The Fallen Moon: Predestined Sin

Chapter 13: The Northern Sentry

The Northern Sentry was never actually a tower.

It was a derelict black-stone fortress squatting upon the frozen earth of the ice fields' edge, resembling the skeletal remains of a half-buried leviathan. The peak of the structure had collapsed long ago, and the embrasures of the outer walls, constantly battered by icy winds, had eroded into rounded stubs. Only the foundation remained as rock-solid as ever. It had been constructed three thousand years ago by the Abyss Clan, who quarried and laid the heavy black stone; defying the seasonal expansion and contraction of the permafrost, it stood firm even after thirty centuries.

Caine tethered our mounts behind a pile of jagged rocks on the northern slope. When he returned to my side, the movement of his left shoulder was visibly stiffer than usual. Around his neck, the bone bells gave a faint, fragile chime in the biting wind.

"Is it still acting up?"

"It's not sharp pain, but a bone-deep chill." He cast his eyes down at the black veins peeking above his collar. They were crawling slowly beneath his skin, no longer as thin as silk, but swollen and thick as earthworms. "The caster is inside the fortress. The closer the blood-binding curse is to its host, the more restless it becomes."

I stared at the dark archway of the fortress entrance. There were no campfires, no sentries, and not a single trace of life. Yet on the stone wall above the archway, a symbol was clearly carved—the silhouette of a raven encircled by a ring, identical to the brooch worn by the silent female assemblywoman in the Hunter Council.

"Raven," I whispered.

"And there are more than just one of them. They have been waiting for us."

Keeping our profiles low, we slipped through the archway. The interior of the fortress was far more spacious than the outside suggested. Sharp icicles hung from the black stone walls, and the stone floor was littered with shattered slabs. In the center of the main hall stood a stone table, upon which a lone oil lamp burned silently. The oil was fresh; in the windless room, the flame rose straight up, resembling a slit, upright pupil.

"She knew exactly when we would arrive tonight," Caine murmured.

Behind the stone table, a flight of stairs descended into the dark, a faint crimson glow shimmering at the bottom. We walked down slowly, the crunch of frost beneath our boots echoing hollowly against the stone walls. The red light grew brighter, and the air gradually warmed. At the end of the steps, the space opened up into a subterranean stone chamber. Tiered shelves were carved into the four rock walls, packed with ancient scrolls and leather-bound archives. In the center of the room lay a stone sarcophagus, its lid half-open. A crimson light bled slowly from within, pulsing like a heavy, sluggish heartbeat.

A figure stood silently beside the sarcophagus. Her gray hair was swept into a high bun, her frame clad in hunting attire, and her fingers adorned with silver rings. It was the gray-haired woman from the Hunter Council, the one who had sneered during the inquiry. Her fingertips tapped lightly against the edge of the stone, the clink of her silver rings against the black rock matching the rhythm of those three cold sneers perfectly.

"Patriarch Ashton, Alpha of the Bloodspear, you arrive a day earlier than I anticipated. The blood-binding curse kept transmitting your approach to me, though I didn't expect you to walk so directly into my trap." Her tone was steady, carrying the composure of someone long accustomed to high positions and absolute control. "I am Valenna, the Seventh Seat of Seville's faction. Thirty years ago, I was the one who made contact with the carrier of the pureblood lineage—your mother."

My fingers tightened around the hilt of the Bloodmoon Dagger, yet my voice remained remarkably steady. "You were the one who planted the blood curse on Victor."

"I planted it fifteen years ago, when the seeds of treachery first took root in his mind. The same went for Cole—had the Alpha not struck first, the curse would have ruptured Cole's heart before he could ever utter a word about your lineage." Valenna's gaze drifted to Caine's left shoulder, a faint smile touching her lips. "This curse was originally meant for you. But on the night of the raid, the Alpha threw himself before the blade to shield you, bearing the blood-binding curse in your stead."

Caine remained silent, his breathing even and his stance unchanged, though the muscles of his left shoulder tensed beneath his battle coat.

Valenna retrieved a leather-bound file from the sarcophagus and spread it across the stone table. Written in blood ink was a list of names, each followed by a date and a brief note. I saw Victor's name, marked fifteen years ago; I saw Cole's; I saw the archivist's. On the very last line of the list, the ink still wet, was my own name: Seline Ashton. The date was today, and beside it, in small script: Incomplete.

