Ares' POV
James' words haunted me long after he left the war chamber.
She will rise.
It wasn't the first time I'd heard those words. It wasn't even the second.
The night I found Aria in the Silver Forest, collapsed and barely breathing, the same phrase had been whispered in the wind. Not loud enough for anyone else to hear just enough for it to curl under my skin and stay there. That night, I'd told myself it was nothing. Exhaustion. The forest playing tricks on me. But then I found the scroll. And the scroll didn't lie.
The chamber was quiet now. Just me, the flicker of candlelight, and the weight of what I knew. The patrol reports sat untouched on the table pages of neat handwriting detailing every corner of our territory but I couldn't focus on them. My eyes kept drifting to the torn parchment spread out before me. It was brittle with age, its edges curling inwards like it was trying to hide its own secrets. The ink was faded in some places, darker in others, as if the scribe had pressed harder when the words mattered most. This wasn't just an old prophecy. This was a record. A warning. And every time I looked at it, I felt the same thing the quiet, gnawing certainty that it had been written for this exact moment in time.
At the center of the scroll, drawn in careful, almost reverent strokes, was the crest. A crescent moon intertwined with a blooming rose. The first time I saw it, I thought it was just an old Omega sigil. But then I remembered where I'd seen it before. Carved into the stone at the Omega burial grounds. Burned into the bark of the eldest oak in the forest.
And most damning of all pressed into the wax seal of a letter I'd found in my father's private study years ago. A letter addressed to my predecessor about eradicating the bloodline entirely. The bloodline they never finished eradicating.
The candle nearest the scroll flickered, throwing shadows across the table. I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. The problem wasn't just that Aria was part of that bloodline. The problem was that I didn't know if she even knew it.
And if Clara found out before we told her… A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.
James stepped in, his movements stiff but quick. His head was still bandaged from his run in in the tunnels, but his eyes were sharp too sharp. "She knows," he said without preamble. I sat up straight. "Who?"
"Clara. And she's moving faster than we thought." He dropped into the seat opposite me, leaning forward. "She's not just working with rogues anymore. The one I fought he wasn't wild. He was trained. Disciplined. That takes time and leadership. She's building something."
The muscles in my jaw tightened. "And you're certain he said it?" James' gaze locked on mine. "Word for word. She will rise." I looked away, but not fast enough for him to miss the flicker in my expression. "You've heard it before," he said, voice low but sure.
I didn't answer immediately. Instead, I reached for the drawer at my side and pulled out the scroll. The parchment gave a dry whisper as I laid it between us. James' eyes narrowed as he scanned it. "What is this?" "The reason I haven't been sleeping," I said quietly. "I found it the same night Aria collapsed in the Silver Forest." He traced the edge of the crest with his finger, his frown deepening. "This is her family's?"
I nodded once. "The Moon Blessed. A bloodline older than the packs themselves. They were wolves who carried both strength and magic in equal measure. It made them powerful. Too powerful. The Alphas of that age hunted them down to keep their thrones." James leaned back slowly, his expression unreadable. "And now Clara knows she's one of them."
"She knows enough to be dangerous," I corrected. "And if she performs the Rite of Rising during the Blood Moon…" James' expression hardened. "She could force it. Bring Aria's power to the surface whether she wants it or not."
"Exactly." Silence hung between us for a long moment, broken only by the quiet hiss of the candle. Finally, James said, "So what's the plan?"
"We find Clara before the Blood Moon," I said, my voice colder than I intended. "And if we can't…" I glanced at the scroll again, the inked rose seeming to watch me back. "…then we pray to the Goddess that prophecy is wrong."
But deep down, I knew prophecies aren't wrong. They're just misunderstood until it's too late.