Rein's POV
Rein's Bedroom
I should have screamed when I saw her sitting on my bed.
But my breath froze instead—caught between shock and disbelief.
"Syria?" I whispered.
She looked up, translucent like before. Usually, I always saw her in that dark forest, but now she was here. In my bedroom. On my bed.
"I didn't open the book," I said slowly.
"I didn't come from the book," she replied. "I don't even know how I got here."
My mouth went dry. "Then what brought you here?"
She looked around my room in confusion, clearly wondering what had pulled her into this space—until her gaze landed on me with horror.
"You met someone from my past ," she asked, voice barely audible.
"How did you know?" My heart clenched.
"I felt it."
I walked closer to her. "Do you mean the person I met today summoned you?"
"I think someone awakened the link between us. Someone who knew me before—as Princess Syria."
I sat on my bed. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. "I met someone… I don't know who he was exactly. He called me Princess Syria. Which was weird, because no one knew your or my identity as a princess."
Her head snapped toward me.
I continued slowly. "He said he met you before."
Her entire expression tensed. "Describe him."
"Dark hair. He had an amber brown eyes. He was... elegant. Almost too perfect. Expensive. But the madness in his eyes ruined any good impression I might have had at first."
Her lips parted. Her shoulders dropped, as if she couldn't muster the courage to say anything else.
"You know him?" I asked, my voice sharpening.
She was silent.
"Syria."
Still, no response.
"Syria, tell me," I pressed, this time firmer.
"I hoped he would never find me," she whispered. "That he had forgotten."
I swallowed. "But you knew?"
The silence stretched for several seconds.
She looked up. "He was the younger brother of the man I loved. He wasn't supposed to be a threat. Not then."
Her voice softened, turning bitter. "The prince I loved was everything—gentle, kind... foolish in the most beautiful way. He believed in love as if it could conquer everything."
"What happened?" I asked.
"He thought I betrayed him," she said.
I frowned. Her words were dancing around the truth. "Why, how?"
Her eyes flickered. "Because of his brother—the one you met. He was so obsessed with me. There was a day I mistakenly entered his room and saw several pictures of me pinned to his walls."
My stomach dropped hearing that.
""I confronted him that day. He tried to force himself on me, but thanks to my power, I escaped. The next day, just as I was about to tell his brother the truth, I found out he had already lied to him—claiming that I had tried to force myself on him. Poisoned by his lies, his brother then revealed our curse to my family's rival, who used that knowledge to their advantage."
I looked at her with a pity gaze
I leaned closer. "You still haven't told me why you're cursed."
She nodded slowly.
"Then listen carefully," she said.
She leaned back on the bed, voice turning distant.
It became low, like she feared someone might be listening.
"She was born under the Blood Moon—a night when the veil between realms thins, when spirits whisper, and stars bleed red. Her name was Lyria."
"She wasn't just any princess," Syria continued. "She was a prophecy the elders saw before she was even born. The Moon Goddess blessed her with three things: beauty, wild magic, and a womb that could bring peace between rival packs."
I swallowed, unsure where this was going.
"She was raised like a treasure—guarded day and night, prayed to by the desperate who believed their wishes would be granted through her. But no one ever cared about her opinion."
Syria's voice softened.
"She had dreams, you know. She loved to dance barefoot under the moonlight. She wrote poems about freedom. She admired the stars."
A small smile ghosted across Syria's face. "And then she saw him."
"A human," she said. "He wasn't royalty or a warrior. A cartographer—a man who walked the earth with hands stained in ink. He came to map the Southern borders."
"So how did they meet?" I asked.
"She was running away that night—just for a moment. She disguised herself in servant clothes and wandered into the woods. That was where the human found her. Lost and alone, cursing over her broken shoe."
A small chuckle escaped my lips.
"So what happened next?"
"As a passerby, obviously he offered to help," she continued. "She refused, of course. So he sat down and started sketching her without asking."
"What?"
"He said, 'Even if you won't let me help, at least let me remember your beautiful face.'"
I blinked. "He was bold."
"He didn't know who she was," Syria said. "And for the first time in her life, she felt comfortable hiding her true self. So she didn't tell him. He took her to his home, thinking she was a lost girl. They spent months together. They fell in love… all while the kingdom searched for their precious princess."
The ache in Syria's voice deepened.
"They were so madly in love with each other. Secretly.The human still didn't know who she really was."
My heart pounded in my chest.
"Until someone recognized her—and reported her to her parents. The King and Queen."
"The Moon Goddess was furious. Her divine child had been tainted by a human. It was considered sacrilege. They said she had defiled her gift. So she was punished."
"They cursed her womb. Said she—and every daughter in her line—would be stripped of choice, their life span would be shortened. That their bodies would be sacred, but never their own."
Syria turned her gaze to me.
"That was the day our legacy shattered. No matter how powerful we were, how divine… our purpose was reduced to breeding. Fueling bloodlines. Not for love. For control."
I swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in my throat down.
"What happened to the human?" I asked quietly.
Syria's expression hardened. "He tried to run with her. The night before her arranged marriage to a Northern Alpha. He told her he'd take her far, to lands where wolves held no power."
I leaned forward. "Did they make it?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she looked toward the window, eyes distant, as if lost in memory.
"There's more to that night than anyone ever knew," she murmured. "More than even I remember. But Lyria… she was brave. And foolish. And that night, she gave everything."
She looked back at me, voice barely a whisper.
"That was the beginning of our bloodline's curse."
My breath caught. "What happened that night?"
Syria's mouth opened—but before she could speak—
A gust of wind burst through the room.
The candles flickered violently.
The book on my desk snapped open on its own.
Syria stood up sharply, her figure shimmering.
"No—no, not yet," she whispered.
I rose too. "Syria?"
She turned to me, eyes desperate. "He's close. The one who touched you. I can feel him again."
"Syria, tell me—what happened to Lyria? What happened that night?"
But her voice was already fading.
Her body flickered like a flame doused in water.
"I'm sorry," she said, right before she vanished.
And I was left staring at the book.
Opened.
Glowing.
Waiting.
What happened that night, Lyria?
Driven by curiosity, I walked toward the book. A chapter was there—as if waiting for me.
As I was about to read it—
Knock. Knock.
A violent pound rattled my window.
And then—someone pushed it open. One leg slipped inside.
I froze—shocked. Scared.