All Chapters of Rejected by My Mate, Fated to the Lycan King: Chapter 491 - Chapter 500

ScarlettI feel her coming before I see her. Not because of the hook, Erik severed that.Not because of a vision. Those have gone quiet lately, waiting for a choice I’ve already made.I feel her because the temperature drops. Because my skin tightens. Because the fire inside me rises like a beast being challenged.Victoria steps into the courtyard like she owns it. Like Raventon is hers. Like the silence between us isn’t heavy with every almost, every never, every cut we both pretend not to bleed from.She doesn’t bring backup. Neither do I.I walk out of the inn alone, dust from the shutters still clinging to my sleeves. My pulse is steady. My hands are loose at my sides.But my magic hums against my ribs like it’s asking permission to bite.I give it.Victoria stops a few paces away. Her cloak is a storm cloud around her. Her hair is too perfect, like she froze it into place.And her magic leaks from her in invisible shivers. Cold sharp enough to splinter bone.We stand there for a

VictoriaThey strip the mirror from the wall. Silently. Like I’m not even here.Two robed members of the Circle, faceless under gauze, nameless by design, disassemble the frame with bare hands, no spellcraft. No respect.Just quiet, methodical removal. As if it were their mirror. As if I don’t live in this room. As if I have no say.I sit on the edge of the bed, watching them. Not speaking.There’s blood on my palm. My own. Dried and flaking. A burn mark rings the center. Scarlett’s magic, residual from where she shattered the spell in my hand. It hurts when I flex it.I do it anyway, because pain is better than this silence.Silence, I can’t fill. Silence is full of all the things I failed to become.When they finish removing the mirror, one of them turns to face me. I still can’t see their features beneath the white veil, but I don’t need to. I know the shape of rejection. Of judgment.“The thread has passed beyond your influence,” they say.“My influence?” I repeat, tone flat.“You

ScarlettI wake up gasping. Not from a nightmare, or from pain, but from something pulling at me.Like something underneath the floorboards has reached up and yanked me halfway through time.The room is quiet. Erik still sleeps beside me, his hand curved loosely around mine, our tether steady and warm where it pulses against my wrist. The fire’s gone out and the window is still dark.But the world feels louder than it should.Like it’s breathing down my neck.I untangle myself gently and move to the center of the room, where I press my hand to the wooden floor.And I feel it. Not just heat, but threads. They may not be visible, or tangible, but they’re real.So real I close my eyes and I see.There’s a flash and I find myself standing alone in a field of snow, hands blackened with ash, magic blazing wild and untethered.Then I see me, standing in front of Victoria, but it’s not now. My hair is longer. My expression… colder. She kneels in front of me bleeding and silent.I see Erik, on

CereliaScarlett sits on the edge of the roof like she belongs there.Legs folded beneath her, hands splayed behind her to catch the breeze, curls lifting in the early morning air.The sun hasn't quite risen yet, but the world is already holding its breath.She doesn’t turn when I join her, but I know she knows I’m here.I settle beside her and we don’t speak for a while.The rooftops of Raventon spread out below us. Stone and tile and soft chimney smoke, like the world is still sleeping through what’s coming.“She said something,” Scarlett says eventually.I glance at her questioningly.“The Ashkeeper. I saw and heard her earlier. I don’t think it was a vision this time.”“What did she say?”“That Victoria isn’t the storm anymore. She’s the vessel.”I nod once. “I know.”Scarlett turns to me and her eyes are still firelit. Not from rage, but pressure. With heat too long contained.“She was Erik’s friend,” she says. “Which means she couldn’t have been a bad person. A bit vain, but nev

VictoriaThey whisper about me behind veils and closed doors, in the quiet, sharp tones of cowards who think I’m too wounded to hear.“She lost control.”“She failed her purpose.”“She was never truly chosen.”The Circle once sang my name, now they speak it like a warning.But I am still here. And I’m not the one who broke first. They are.The fracture started days ago.No more summons. No more messages in the mirror. No more veiled voices in the dark, reminding me of the sacred purpose, the glorious end, the shape I was supposed to carve from the ruin of the world.Then came the empty chamber. The sigils unlit. The weightless spells.Loki found me kneeling in the dust, hands red from trying to reignite something long since burned out.He didn’t offer pity, he offered me a mirror. And when I looked in it, I didn’t see failure. I saw possibility.“You were never their vessel,” he said. “You were their leash. Their mistake.”He handed me a blade made of magic so old it tasted like stars