"Bones in History."

The sun had barely touched the blackened windows of the ancient fortress when Selene descended the steps to the man's chamber—the man who had pretended to be her father for eighteen long years.

The corridors felt colder now, the stones more hostile. Each step echoed like a suppressed scream.

She entered without knocking. The doors burst open violently, and Cassios Valtieri lifted his gaze from an old scroll. His cold eyes met hers with a slight furrow of his brow. He sat upon his tall chair of black wood, like a king upon a throne of death.

"I see you've finally emerged from your silent mourning," he said with disdain.

Selene didn't answer immediately. She walked to the center of the room, her dark dress trailing like living shadows behind her.

"How long were you planning to hide the truth from me?" she asked, her voice firm but hoarse with pain. "How long was I supposed to live within this lie—shaped into your heir while you laughed behind the mask you forged?"

Cassios watched her in silence for a long moment. Then he leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs with calculated calm.

"Ah, so you found out," he said, offering a sarcastic smile. "I figured you'd stumble upon your beloved mother's journal eventually… Helena always had the cursed habit of writing too much."

"You killed her," Selene whispered. "You killed her… and my real father. A man who served you with loyalty."

Cassios rose slowly, walking toward her with measured steps.

"And I would do it again," he said, his voice cold as steel, each word a blade. "He was a servant. A dog in love with a lady. A mistake that needed to be erased. And your mother? Weak—driven by desire. Together, they would've tainted our bloodline with their pathetic sentiments."

"And me? What was I?" Selene asked, her eyes brimming with tears. "A mistake you decided to forge into a weapon?"

Cassios smiled, cruel and unrepentant.

"You were a vessel. The right bones at the right time. Flesh and magic. Your soul, your love, your tears... none of it ever mattered to me."

She looked at him, her heart breaking all over again. It was real. He hadn't just deceived her—he had shaped her with cold precision, like a sculptor carving a statue for war.

"Why...?" she whispered. "Why did you steal my father from me?"

Cassios stepped closer, his eyes burning with contempt.

"Because he was weak," he growled. "Because he dared to touch what was never his. He wanted to take you, raise you as a soft-hearted fool. But I was born to command the darkness. I saw in you a power he would never comprehend. So I claimed what was rightfully mine."

Selene stepped back, but her voice didn't falter.

"You'll pay for all of this, Cassios," she said, rage rising in her throat. "For the blood spilled. For the life you stole. For the lie that shattered my soul."

"You hate me now," he said, turning his back to her with indifference, "but one day you'll thank me. When you sit on the throne, when the shadows obey your command, when the world trembles at your name… you'll remember who made you. Bone and pain. Rage and power."

"I would've rather died with them," Selene spat. "Better to not exist than have your rotted blood taint my fate."

Cassios turned slowly, his face pale with fury.

"You have no choice, Selene. You never did. Your fate was carved before your first breath. As heir to the Valtieri Clan, you will fulfill your role—whether you like it or not."

"No," she murmured, barely more than a breath. "I am the child of the love you destroyed. Of the man who tried to save me. And if the blood of shadows runs through me, so does the light you murdered."

"Light?" he laughed, cruel and mocking. "There is no light in you, girl. Only shadows, waiting to consume everything."

"Maybe," Selene said, her eyes locked on his. "But one day, those shadows will turn on you. And when they do, all that will remain of you are your bones—to whisper your story to the dust."

Cassios stared at her in silent hatred. But she turned before he could reply, walking with steady steps toward the exit.

She was no longer a child begging for approval. She was a storm, rising.

As she passed through the corridor, the pain still burned. The truth was a fresh wound, and his words echoed like needles in her mind.

But now she knew. She knew who she was.

And who she would never be again.

Selene Valtieri died that day.

And in her place, something darker—and freer—was born.