Ophelia stood in the dimly lit room, the fragrance of leather and parchment permeating the air. The door behind her clicked shut, locking her inside with Lucian. Slowly approaching, his dark, unfathomable eyes fixed on hers, the quiet scrape of his boots against the stone floor reverberating in the stillness.
"Sit, Ophelia," Lucian urged, his voice low, like a murmur. Though not severe, his tone had clear authority. Ophelia did not fight back. Still reeling from all that had occurred since her arrival at the palace, she sank onto the chair.
Folding his hands in front of him, Lucian sat across from her. The hearth fire danced, throwing flickering shadows all across the space. The flickering light in Lucian's eyes made him seem even more fierce than normal.
Lucian remarked, his voice abruptly grave, "You have to know the truth, Ophelia." Your bloodline is not any lineage. You were selected for something considerably more important than you can think.
Ophelia's heart raced. Selected? For what purpose?
Ophelia, you hold the key to the future of this realm. "An ancient prophecy foretold of someone with your bloodline who would either save or destroy everything we have built."
Ophelia winced, unable to handle the gravity of his remarks. 'Save or destroy?' What do you mean by that? I'm simply a woman, just someone you,
Lucian's look softened, but it lacked warmth; rather, it was the great weight of what was going to happen. Ophelia, you are more than simply someone. You will determine all, so you cannot escape that. You will either accept it or it will kill you.
Ophelia felt as though the room had lost all air. Lucian was glanced at by Ophelia; she didn't know what to say but could only muster a hollow laugh. "This is a joke." No way…
"Ophelia," Lucian quietly cut in, "this is not a joke. Your destiny is this. It has always been. Now you get to decide. You may either embrace who you are and what you're supposed to do or fight and see everything collapse.
Ophelia's head whirled. Not. I will not accept this.
Lucian's gaze grew steely. "You might fight, but ultimately you will fit into this empire. You will choose its destiny.
The room appeared to be closing in on her. Though she didn't want to, something deep inside her said he wasn't lying. This was just the start.
Ophelia attempted to flee Lucian's words' burden, but they followed her like a shadow. A jumble of training courses, furtive looks from Lucian, and the always-present rogue wolves at the gates filled the next days. But in her, something was changing.
It began as tiny, unrecognizable whispers in the corridors and sporadic movement in the corner of her eye. But with time, it became more acute. Things started moving in her room's corners. A candle would go out by itself, or a book would drop from its shelf should no one be nearby.
Ophelia strolled the calm corridors one night, her head spinning. Every day that went by, the palace seemed more like a jail, and she couldn't shake the impression that the walls were watching her, waiting for something to occur.
Entering the library, her steps were muted by the thick carpet. Her fingers glided across the ancient books, the comforting smell of aged paper soothing her. Then she stopped moving. On the desk lay a leather-bound book open, the pages gently fluttering as though a breeze had disturbed them.
No breeze. No action.
As she neared the book, Ophelia's heart raced. The cover was known to her, but she couldn't remember where. The book was heavy in her hands, so her fingers hovered over the pages. She swallowed hard, hoping this was not another indication.
A sharp, electrifying thrill shot through her the minute her fingertips touched the pages. Gasping and pulling her hand back, she felt a weird warmth still coursing through her veins.
What... is going on with me? Ophelia said softly, her voice quivering as she looked at the book. The walls surrounding her appeared to close in, the air heavy with a peculiar intensity.
Her fingers shook, and she backed away, her mind racing. This was not only a coincidence. Something deep inside her had altered.
Ophelia spent the next hours pacing, attempting to understand what had taken place in the library. The odd vibe remained from when she touched the book. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw visions of the pages spinning, the archaic language she could not grasp.
Driven by the draw, she went back to the library that night, hoping to find more. The book was there for her, almost as if it had been beckoning her back.
Ophelia reopened the book with careful fingers. Though ancient, the pages were rather well preserved; the ink dark and vibrant across the decades. The writing was in an old script, something she knew. Yet it had a strangely familiar quality.
The book appeared to respond as her fingers once again brushed the pages. The pages sparkled; the ink under her fingertips glowed softly.
