revealing a passage behind it. One carved with light.

"Did you just unlock it?" Magdalene whispered.

"No," Maddox said, his voice a whisper.

"You did."

She shook her head. "I didn't do anything."

"You touched the symbol. You carry the ruin—"

"And you wear the crown," she finished. A chill ran through her.

It wasn't just prophecy anymore.

It was design.

Maddox moved first, shouldering Cassian with one arm. The man groaned but didn't fight it. Magdalene stepped into the corridor. The walls glowed faintly as they passed, whispering names they didn't understand.

Voices filled the space—soft, ghostlike.

A memory. A plea.

A warning.

Then the corridor ended.

They stepped into a vast chamber, domed and glistening with veins of gold. In its center stood a single figure.

Woman.

Not cloaked.

Not masked.

Her eyes were hollow, but familiar.

And when she smiled… Magdalene staggered.

Because the woman looked like her.

An ancestor. An echo.

"Welcome, child," the woman said, voice ethereal. "You have come to finish what I began."

Magdalene reached for her dagger.

Maddox didn't move.

The woman continued. "You carry the ruin. He wears the crown. And the fracture must now bleed."

The floor cracked.

The chamber filled with light.

And the past surged forward like floodwater.