Chapter 10

"A new age of glory," Wren whispered, repeating Sophia's words before frowning. "But Sophie, you are not the queen—Regina is. Then why wouldn't her child be the one responsible for it?"

"I don't know, Wren," Sophia sighed. "This is all too confusing. I just don't understand what could be so glorious for us. Aren't we already safe in Roosewood? Even if people accept us and no longer see us as a threat, there will always be some who covet our power. And you can only imagine what people would do for power."

"Are you talking about your sister?" Wren asked, her gaze sharp.

Sophia gulped, as if stung by Wren's words. "Well... I wasn't sure before. But the way she suddenly became so powerful—it's too shocking. I don't know what the future holds."

The writing ended there. Lyra couldn't summon the courage to read any further, so she closed the journal. She was no longer doubtful about her identity—she came from the bloodline of witches. And Sophia Whitmore, the same witch from the journal, was her mother.

The mother she had lived with for so many years… yet had never known the truth about.

Then there was Wren and Olivia. Wren had been mentioned in the journal, but there was no mention of Olivia. Maybe Mama had met her at another time, because there was no record of another sister. But still, there had to be a reason they had hidden the truth from her for so long.

Why now? Why reveal everything at this moment?

She sighed, turning off the lamp and placing it on the side table. The clock struck one. Lyra glanced at it, her thoughts jumbled and disoriented. With a heavy breath, she closed her eyes, and sleep soon overtook her.

*********

Rowan had tried every possible way, but he couldn't break the barrier placed around the house next door. He was only human—he didn't have the powers of witches, nor was he gifted like Ashford. He also had no desire to cross paths with Wren, knowing she held a poor opinion of him. Hell, sometimes he even despised himself.

But that wasn't the point.

Right now, Rowan believed the only way he could see Lyra again was by convincing Wren that he was no longer a threat.

With that in mind, he grabbed his jacket—the air had grown colder as fall approached. Before stepping out, he drank a cup of coffee to warm himself. Then, keeping his guard up, he left the house.

Not many people knew him here, but he still didn't want to draw any unnecessary attention.

Rowan pulled his jacket tighter as he walked through the streets. The town was quiet, as if everyone had retreated to their homes to escape the cold. Not that there were many people here to begin with—the town had always been sparsely populated, but tonight, the silence felt almost eerie.

His thoughts drifted as he walked, memories creeping in like unwelcome ghosts. He didn't belong to this era. His time was one of war and distrust, a time when he had been nothing more than a weapon in the hands of a mad king. Whenever the king wished, he would leash him, and when he desired, he would unleash him upon his enemies.

A hunter. A monster.

People had feared him. He had been the king's hound, a bringer of death. No one had ever welcomed his presence—only recoiled from it. He was like a plague, an omen of misfortune. Wherever he went, people scattered, as if his very existence was a curse upon them.

But now, in this strange, quiet town, he was just another wandering soul. No crown loomed over his head, no war beckoned him forward. Yet, the weight of his past still clung to him, heavy as the cold that settled in his bones.

One of the few warm memories he had was of his mother. Rowan was of mixed heritage—his mother had been a war slave, taken by the mad king who had grown infatuated with her. But she had never truly belonged to him. After two years of enduring the cruelty of the palace women, she had escaped with the help of a wizard.

Who that wizard was, Rowan would never know. But he was grateful. Grateful that he had spent his early years far from the suffocating walls of the palace, away from the corruption and brutality that festered there.

He had been ten when they found him.

To this day, he had no idea how the king had learned of his existence. But once he had, there had been no escaping his fate.

Rowan would have been lost in his thoughts, sinking deeper into the past, if not for a sudden noise that snapped him back to the present.