Ophelia gasped and froze when the book opened by itself. Though they looked somewhat familiar, the words changed into symbols and patterns she could not grasp; they looked like they belonged to her.
As the room temperature fell, her heart raced in her chest. The book looked to come alive, and she could feel the chill creeping into her bones. The symbols on the pages danced and changed, and for a brief moment, she saw something, someone.
A shadowy person was watching her. "It's time," a voice in her head softly said.
Breath coming in jagged breaths, Ophelia slammed the book shut. The room seemed colder now, the shadows darker. The air around her was heavy with an inexplicable force, and she knew one thing for certain: she had just opened something that may alter everything.
Flipping the pages of the old book made Ophelia's hands tremble. As her eyes skimmed over the mysterious phrases, the flame wavered, throwing lengthy shadows over the room. Though the language was bizarre, with complicated symbols and odd letters twisting and turning, something inside her seemed to know them with every passing page. The words seemed to be appealing to her as if only she should grasp them.
She stopped, her fingers skimming a section that seemed unusual. The phrases were almost alive, pulsing with vitality. The one who bears the bloodline will be at the junction between salvation and devastation. Their decision will either save or condemn the kingdom.
Ophelia's breath caught in her chest. The words were now obvious, their significance soaking deep into her bones. She could no longer disregard it. It was her destiny. This lineage. She was the one in charge. The main thing.
"No," she said beneath her breath, the burden of the words crushing her. "This isn't reality. I cannot be...
Her mind spun with memories of the past, the life she had lost, the life she had led before all this. Wasn't she only Ophelia? Just a woman trapped in the Lycan Kings' machinations, entangled in a game she never wanted to participate in.
Yet the book... the book told the truth. It wasn't the only thing talking to her, though. She sensed an odd force rising within her. A force was becoming stronger with each word she read.
A chilly wind blew over the room, snuffing out the candle flames and momentarily giving the place a spinning sensation. The weight of the discovery was nearly too much to handle, and Ophelia shut her eyes.
Lucian's voice rang in her head, "Ophelia, you are the one who will determine the destiny of us all."
She shook her head, not wanting to accept it. But a part of her knew it was real as she looked down at the book.
It was her decision.
Breath shallow, Ophelia walked the room. The walls of her room seemed to be closing in. Though the book had been read hours ago, the words still tormented her. The decision is theirs. She couldn't get rid of the impression that she had been handed a duty she didn't know how to handle, one she wasn't ready for.
The air around her felt thick with expectation, as though something was approaching. She could nearly sense the walls surrounding her throb with a new force. Every breath, every stride seemed more intentional and heavier.
A tap on the door brought her back to reality. Trying to conceal the shake in her hands, she quickly put the book away.
"Come in," she said, her voice tight.
Lucian walked in, his big, powerful frame filling the entrance. Sharp and aware, his eyes scanned her. His eyes lacked warmth; only the frigid intensity she had grown to expect.
You have been silent, he said, his voice curious. What is bothering you?
Ophelia smiled despite it not reaching her eyes. Just considering.
Lucian moved closer, his presence overpowering and his eyes fixed on her. Concerning what? His voice fell, a slight warning in his words.
She was unsure. How could she convey the reality she had only recently found? How could she inform him that her bloodline would decide the fate of the kingdom, that she was the key to it all?
Finally, her voice strained, she continued, "About... everything." About how everything here genuinely relates to me.
Lucian's gaze grew darker as his jaw clenched. Ophelia, you are not prepared for this. You know so little.
A combination of annoyance and dread in her heart made her shake her head. This is not what I want, Lucian. I didn't request it.
You have no option. His remarks were a harsh reality meant to sink like a stone in her gut.
Ophelia averted her gaze, thoughts whirling. I cannot take this. This is not what I wanted. I am not the person you believe.
Lucian's voice became almost undetectable and softer. Though I don't expect you to be, your hands hold the fate of our realm. It always does. You simply don't notice it yet.
Her head whirled. Though she didn't want to, deep down, she knew he was correct.
Sinking into the chair by the window, Ophelia felt her chest tighten. "Then what am I supposed to do?"
Lucian was silent. Rather, he remained there, observing her for a long time before finally speaking once more. "You will do whatever it takes. The decision is still yours, though. It will shape all.