[Trigger Warning: This semi dark fantasy romance contains few mature themes.]
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SYNOPSIS:

•A WORLD BUILT ON LIES•
Long ago, humans lived unaware of the supernatural beings hidden among them—werewolves with their primal instincts, witches whispering spells in the dark, and elves with their ancient, watchful eyes. For centuries, they coexisted in fragile silence.  

Then, everything shattered.  

Near the shadow-drenced woods of the Shadow pack kingdom, human traveler stumbled upon a gruesome scene: an old woman’s lifeless body, her skin ashen, her wounds gaping like accusations. A few paces away lay a dead werewolf, its throat ripped open, its muzzle still flecked with blood. The truth was undeniable—monsters walked among them.  

Fear ignited war.  

Humans, armed with fire and steel, hunted the supernatural races. Witches and elves were dragged into the slaughter, their homes burned, their people butchered. The bloodshed raged until King Alfred V of the Amethyst Kingdom stood before the four Werewolf Kings—Silverhowl, Crimsonheart, Shadow, and Atlassian —and offered a deal drenched in poison.

A sacrifice for peace.

Every twenty years, each human family would surrender a daughter to the werewolves. And in return, the future Alpha Kings must wed a human—or the war would reignite.  

The werewolves agreed.  

The witches and elves retreated, their hatred festering like an open wound. The world remained fractured, its peace a fragile lie.  

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•THE PROPHECY OF FIRE•  

In the hidden Blaze Tribe, where crimson eyes burned like embers, the seer Prophetia foresaw annihilation.  

"Our people will fall," she rasped, her voice trembling. "But from the ashes, a girl will rise—the one who will bring true peace… and the one they will slaughter for it."

The tribe made a desperate pact. They would cast a spell—a curse of forgotten memory—erasing their existence from the world’s mind. Their souls would be the price, but their legacy would live on in Ovelia, the child of prophecy.  

The night the Blaze Tribe fell, Ovelia’s parents hid her in the whispering forest, their hands shaking as they sealed a goddess—Firera—inside her infant body. Then, they turned to face their doom.  

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•FATE’S CRUEL WHISPER•

Ace Draven—half-werewolf, half-witch prince of Silverhowl—had never believed in destiny.  

Until he found a crying infant in the forest.  

His wolf, Fenrir, howled in recognition.  

A crimson thread shimmered between them—mates.  

But Firera, watching from within Ovelia’s soul, snarled. "She’s a child. This is too soon." With a flick of her wrist and spell, she tore the memory from Ace’s mind, leaving only an empty ache in his chest.  

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•TWENTY YEARS LATER: A SACRIFICE IGNITES•

Ovelia has spent her life as a slave, raised by the cruel mayor of Timberline Village—a man who would gladly sacrifice her to spare his own daughter.

The night of the sacrifice, the air reeks of damp earth and iron. Torches flicker as the werewolves emerge from the shadows. And then—Ace Draven steps forward.  

Their eyes meet.  

Fenrir *howls*.  

Ace’s claws unsheathe, his breath ragged. He doesn’t understand why his wolf is clawing at his ribs, why his pulse hammers at the sight of this stranger. But the bond between them burns hotter than vengeance.

Ovelia doesn’t know him.  

He doesn’t recognize her.

And yet, their souls scream in unison.

Ann had left the room, but my attention remained fixed on the closed sliding door, as if I could will her to return with answers. The violent, visceral reaction she'd had to the words Thaumamorphs and Flesh Hunters wasn't just sickness; it was a key turning in a lock buried deep within her—a lock I think she didn't even know existed. I let out a slow, frustrated sigh. Too bad she didn't answer. She couldn't.


"Gale." Ray's voice pulled my gaze back to the table. He was watching me, his orange eyes holding a quiet intensity that demanded an explanation, not as a prince, but as the leader of this fractured group. "Why did you ask her that?"


"I just felt like asking," I said with a deliberate nonchalance, picking up my chopsticks and slurping a few noodles. The food was lukewarm now, the flavors muted. It was a poor distraction.


Chapter 153 - Chapter 153: The Echo of Burning Pages