Chapter 12: The Awakening

The world around Celia buzzed with an energy she had never felt before. The silver light that had erupted from her still crackled in the air, lingering like an unspoken promise. Her heart thundered in her chest as she turned to Damon.

"Now, little queen, we prepare for war."

His words still echoed in her mind, but Celia could barely grasp the gravity of what had just happened. She had thrown a high priestess across the battlefield like she was nothing. She had made the Bloodcasters hesitate.

What am I?

Damon studied her carefully, his golden eyes sharp, searching. "You felt it, didn't you?" he murmured.

Celia swallowed. "Felt what?"

Damon took a slow step closer, his presence commanding. "The power inside you. It wasn't something borrowed, Celia. It answered you."

She shuddered at the truth in his words.

"I don't even understand what I did."

Damon exhaled, his jaw tightening. "You don't have to understand it yet. But you can't afford to run from it either."

The forest remained eerily silent, the absence of the Bloodcasters leaving behind a charged emptiness.

The encounter had lasted minutes, but it had changed everything.

Celia took a deep breath. "Who was that man?"

Damon's expression darkened. "Lucian."

The name sent an involuntary chill down Celia's spine. "And?"

Damon's lips curled into a grimace. "He's worse than Morgana."

Celia frowned.

"You didn't tell me about him before."

"Because I didn't think he'd care about you," Damon admitted.

"Lucian is no ordinary warlock—he's the Eidolon, a shadow mage powerful enough to bring entire kingdoms to ruin. He was exiled from the Council for practicing forbidden magic, the kind that feeds on souls."

Celia stiffened. "You're saying he eats souls?"

Damon hesitated.

"Not in the way you think." He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze shifting to the scorched earth where Morgana had fallen.

"He doesn't need to devour people whole—he just takes pieces of them. A fragment of their essence, their strength. It's enough to turn anyone into a puppet."

Celia's blood ran cold.

"Then why is he after me?"

Damon's golden eyes met hers. "Because he knows the truth about you—even if you don't."

Her hands clenched into fists.

"And what truth is that?"

Damon hesitated, something unreadable flickering across his face. But before he could answer, the ground beneath them shook.

A low, rumbling growl echoed through the trees.

Celia's instincts screamed at her. She turned just in time to see the shadows twisting again. But this time, they weren't forming a man.

They were forming a beast.

A massive, obsidian-black wolf with burning crimson eyes stepped out of the darkness, its fur rippling like liquid night. It was huge—larger than any normal wolf should be, even larger than Damon in his shifted form.

And its gaze was locked onto her.

Celia's breath hitched.

Damon immediately shifted, his bones cracking as his form contorted, fur sprouting over his skin in a matter of seconds. His own wolf—a magnificent dark gray with golden eyes—stood beside her in an instant, fangs bared.

But before either of them could move, the beast spoke.

"I have found you at last."

The voice was guttural, filled with something ancient. Celia's entire body locked up.

Damon snarled, stepping in front of her. "Back off."

The massive wolf didn't even flinch. Instead, it smiled—a terrifying, jagged grin.

"Your alpha instincts amuse me, Damon," the beast rumbled.

"But this is beyond your control."

Celia's heart pounded.

"Who are you?"

The wolf tilted its head. "You already know."

Something in Celia clicked. The moment the words left its mouth, a flood of emotions slammed into her.

Memories that weren't her own.

Pain. Fire. Blood.

A pack torn apart by shadows.

A throne bathed in silver moonlight.

A crown meant for her.

She staggered backward. "No. No, that's not—"

"It is," the wolf interrupted, its eyes gleaming. "You are not just some lost werewolf, Celia. You are heir to the Midnight Throne."

Celia's breathing turned shallow. "That doesn't make sense. That throne is gone. It was destroyed—"

"A lie," the beast murmured. "Told to keep you weak."

Damon shifted back into his human form, his breathing ragged.

"You expect her to believe that?" He turned to Celia, his voice urgent. "Don't listen to him."

But the wolf only grinned.

"Your blood is already remembering the truth."

Celia felt it.

Something inside her was stirring, unlocking.

And then—pain.

It ripped through her, white-hot and merciless.

She dropped to her knees, gasping. Her veins burned like liquid fire was pouring through them. Her body was changing, her very essence realigning itself.

Damon was at her side in an instant. "Celia! Stay with me!"

But she barely heard him.

Her vision blurred, her senses overwhelmed by the surge of power exploding through her.

Then—

The world shattered.

She was no longer in the forest.

She was somewhere else.

A vast, endless void, bathed in silver.

A woman stood before her.

Tall. Ethereal. With Celia's eyes and the same silver power humming in her veins.

The woman smiled.

"My daughter," she whispered. "It's time to wake up."

The world snapped back into focus.

Celia sucked in a ragged breath, her body burning with something untamed.

She looked up at Damon, her vision sharper than ever.

And she knew.

She was not just some lost wolf.

She was royalty.

The heir to something far greater than she had ever imagined.

And nothing—nothing—would ever be the same again.