The next morning arrived heavy with a gray sky and a strange, humming stillness in the air. The usual buzz of Aelreth—the neon-lit, supernatural capital—was muted, as though the city itself sensed something had shifted.
Selene wore a long coat to shield her mark, but the warmth beneath her skin never faded. The sigil pulsed like it had a heartbeat of its own. It felt… sentient. Watching. Waiting.
Kieran walked beside her in silence, his strides purposeful as they moved deeper into the heart of the city—toward the one place neither of them had dared to go in years.
The Obsidian Archives.
A vault of ancient knowledge. Forbidden histories. Cursed magic.
And answers.
"Are you sure this is smart?" Selene asked as they approached the rune-sealed gates. "The Keepers don't allow outsiders anymore."
Kieran gave a grim smile. "They'll make an exception for me."
"You sound confident."
"I'm not."
That didn't comfort her.
Two towering statues flanked the gate—stone wolves with eyes made of moonstones. As they passed between them, the air shimmered, and the seal glowed a warning red.
Kieran held out his hand. "Open for the blood of the broken line," he said clearly.
Selene blinked. "Broken line?"
Before she could ask, the sigils across the gate flared, then vanished into mist.
The doors opened.
She stepped through warily. "What did you mean by broken line?"
Kieran's jaw tightened. "My mother was from the Shadowborn House. Their bloodlines were banished centuries ago after a failed coup against the royal families."
"And you never thought to mention that?"
"I try not to think about it at all."
They descended into the Archives—an endless cavern of obsidian shelves, glowing crystals, and shadows that whispered if you listened too long. It was colder here. Older.
And beneath it all, Selene could feel the hum of power—dark, coiled, familiar.
It resonated with the mark on her skin.
"Here," Kieran said, stopping before a sealed tome bound in serpent leather. He reached out to touch it—hesitated—then opened it.
The pages were old. The ink shimmered with silver and black magic.
Selene read aloud, "'The Obsession Binding… forged in chaos, reserved for those whose fates rebel against divine order.'"
Kieran's eyes narrowed. "Keep reading."
She scanned further. "'It does not seek balance. It chooses disruption. The bond marks not true mates—but destroyers. Lovers bound to bring the fall of old blood and the rise of new power. One of fire. One of shadow.'"
Selene's heart stopped.
Her magic was fire.
His was shadow.
It was them.
Kieran's face darkened. "It wasn't fate that tied us together… it was a curse."
Selene looked down at her glowing mark. "Not a curse," she whispered. "A calling."
Kieran met her gaze, the tension between them molten, undeniable. "Then the question is… who called us?"
A rustle of breath echoed through the Archives—though no one else was there. The lights dimmed.
And from deep in the shelves, something laughed.
A low, inhuman sound.
The shadows weren't just watching anymore.
They were listening.
---