The Fallen Moon: Predestined Sin

Chapter 4: The Trial

The council chamber was constructed from black stone, its ceiling arching so high it felt oppressive. The seats of the thirteen elders were arranged in a semicircle, and the moonlight refracting through the crystal dome fell across the round table like frost.

I was brought to the empty space directly in front of the table. No chair. No chains. But I knew exactly where I stood: the docket.

Cole sat on the far left—white hair and beard, broad shoulders, the scars on his chest testifying to hundreds of battles. He stared at me, looking as if he were estimating how much oil should be poured onto the pyre. Next to him, the Third Elder kept his eyes closed, seemingly half-asleep, never once glancing my way.

Marcus sat on the right, near the empty seat of the Alpha. He gave me a subtle nod.

The Alpha's chair was empty.

"Seline Ashton," Cole's voice boomed like thunder. "The heir of the Ashton family, wielder of the Bloodmoon Dagger. Over the past six years, you have killed seventeen of our kind, three of whom were of Alpha rank. For three generations, your family has made it their mission to hunt werewolves. Yet here you sit in the Bloodspear council chamber, bearing the mark of the Moon Goddess on your wrist, under our protection."

He leaned forward. "What sentence do you believe I should pass upon you?"

Every eye in the room fell on me. I looked straight at Cole, refusing to avert my gaze.

"If you had already decided to burn me, you wouldn't be asking that question."

Cole's eyebrow twitched. The Third Elder opened his eyes. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk appeared on Marcus's lips.

"So you think you shouldn't die?"

"Whether I deserve to die doesn't depend on my answer. It depends on what you fear."

"And what do I fear?"

"You fear Caine Bloodspear."

The air in the council chamber instantly solidified. Cole's fingers tightened over his armrest, his knuckles turning white.

"You claim this mark is dark magic," I continued. "But at least three of the scars on your chest were left by dark magic. You know what it looks like. This isn't it."

I lifted my left hand, exposing the mark to the moonlight. The silver light pulsed slowly against my skin like a heartbeat.

"So you only have two choices. Acknowledge that this is a true destined bond, in which case you cannot kill me, for to kill me is to declare war against the Goddess. Or deny it, though you don't even believe your own lie. That is why you want to use the Council's hands to burn me at the stake before I can speak."

I lowered my hand.

"You don't fear me, Elder Cole. What you fear is what happens if he chooses me. How much of your power will be left?"

Cole's face turned livid. He opened his mouth, but another voice cut him off first.

"Enough."

Caine Bloodspear stood at the entrance of the council chamber, the moonlight carving a tall, imposing silhouette behind him. Every elder rose at once—not out of respect, but from the primal instinct engraved in their wolf bones.

The Alpha had arrived.

I watched him walk across the chamber toward me. His steps were steady, his face expressionless. Yet in that fleeting moment, what flashed through my mind was not the stake, the votes, or matters of life and death; it was the silver oaks. It was the hour-long trail he walked every night just to stand beneath those branches for an hour before returning.

It was the princess who had died on the pyre, and his mother who had slit her wrists to follow her husband. Since childhood, he had been taught what a destined bond truly meant by a dead woman: not a blessing, but a joint martyrdom. He wasn't afraid of me. He was afraid of his mother's choice repeating itself in him.

The thought vanished as quickly as it had come, but my palms were suddenly slick with sweat.

He stepped into the chamber, looking at no one. Walking up to my side, he turned to face the elders.

"Elder Cole has proposed burning her," his voice was smooth and unbothered. "I wanted to hear how the Council would dispose of my... guest in my absence."

The slight pause made Cole's face drain of color.

"Now I know. Let us vote. Those in favor, raise your hands."

Cole raised his hand. Two elders beside him followed suit. Three votes.

"Those opposed."

Marcus raised his hand. The Third Elder slowly raised his, and three more elders followed. Five votes.

Cole glared at the seventh elder—a youth with silver hair cascading to his waist, who had been idly playing with a blood-red chess piece in the corner, never once looking up. "Lewein. Your vote."

The boy looked up. His eyes were the purest crimson, clear to the point of innocence; yet it was only innocence, not youth. The time hidden behind those eyes ran deeper than the wrinkles on Cole's face.

"I abstain," his voice was crisp. "But I would like to ask Sister a question."

The word "Sister" made Cole's face shift from livid to a ghostly pale.

The youth stood, placing the blood-red piece in the palm of his hand. "Sister. If you had the chance to kill the Alpha right now, would you do it?"

The entire chamber fell into a suffocating silence.

Caine did not look at me. His back remained turned to me, his breathing unaltered, his pulse steady. I could hear it. His heartbeat was as steady as a war drum.

"Yes."

My voice wasn't loud, but each word fell with absolute weight. "He killed my parents. If I had the chance to kill him, I would do it."

The youth smiled. It wasn't an innocent grin; it was a chill from an ancient echo.

