CHAPTER 18 : THE PROPHECY HAS TWO NAMES

By sunrise, I’d figured out two things about Darius Thorncrest. First, he could command an army without ever raising his voice. And second, he could lie straight to my face and somehow make me feel like I was the one being cruel.

I found him in the command room, hunched over a map, his coffee going cold. He looked wrecked—honestly, so did I. Neither of us had slept. “You have until sunrise,” I'd said last night. Sunrise was here. Time to get answers.

“What did you burn?” I asked.

He didn’t even glance up. “Good morning to you, too.”

“Don’t try to charm your way out.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

“Great. So what was on that parchment?”

He finally looked at me. He hesitated—his shoulders all bunched up under his black shirt, eyes guarded—but then he put down the map.

“It had a location on it,” he said.

I waited.

He exhaled. “The old sanctuary beyond the northern ridge.”

“The altar?”

“Possibly.”

“So why burn it?”

“Because the location was right next to a second mark. I recognized it. I didn’t want anyone else seeing it until I figured out what it meant.”

I stared. “You could have just told me.”

“Yes.”

“And instead, you destroyed the evidence.”

“Yes.”

He was being honest. It should’ve made me feel better. It didn’t.

“Was there a name on it?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

His jaw clenched. “Seren, I have no reason to lie to you.”

I almost laughed at that. “You burned evidence behind my back right after promising we’d investigate together. You’ve given me plenty of reasons to doubt you.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “I know,” he said quietly.

That threw me. I’d braced for an argument, another order, maybe even a lecture about my own safety—not a quiet confession.

Darius stepped away from the table. “The sanctuary predates Bloodmoon territory. Most records were destroyed during the old wars. If the enemy wants you there, we need to figure out why—before they reach these walls.”

“Then we search the archives.”

“I sent for the keeper already.”

“Good. I’ll go with you.”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“And you haven’t slept.”

“That doesn’t mean we both need to make bad choices.”

“Then stop making them.”

He almost smiled, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth, and it faded.

He gestured to the door. “Come on. Let’s find your answers.”

I followed, but I kept my distance. Trust wasn’t something you just handed over because someone looked tired or admitted a mistake. He needed to earn it. And I was going to make him work for every scrap.

The fortress archive sat in the oldest part of the keep—nothing like the grand library. This place smelled of dust, damp stone, and cracked leather. Shelves climbed too high, packed tight with ledgers, maps, brittle scrolls. Only a bit of gray morning light slanted in through the one window.

Master Orlan, the archive keeper, waited for us. He was thin, silver-haired, with ink-stained hands and a set frown. When Darius walked in, Orlan bowed.

“Alpha.”

“Master Orlan. We need any record on the old sanctuary and its altar.”

Orlan’s eyes shifted to me. “And the reason?”

“Because someone just surrounded our territory and sent a message demanding I get brought there alive,” I said.

His face drained. He looked at Darius. “You should have told me sooner.”

“I only got the message last night.”

Orlan rubbed his chin. “Then we might not have much time.”

I stepped closer. “You know something about the altar.”

“I know what’s in the records. Whether they’re true is another story.”

“Let’s see them.”

He hesitated, then crossed to a cabinet and fished out a leather-bound book. “This survived the northern war. It has pieces of several prophecies. Most are incomplete.”

He laid the book out. Darius opened it gently. The pages were yellowed, some water-stained, some charred, like they’d been rescued from a fire. I turned the brittle pages—names, dates, mentions of bloodlines long gone, ceremonies whose meanings were lost.

Then—there. The same black mark as in the message, pressed next to a faded passage.

“Darius,” I said, pulse quickening.

He leaned over. The passage was short, pieces of it lost:

When the blood debt rises, the marked daughter shall return.

The Alpha’s blood shall answer hers.

Two names shall stand before the altar...

And then it just ended.

I read it out loud. “The marked daughter—that’s me.”

“Could be,” Darius said.

I looked at him. “You don’t believe that?”

“I believe someone wants us to.”

He was right—that’s what unsettled me. A prophecy isn’t proof. It’s a weapon, or a warning, or a story someone stitched together to scare us.

But the next line stuck with me.

The Alpha’s blood shall answer hers.

I looked at Darius. “Which Alpha?”

He said nothing.

“Your family?”

“Possibly.”

“Then why mention two names?”

He went still. I saw it—a tiny flicker. He knew more than he’d said.

“Darius?”

He straightened. “We need to find the complete prophecy.”

“You recognize it.”

“I recognize the language.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He shut the book.

“We aren’t going to solve this by guessing,” he said.

I held his gaze. “And we definitely aren’t going to solve it if you keep pretending you don’t know more.”

Before he could snap back, Orlan cleared his throat. “There might be another copy.”

Both of us turned. “Where?” I asked.

“The royal archive in the main castle. It moved here years ago, but I can’t recall if it went with the prophecy collection or legal records.”

“Then we check both,” I said.

Orlan nodded, reaching for more books. Darius started rummaging through another cabinet. I knelt by the lower shelves, scanning until I found the sign: Bloodline Records — Restricted.

I grabbed the first ledger. Darius’s hand caught my wrist.

“Not that one.”

I looked at his fingers, then at him. He let go fast.

“Why not?”

“Those are Alpha bloodline records.”

“The prophecy mentions the Alpha line.”

“Seren.”

“Darius.”

His jaw worked. I pulled the book out.

“If our names are in here, I get to read it.”

