Chapter 138: The Mark of Three

The storm had passed, but the palace still felt like it was holding its breath.

Selene stood before the arched window, watching the sun rise with trembling gold fingers across the treetops. The wind was calm, but something deeper stirred—like the air itself had begun to hum with dread.

Behind her, Elias wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. She leaned into him without a word.

“I felt it last night,” she murmured. “When our light met. I felt the spell break.”

“You did that,” Elias said. “Not the prophecy. Not fate. You.”

Selene turned to face him, her eyes stormy. “Naelira told me I don’t have to sacrifice our bond. That the prophecy was bent by lies. She said the Mark of Three is the key.”

Lyra, leaning against the wall, stirred at that. “You said that before. ‘The Mark of Three.’ It’s more than just a myth.”

“You know it?” Selene asked quickly.

Lyra nodded and walked to the center of the chamber. “My mother used to tell stories about it—three souls bound by ancient light. One born of the moon, one forged by flame, one touched by shadow. Together, they could seal what no single wolf could.”

Elias’s brows drew together. “Selene is moonlight. I’m flame—Flamehowl bloodline.”

Lyra gave him a knowing smirk. “You always were a bit hot-headed.”

Elias grunted, but said nothing.

Selene stared at the center of the room, her hand resting gently over her stomach. “And my child…”

“Shadow,” Lyra finished. “A child of bloodline and balance.”

“But the child hasn’t been born yet,” Elias said. “So how can the triad be complete?”

“We don’t need the child to act,” Selene whispered. “We just need to find the place where the original seal was cast. The mark responds to presence… not just power.”

Lyra nodded slowly. “There is a place. North of here. Older than the throne, older than the packs. The Temple of the Fallen Star.”

Elias’s expression darkened. “That place hasn’t been touched in over a century. It’s cursed.”

“No,” Lyra said firmly. “It’s guarded. And for good reason. It’s where Naelira’s heart was buried. The mark might awaken there.”

Later – En Route to the Temple

They moved under cover of mist and dusk. The guards who remained loyal to Elias cleared the route as quietly as possible, though they refused to follow past the frozen stream.

“There’s something wrong beyond this point,” one muttered. “It’s like the forest forgets itself.”

Selene pressed forward anyway, her steps sure. Her body was heavier now—her pregnancy advancing faster than natural—but she didn’t falter.

Lyra scouted ahead. Elias stayed close. Every leaf felt like it might whisper, every shadow like it might reach for them.

The trees here were ancient. Burnt black trunks bent toward them as if in warning. The moon vanished behind storm clouds as they reached the edge of the ruins.

The Temple of the Fallen Star stood cracked and vine-wrapped, its walls carved with runes Selene couldn’t read—but could feel.

Her mark blazed.

“It’s responding,” she said, stepping forward.

As she neared the altar, she saw it—three interlocked circles carved in stone. She placed her hand on the first. It glowed silver.

Elias stepped forward, his flame-mark flaring golden. He pressed his hand to the second. It glowed as well.

But the third… remained cold.

At the Palace – Elsewhere

Lady Ilyana stood before a silver mirror, slicing her palm. Her blood dripped into a waiting bowl as a voice whispered from the mist.

Darian.

“She’s at the temple,” she said. “They’ve begun the seal.”

“She can’t complete it,” Darian replied. “Not without the third.”

“What if they awaken it?” Ilyana asked.

Darian’s chuckle was a low rasp. “Then the gate will bleed.”

Back at the Temple

Lyra moved to the third circle, uncertainty in her eyes.

“I’m not shadow,” she murmured.

“No,” Selene said slowly. “But maybe you carry it. You died and returned. You’ve walked where no light exists.”

Lyra hesitated. Her fingers hovered over the third mark.

When she finally touched it—nothing happened.

Silence.

And then—

A tremor.

The temple shook. The altar split with a loud crack. All three marks glowed blinding white, then bled red.

The ground beneath them fractured.

From the earth rose a column of black stone—and in it, a sealed relic: a medallion, shaped like a full eclipse.

Selene reached for it.

The moment her fingers brushed its surface, a scream tore through the temple.

Not hers.

Not Elias’s.

But something ancient.

Something waking.