"Do you hear that, Grandpa Cole? Sister won't abandon her hatred just because of a mark. Your proposal to burn her was built on the assumption that she would use the mark to control the Alpha. But that assumption... does not hold."

He crushed the chess piece, letting the powder slip through his fingers.

"Abstaining. The original decree stands. Her status as a prisoner of war remains, under the Alpha's protection, until new evidence surfaces."

Cole stood up, preparing to say something, but Caine raised a hand to cut him off. "The vote is closed. Dismissed."

The elders filed out. Cole was the last to leave. As he passed me, a deeper emotion swirled within his gray-blue eyes, far heavier than mere anger.

Dread.

Marcus walked up to me. He glanced toward the entrance first, seeing that Caine had already departed, before dropping his voice so only I could hear.

"Cole was the last to leave, but not because he wanted to look at you. He wanted to confirm... if you are like your father, capable of finding a way out of a dead end." He paused. "Six years ago, Cole led a border patrol and ran into an ambush by the Ashton family. Your father's blade permanently stripped away eighty percent of the strength in his left arm. That scar runs from his shoulder all the way to his wrist."

He looked at me, his gray-blue eyes empty of emotion.

"His hatred for you has nothing to do with the destined bond. He hates you because you are alive while your father is dead. He cannot take revenge on a dead man, so he wants to burn you."

He turned to leave, then paused, though he did not turn back.

"One more thing. Reg was reassigned to watchtower sentry duty this morning for a month. This isn't his first punishment. The last time was because he executed a human prisoner without a trial." He finally turned his head to look at me, his gaze darkening. "His brother's wrist was crushed because of you. Now, he himself is banished to the border. When he returns, he won't just be kicking over your water basin. Watch your back."

He swept out.

The council chamber fell empty. Only Caine and I remained. The moonlight poured from the dome, painting a silver river on the stone floor between us.

"You said you would kill me if you had the chance," Caine's voice was quiet.

"It was the truth."

"I know."

He turned to face me. Under the moonlight, there was no anger or murderous intent in his amber eyes. Only that scrutiny I had grown increasingly familiar with—as if he were analyzing a complex equation.

"The words you spoke tonight... about Cole's fear, about power... how did you know?"

"I am a hunter. A hunter's first lesson isn't how to kill the prey, but how to understand it."

"So you understand me now?"

"You are my prey."

Silence stretched. Then, he smiled. It wasn't the smile of a man standing at the edge of a cliff, deciding to jump. It was lighter, briefer, almost subconscious—like hearing an inside joke only he could understand.

"Before locking you in that silver cage, I thought you were just an assassin. Now, it seems you are far more than that."

He stepped toward me, closing the distance until only an arm's length remained between us. He towered over me, but I did not back down.

"Your life is mine. But starting tomorrow, you are no longer a prisoner of war."

He reached out. My body went rigid. But he only lightly brushed his fingertips against my wrist, right over the mark.

It was incredibly soft, incredibly swift—like a flake of snow drifting onto skin, melting before the chill could settle.

"You are my prisoner. A prisoner can speak, can walk around the camp, and can take a walk to the silver oaks. That whetstone is enough to keep your dagger sharp."

He withdrew his hand and turned away.

"The difference between a prisoner and a prisoner of war: anyone can dispose of a prisoner of war. But a prisoner... only I hold the key."

He knew. The whetstone the young werewolf had slipped to me—he knew. Reg's threats, Cole's resentment, Marcus's calculated testing, and every pair of eyes hidden behind feigned sleep in the Council chamber—he had known all along.

And I, this prisoner, freed from the silver cage, given a whetstone, upgraded from spoils of war to a voice that could speak... he had transformed me from everyone's prey into his exclusive possession.

"Caine Bloodspear."

He stopped, but did not turn around.

"The princess from three hundred years ago," I said softly. "The witch doctor said she died on the pyre, bound by her own Alpha. Is it true?"

Silence. A very long, heavy silence.

"Yes."

"Would you?"

He offered no answer. His dark silhouette vanished into the shadows where the moonlight could not reach.

I stood frozen, the mark on my wrist burning. But this time, I didn't clench my fist. I opened my palm, watching the silver light pulse against my skin like a heartbeat trapped under my flesh.

A prisoner was not a prisoner of war. A prisoner could speak and visit the silver oaks. A prisoner... only he held the key.

Caine Bloodspear, you just saved my life at the Council, and then you locked me inside an invisible cage. The lock remains in your hand, and only you hold the key. Those outside cannot enter, and I cannot escape.

Are you trying to protect me, or cage me? Or is it both?

The light inside his tent burned all through the night once more. But this time, I slept. My cage now held a wool blanket and a whetstone, with the withered Moondrop flower tucked beneath my pillow.

Clasping it as I drifted off, I dreamed of a burning manor, and a field of white flowers growing from the ashes.