She is the blood of Caelum Varyn. The last Alpha King."
The words echoed through the stone chamber, heavy and irreversible.
Arielle stood still, pendant clenched in her hand, as the weight of a name she'd never known settled over her like a crown of thorns.
The council broke into murmurs—some in disbelief, others in fear.
"She should be dead."
"She's a threat to every pack."
"She's a child. She knows nothing."
"She is not our Luna."
Ronan raised his hand, silencing them. "You forget who we were before the Crimson Claw rose. We were wolves of honor. Of unity. And she is the key to restoring what we've lost."
Lucien stepped forward, jaw tight. "What do you mean… restore?"
The elder turned to him. "You think your father brought peace? He brought power. Fear. Blood. But the balance was broken the day Caelum Varyn fell."
He looked back at Arielle. "The packs used to bow only to the Alpha King. Not to warlords with crowns."
A younger councilman—Darian, sharp-eyed and bitter—rose from his seat.
"And now you want us to believe this omega orphan is royalty? That she should stand above us because of a name?"
He pointed a finger at Arielle. "She's a prophecy, nothing more. And prophecies destroy more than they save."
Arielle didn't flinch.
But something inside her did.
---
Later, they gave her a room high in the tower—a soft bed, thick blankets, food she hadn't tasted in years. It should've felt like a luxury.
Instead, it felt like a cage with better curtains.
Lucien stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching her.
"You're not what I expected," he said quietly.
Arielle looked up from where she sat on the window ledge. "Disappointed?"
He ignored the question. "The elders will vote in three days. Some want you banished. Some want you dead."
"Do you?"
Lucien was silent for a moment. Then he spoke with brutal honesty. "I don't know."
She turned back toward the window. "At least you're honest."
He didn't leave.
---
That night, Arielle couldn't sleep. The pendant pulsed against her chest, warm with memory. She turned it in her fingers, tracing the worn ridges of the flame-wrapped wolf.
And then the vision came.
---
She was standing in the middle of a battlefield—black earth soaked in blood. Wolves fought in all directions, their cries echoing into smoke.
A figure stood before her, cloaked in crimson, his eyes burning like fire.
Lucien.
But not the Lucien she knew.
This one was twisted by rage, his fangs bared, his claws coated in blood—her blood.
She gasped as he reached for her, and suddenly the image shifted.
A flash of steel.
A scream.
Lucien… falling.
Arielle dropped the pendant, breathing hard, sweat cold on her skin.
---
When the door creaked open, she didn't expect to see him there.
Lucien stepped inside slowly, shadows under his eyes.
"I couldn't sleep," he said simply.
She didn't answer right away. But when she looked at him, something had changed.
"Lucien…" she whispered.
He met her eyes.
"I think… I saw your death."