He hesitated, then stepped aside.

“Fine. But we do it together.”

I cracked the ledger open. Marriage records, family trees, succession fights, deaths—pages crossed out, others stamped with the black symbol. Then I found a name: Thorncrest. Underneath, several generations of Alpha heirs. One entry, circled in faded red.

The oath was renewed. The daughter must remain hidden till the debt is called.

I shivered. “Darius, read this.”

He did. His face went pale—seriously pale—like the ground had just broken under his feet.

“You knew,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “Not this.”

“But you knew about an oath.”

“I knew my family guarded something. Not the whole story.”

I searched his face. I didn’t see lies. I saw fear. Real fear. That didn’t excuse him, but it gave me pause.

“Then we’ll figure out what it means,” I said.

He met my eyes. “Together?”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

Something eased in his face. “I’ll try not to.”

For a moment, things felt different—less a battlefield, more a bridge neither of us knew how to cross. Then I turned back to the ledger.

The last entry—different hand, darker ink, neater, the page unusually clean.

I ran my finger along the seam. “Master Orlan?”

He came over. “Yes, my lady?”

“When was this last handled?”

He studied it. “This hasn't been catalogued in years.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He frowned. I pointed at the spine—fresh stitching, pale leather under the old.

“Someone fixed this recently.”

Orlan leaned in, frowning harder. “That’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“This book was locked away. Only the Alpha, the chief archivist, and I have keys.”

Darius’s voice went ice-cold. “Who repaired it?”

“I don’t know.”

I looked back at the circled entry. The words the daughter must remain hidden had been written tight over a faint indentation. Like someone pressed hard—left impressions beneath.

I flipped the page carefully. There—writing, not visible, but pressed into the paper. I angled the page toward the light.

A name came clear: Seren Vale.

My stomach dropped. Below, half-hidden by the spine, another: Darius Thorncrest.

The two names, next to the phrase:

The altar will choose what the bloodline cannot.

I took a step back.

“Someone knew our names would show up here.”

Darius didn’t reply.

“And they’ve been in this room. They took out part of the prophecy, fixed the ledger, and left this behind.”

Master Orlan looked shocked, genuinely terrified. “I swear, I haven’t touched that book in months.”

He sounded afraid. Maybe he was. But I still wasn’t sure he was innocent.

Darius closed the ledger. “Seal the archive. No one comes or goes until we know who’s been in here.”

Orlan nodded, heading for the door, but just before he reached it, a sharp knock echoed. A guard slipped in.

“Alpha, we have a problem.”

Darius straightened. “What is it?”

“The archive keeper’s assistant is in the lower passage. He’s unconscious.”

Orlan stiffened. “What?”

“He was found beside the records room. Hurt his head.”

“Is he alive?” I asked.

“Yes, my lady. The healer’s with him.”

Darius’s expression darkened. “Who found him?”

“Two guards on rounds.”

“Did anyone see anything?”

The guard hesitated. “A servant reported seeing a man enter before the alarm was raised.”

“Who?” I asked.

He glanced at Darius, then at me. “Lucian.”

That name rang in my ears: Lucian. All morning I’d wondered about him—ally, liar, or something worse. Now someone was attacked, and Lucian was the last one seen near the archive. Way too neat. Didn’t make it false, though.

We found the assistant—Tomas—lying pale and bandaged in the healer’s room. He was young, probably my age when I first died. The healer looked up as we entered.

“He’s alive, but there’s no telling when he’ll wake up.”

“Was he robbed?” Darius asked.

“No. His purse and keys are here.”

On the side table—stack of papers tied with string.

“Those his?” I asked.

The healer nodded. “A guard brought them.”

I untied the bundle. The first sheet—a catalog of restricted records, certain titles marked in red.

The ledger we'd just read. A record of the old sanctuary. And a third I recognized: Execution Orders—Blood Moon Cases.

I looked at Darius. He saw it, too.

Silence.

Now things felt real. The prophecy wasn’t just legend. Someone had been searching for execution records and the assistant who touched them was now hurt.

“Where’s the full catalog?” I asked.

“That’s all they found.”

The red marks formed a pattern—the ledger, the sanctuary, executions. Someone had been tracing the same steps as us. Maybe they wanted to erase the truth before we pieced it together.

Darius looked at the guard. “Find Lucian. Bring him here.”

I caught his arm. “Alive.”

He met my eyes. “I wasn’t planning to kill him.”

“You looked like you were.”

“I look like this when I’m thinking.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate.”

First time all morning I almost smiled. Then I remembered the names written in the ledger—Seren Vale, Darius Thorncrest—tied to an altar neither of us understood, and a man I once thought I loved, now tangled in an attack meant to hide the truth.

I let go of Darius’s arm. “We need to see Lucian before you question him.”

“Why?”

“If he’s innocent, someone’s setting him up. If he’s guilty, I want to hear him before you scare the truth out of him.”

Darius studied me. Then he nodded. “Stay close.”

“I will.”

We walked out together. At the end of the corridor, another guard waited with a folded note for Darius.

He read it. His face went dark.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He handed the note to me.

The Alpha must not learn what the girl was before she returned.

I read it again. And again. I looked up at Darius.

“What was I before I returned?”

His expression was unreadable. Somewhere in this fortress, Lucian was waiting—and I had a bad feeling he knew exactly what two names meant.

Because whatever I was, once, someone would do anything to make sure I never remembered.