Selene's pulse thundered.
The masked figure stood before them, his presence suffocating, his void-like eyes locked onto hers. The way he had spoken—The fireborn.
He knew her.
But how?
Lucian stepped in front of her, his body tense, magic coiling around him like a storm barely held in check.
"Who are you?" His voice was sharp, demanding.
The figure tilted his head, slow and deliberate. Then, with an almost casual movement, he lifted his hand and pulled the silver mask from his face.
The firelight cast eerie shadows across his features—pale skin, sharp cheekbones, deep silver eyes like liquid moonlight.
Selene gasped.
Because those eyes—they were the same as Lucian's.
Lucian took a step back, his entire body going rigid. "No. That's impossible."
Draven chuckled under his breath. "Oh, cousin… You really don't remember anything, do you?"
The figure let out a slow, measured breath.
"I am King Valerian, last ruler of the Shadowborn… and the father you have long forgotten."
The world tilted.
Selene froze.
Lucian went utterly still.
For a long, terrible moment, the chamber was silent.
Then—
"...No," Lucian said, voice hoarse. "That's not possible. My father died when the Shadowborn fell."
King Valerian watched him, unreadable. "Did I?"
Lucian's breathing hitched. His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. "You're lying."
Draven smirked. "Oh, this is going to be good."
Selene swallowed hard, her mind racing. This wasn't just some phantom, some remnant of magic. This was Lucian's father.
The last Shadowborn King.
And he was very much alive.
A Father's Truth
Lucian's shoulders heaved, his emotions barely contained.
"You're a ghost," he said through clenched teeth. "A shadow of what once was. My father is dead."
Valerian's expression didn't change. "And yet, here I stand."
Selene felt the tension like a living thing between them.
Lucian's entire world had just shifted. The man he had believed lost for centuries was standing in front of him. But there was no warmth in his eyes. No fatherly reunion.
Only cold certainty.
Valerian's gaze flickered to Selene. "And you… fireborn. I knew your bloodline would return."
Selene tensed. "What do you mean?"
A slow, almost knowing smile curled his lips.
"You are not just any fireborn, girl. You are the ember that was meant to awaken the darkness."
Selene's stomach dropped.
"What—"
"The prophecy," Draven murmured. His tone was mocking, but there was a flicker of genuine interest in his gaze.
Lucian snapped his head toward Valerian. "What prophecy?"
Valerian exhaled, stepping toward them.
"The fall of the Shadowborn was inevitable. The world feared our power, and so they sought to erase us. But power does not die—it merely sleeps, waiting for the right moment to rise again."
His eyes locked onto Selene's.
"And you are that moment, fireborn."
A chill ran through Selene's veins.
"That doesn't make sense," she said quickly. "I was born in the Emberlands. My power has nothing to do with the Shadowborn."
Valerian's smile was calm.
"Are you so sure?"
Selene's heartbeat stumbled.
Because in truth—she wasn't sure of anything anymore.
Lucian stepped between them, his voice sharp with anger. "I don't care about prophecies. I don't care about the past. We are not here to fulfill some ancient fate—you were gone, and I survived without you."
Valerian studied his son for a long moment.
Then, his voice dropped into something deeper.
"You survived. But you are not whole."
Lucian's jaw clenched.
Valerian lifted a hand toward the throne, and the entire room trembled.
Selene felt the shift in power—a surge of dark magic, ancient and unrelenting. The torches burned lower, shadows lengthening.
"You were meant to reclaim what was lost," Valerian continued. "The blood of kings runs in your veins, Lucian. The throne was never meant to remain empty."
Lucian's body stiffened.
Selene's breath caught.
"Wait—" she started.
But Valerian ignored her.
"Take your rightful place," he commanded. "Kneel, and reclaim your crown."
The magic in the room thickened.
Selene could feel it—pressing against them, wrapping around Lucian like an unseen force, pulling him toward the throne.
Lucian's hands trembled. His breath came fast, his silver eyes flickering between rage and something deeper—something uncertain.
And Selene realized, with a cold dread—
He was tempted.
Draven, of course, was thoroughly enjoying the moment. "Go on, cousin. Give in. You know you want to."
Lucian's breath shuddered.
Selene stepped forward.
"Lucian," she said, grabbing his wrist. "Look at me."
His silver eyes snapped to hers.
"You don't have to do this," she whispered. "This isn't you."
His fingers twitched beneath her touch. His jaw locked.
And Valerian's voice came like a blade.
"You have always been a king. Whether you accept it or not… the throne is yours."
Lucian's heart pounded.
His father was offering him power.
Everything he had lost.
And for one terrible second—Selene thought he might take it.
But then—
Lucian exhaled sharply.
His grip on Selene tightened.
And then, with slow, deliberate movement—he turned away from the throne.
"I choose my own fate," he said. "Not yours."
The magic cracked.
The torches flared.
And Valerian's expression darkened.
"So be it."
And then, the shadows attacked.
End of Chapter Thirty-Five