"Three hundred years ago, Seville created more than just the Child of the Blood Oath. He left behind a comprehensive plan: to rely on the power of the Child of the Blood Oath to pass judgment on all purebloods who broke the oath, and then let Seville's faction establish a brand-new supernatural order. Every Child of the Blood Oath has only two paths: awaken your power and die from the bloodline backlash, or refuse to awaken and be hunted relentlessly. In three centuries, you are only the second of your kind to awaken. The first chose to seal her power and met her demise. Now, it is your turn."

Valenna closed the file, her silver rings glinting in the crimson light.

"The only way to break the blood-binding curse on your mate’s shoulder is with my blood. If you awaken your power tonight, I will lift the curse and allow him to walk out of this fortress alive. If you refuse, the mark will drain every drop of blood from his body. Years ago, your mother rejected our protective confinement, naively believing the Hunter Council could shield you. She never imagined that within the Council itself, there were Ravens nesting."

I committed every word to memory, but not because I had any intention of making a deal. There were still three names on the list that had not been crossed out, nor marked with a date of death—three Ravens still very much alive. One of them was indeed the silent assemblyman sitting between the third and eighth seats of the Council.

I released my grip on the dagger, letting my arm fall naturally to my side. Caine stood to my left, the bone bells chiming once in the red light. It wasn't a warning of pain, but a silent reminder—just as it had been beneath the silver oaks when he stood silently three paces behind me, saying nothing, yet always there.

"Are you finished?"

Valenna narrowed her eyes slightly. "You aren't going to choose?"

"No. I will not make a passive choice. I am no manufactured weapon. The princess before me chose to seal her power and embrace death; that was her choice to make. But my choice—" I took a step forward. "—will not follow the path you have laid out. I will not awaken my power to judge anyone, nor will I sit idly and wait to be hunted. You have been trapped in this stone chamber for fifteen years, casting blood curses on the living, logging list after list, obsessing over a three-hundred-year-old plan. Seville never lived to see it realized, and neither will you."

The lingering smile on Valenna's face vanished, and her tapping fingers abruptly froze on the edge of the sarcophagus.

I moved my hand away from my dagger, the back of my hand lightly brushing against Caine's. "You said the caster's blood can break the curse, but you never said it required the caster's consent. I have studied the ancient hunter records regarding the blood-binding curse—the only requirement to break it is the caster's fresh blood. You just admitted that Victor's curse came from your hand. You have committed high treason, premeditated murder, and conspired with the Abyss Clan. Under Hunter Council law, the sentence is death. Your blood will serve as the final cure for the curse on his shoulder."

The composure on Valenna's face shattered entirely, her expression twisting into one of utter shock—like a chess master suddenly realizing that every move she made had played directly into her opponent's trap.

"You lured him into taking the curse on purpose?"

"It was not by design. When the blade struck, he shielded me of his own accord. But I did not let his sacrifice go to waste. The blood-binding curse connects you to him, and by extension, it binds you to me. You waited for us at the Northern Sentry, but we were never hunting for you. We let you wait for us. Only by having you reveal yourself would the blood needed for his cure present itself before my blade."

The bone bells chimed once more. Caine clamped his left hand over his restless shoulder with bone-white knuckles, while his right hand drew his greatsword. The heavy blade, once unsharpened, had been honed to a lethal, razor-sharp edge, its cold silver steel gleaming under the crimson glow. We needed no words. In his eyes, I saw the familiar dark gold—the very same look he possessed the day he tried Cole and declared, "The vote is closed."

Side by side, we stepped steadily toward the sarcophagus. Valenna took a step back, her silver rings scraping against the stone with a sharp, screeching sound. The crimson light in the chamber flared violently. The blood-binding curse on Caine’s shoulder clamped down hard, forcing a low grunt from his throat, yet his stride did not falter for a single second. The bone bells at his chest clashed in rapid succession, their clear chimes echoing through the stone vault—like the final heartbeat of that young werewolf thirty years ago, like Allen’s unyielding determination when he clenched his fists, like the countless remembered names waiting beneath the ice fields for the final answer.