I. Shadows Over Theralis
Theralis no longer slept.From the towers of Reon Palace, the kingdom looked like a constellation of fires — torchlight winding through the streets as patrols doubled, rumors multiplied, and the air thickened with fear. The people whispered of omens: the Blood Moon lingering too long, wolves howling at daylight, the Queen seen praying alone in the ruins of the chapel.
Inside the palace, marble corridors carried a quieter unrest. Servants spoke in half-sentences and bowed too quickly. Even the guards avoided the windows, where the banners of the Elders and the Crown still hung side by side — a fragile truce stitched by lies.
II. The Queen's Secret Flame
Queen Isabella sat in the library that had become her refuge.Before her lay The Book of the Eclipse Pact and The Testament of Dusk, their vellum pages spread across the table like wings of two dying creatures. The candles had burned low, their smoke curling upward in thin grey spirals.
She read until her eyes ached.
When the moon bleeds and the wolf denies his shadow, the bond shall either redeem or ruin the throne.Only when truth is severed from prophecy shall the kingdom breathe again.
Every line unraveled another thread of deceit. The Eclipse Pact, she realized, had never been a prophecy of salvation—it had been a tool. Centuries ago, the Elders had rewritten it, replacing warnings with promises, chaining rulers through ritual and fear.
In The Testament of Dusk, she found sketches of symbols—the same ones carved secretly into the palace walls: circles intersecting crescents, bloodlines mapped like constellations. They marked the chosen heirs who had died of "divine sickness." All of them victims of the Blood Plague.
Her father had carried it from Theralis. She now saw the truth: the plague was not a curse, but a weapon—controlled by those who called themselves seers.
Clara entered softly, carrying sealed letters. "From the east, Your Majesty. Lord Varrin's riders reached the capital last night."
Isabella took them quickly. Each parchment bore the mark of a phoenix in flight—the sigil of the eastern lords now ready to defy the Elders.
"Tell him," she said, her voice low but firm, "that the Queen stands with them. And that when dawn comes, the crown will choose its side."
Clara bowed and slipped away.
Isabella pressed a trembling hand to the pages. "If destiny is a chain," she whispered, "then I will be the one to break it."
III. The Wolf's Suspicion
In the war room below, Ryan could no longer still his hands. Maps littered the table; markers of stone and steel traced the regions slipping from his control. The northern sentinels had gone silent. The eastern watchtowers no longer reported at all.
"Varrin's banners," muttered General Halric, "were seen near the River Mara. He swears loyalty to the throne—but his men wear no crest."
Ryan's teeth clenched. "He swears to someone," he said. "Find out who."
When the generals withdrew, silence swallowed the chamber. He braced his palms against the map table, head bowed. Through the bond, a faint pulse reached him—Isabella's heartbeat, too quick, too focused. He could almost taste the scent of parchment and candle wax.
"She hides something," he said under his breath.
Or protects you from something, his wolf answered.
Ryan ignored it. He had spent weeks walking the line between fury and restraint, and the edge was thinning. The council's demands, the Elders' decrees, the murmurs of rebellion—all of it weighed less than the single truth he refused to face: he could not read her anymore. The bond that once bled emotion now carried silence.
And silence, he knew, was the language of betrayal.
IV. Masks at the Banquet
To calm the rising fear among nobles, the Elders commanded a royal banquet.The ballroom blazed with chandeliers and false laughter. Courtiers danced under silver banners while servants poured crimson wine like liquid rubies.
Ryan stood beside Isabella at the head of the hall, the image of unity carved from ice. She wore black silk, her crown set with garnets that glowed against the candlelight. Her smile was perfect—practiced. Only her eyes betrayed the exhaustion beneath.
"Smile," he murmured without looking at her. "They're watching."
"I am smiling," she replied. "You just can't see it through your anger."
A musician struck a new chord; conversation swelled. Elder Lysandra approached, bowing with that serpent's grace. "Your Majesties," she said sweetly, "Theralis thrives when the Crown stands as one. The people take comfort in your harmony."
Ryan's hand tightened around his goblet until the glass cracked."Harmony requires honesty, Elder," Isabella said softly. "Perhaps you could teach us how you fake it so well."
A ripple passed through the court. Lysandra smiled, bowed again, and vanished into the crowd.
Ryan turned to her, fury and something darker flashing in his eyes. "You bait them."
"They deserve it," she said.
"They'll destroy you for it."
"They already tried," she answered, and walked away, leaving him alone with his breaking restraint.
V. The Betrayal Unveiled
Hours later, long after the guests had gone, Ryan stalked the corridor toward her study. The scent of parchment guided him, along with the faint thrum of her pulse. He pushed open the door without knocking.
Isabella looked up from her desk, startled. The two books lay open before her, surrounded by scattered letters.
Ryan's voice was quiet but lethal. "You've been sending messages to Varrin."
She rose, spine straight. "I have."
"You admit it."
"I won't lie to my own husband, even if you prefer deceit."
He stepped closer, fury radiating. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The eastern lords are mobilizing. The Elders already suspect rebellion, and you've handed them proof."
"I've handed us allies," she said sharply. "The council means to dethrone us both, Ryan. Read these books—see what they've done! Every plague, every bond, every prophecy—it's all their design."
"You trust relics and rebels over me?"
"I trust the truth over pride."
The words struck like a blade. He slammed his fist against the desk, scattering the letters. "You think I don't see what they're doing? You think I haven't bled for this throne? You undermine me, and when the realm burns, they'll say the Queen lit the fire!"
Her eyes blazed. "Then let them. Better the fire of rebellion than the rot of obedience."
The bond ignited—heat and pain, twin flames colliding. For a moment neither moved. The distance between them felt unbearable; the air quivered with words neither could speak.
Finally he turned away, breathing hard. "You've chosen your side."
"No," she whispered. "I've chosen our survival."
VI. The Veil Falls
That night the city erupted.
It began with a single horn from the eastern gate, followed by the clash of steel. Flames leapt from the merchants' quarter; smoke rolled over the palace gardens. The rebels had struck—faster and more organized than anyone expected.
Ryan was already armored when the alarm bells tolled. He strode through the courtyard as soldiers rallied.
"Hold the inner walls," he barked. "No one enters without my order."
The wolf within him howled, half-wild with anticipation. At last, it said. The lies burn.
From the balcony above, Isabella watched as chaos swallowed the horizon. She clutched The Book of the Eclipse Pact to her chest. The pages trembled in her grip as if alive. She remembered the final verse she'd read that morning:
When rebellion and love bleed beneath the same moon, the world shall tremble—and the throne shall be reborn or consumed.
Down below, Ryan raised his sword, the firelight painting his armor in red. For a heartbeat, he looked up, and their eyes met through smoke and storm.
The bond surged—raw, unyielding, alive.Neither could tell if it was warning or promise.
The Veil of Rebellion had been lifted.Theralis burned.