Chapter 126
Francesco’s POV – Return to the Castle:
The journey back felt like both an eternity and a blur.
Francesco didn’t speak to anyone.
He didn’t let anyone get close.
The only sound that mattered was Ellaine’s faint, uneven breaths against his chest. He counted them with every step–one, two, three–each one a fragile thread tying her soul to this world.
The warriors marched in silence around him.
No victory chants. No howls of triumph. Just reverent stillness, as if even the trees bowed to the weight of what had occurred. As if the world itself dared not disturb their Alpha’s grief.
But something was different.
Francesco felt it long before the castle came into view. A pressure that had once always lingered in the air- subtle, suffocating–was gone. The ever–present hum of dark magic that clouded his kingdom for years…
had vanished.
He narrowed his eyes.
The path to the castle that once twisted unnaturally under enchantments was now straight and clear.
Trees that had stood like silent sentries looked softer, as if relieved of their duty.
The wind moved again–not in gusts of warning, but in gentle sweeps, brushing through his bloodied hair
like a promise.
The barrier. The black shroud.
It was gone.
He glanced down at Ellaine.
You… did this, he realized. You didn’t just save us. You saved this land.
They passed through the outer gates without needing the usual unlocking rituals. The magic seals were no
longer active. The warding runes etched in ancient stone had dimmed. Some flickered faintly, others cracked as though rejecting the absence of dark power they once thrived on.
Francesco didn’t stop.
“Open the royal quarters!” Beta Alfonso shouted ahead. “Get Lira everything she needs!”
Maids and guards scrambled inside the castle. News had spread–of the explosion, of the battle, of the
Luna’s sacrifice.
Some wept at the sight of her. Others fell to their knees as their Alpha passed.
Still, Francesco said nothing.
His boots echoed through the halls until they reached the Luna’s chamber–no, her room.
His arms trembled as he lowered her gently onto the bed. The sheets were still warm from the morning sun, undisturbed as if waiting for her to return.
“Lira,” he said hoarsely.
The witch was already beside him, carrying a satchel of glowing bottles, herbs, and sacred stones. Her eyes were red from earlier tears, but her hands were steady.
“I need silence,” she murmured, placing a protection rune above Ellaine’s head. “And trust.”
Francesco stepped back reluctantly, his hand brushing the strands of Ellaine’s hair one last time before giving her space.
5
Lira began her work–cleansing potions, energy–binding spells, sealing her aura to stop the unstable flow of magic that still shimmered under her skin.
Francesco walked to the window, staring out.
Then he felt it again.
The air was lighter.
Not just emotionally–physically. The weight on his shoulders, the tension in the castle walls… it had all lifted.
The suffocating fog that plagued certain areas of the palace–the ones no one dared enter alone–was gone.
He narrowed his gaze.
From this high tower, he could see the western gardens. Once overgrown and withered, as if cursed by sorrow, now shimmered under the moonlight.
A faint pulse of color bloomed there. Flowers long dead peeked out from the soil. A fountain that hadn’t flowed in years trickled with silver water.
The hidden garden.
Chapter 126
He spun on his heel. “Alfonso.”
His Beta appeared at the door. “Yes, my King?”
“I want patrols across every border of the palace. Check the libraries, the sealed wings, the catacombs. Everything that was once cloaked in black magic—I want it documented.”
Alfonso’s brow furrowed. “You think the magic died with Luca?”
“No,” Francesco said softly, his gaze returning to the woman on the bed. “I think it died with her… and rose
again in another form.”
Alfonso didn’t question it. He bowed and left to carry out the order.
Francesco turned back to Ellaine and exhaled a shaky breath. He moved to the edge of the bed and sat
beside her.
She looked peaceful.now.
Too peaceful.
Her pulse was faint but steady beneath the skin of her wrist. Her chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm. Her magic… less chaotic now, though still dangerous in its potency. Lira was right–it was changing.
He reached up and brushed his fingers along her temple. “You carried something dark,” he whispered. “And still, you chose light.”
As he sat there, the fireplace crackled.
A strange warmth bloomed in the room, as though the castle itself was waking up.
The paintings lining the hallway outside glowed faintly. Old relics, once dormant, thrummed with quiet
magic.
Everything that had been sealed, silenced, or hidden–was being unveiled.
And then-
BUMP.
A thud echoed from his private study across the hall.
Francesco stood.
His senses flared, alert but not alarmed.
He walked toward the room slowly, his boots muffled by the thick carpet. The door was ajar, the fire inside still burning low. He hadn’t lit it.
When he entered, the scent of old parchment and dried herbs hit him instantly. The shelves along the walls
-lined with history, war records, spellbooks, and Journals–were untouched.
Except for one thing.
A single book had fallen from the highest shelf, lying open on the floor.
Francesco approached it cautiously. His eyes narrowed.
It was Anastasia’s journal.
The last one.
The final volume he had never been able to read–because it had been hidden. Protected by magic only she
could wield.
Until now.
He knelt and picked it up, running a hand over the aged leather cover. The symbol embossed on the front- the entwined wolf and moon–glowed faintly as if acknowledging his touch for the first time.
He opened to the first page.
To my beloved Francesco,
If you are reading this, it means the curse has lifted.
And if it has lifted… it means she has come.
His breath caught.
His hand tightened around the edges.
Page after page was filled with elegant handwriting. Notes, memories, warnings.
And a single prophecy.
“When the chosen heart awakens, the shadow shall vanish. The garden shall bloom. And the last secret shall rise from ash and fire. You will know her–not by her magic, but by the way she heals what even time
could not.”
Francesco staggered back, gripping the book.
He turned, his gaze flying toward the bed.
Ellaine.
She was the final key.
Not just to the war. Not just to Luca’s madness.
But to the curse that had haunted his bloodline for generations.
His chest rose and fell as a quiet, almost painful hope burned in his heart.
He was beginning to see it now–this wasn’t the end of their story.
It was only the beginning.
