Sleep was impossible after the nightmare. We spent the rest of the night in silence, Killian holding me as if he were afraid I would vanish if he let go.
When dawn broke, painting the sky in soft shades of pink—thankfully, not red—Killian sat up.
"Get dressed," he said, his voice grim but determined. "We are going to the Archives."
"The Archives?" I asked, rubbing my swollen eyes. "Isn't that just dusty tax records?"
"The public section, yes," Killian said, pulling on a black tactical shirt. "But there is a level beneath it. The Forbidden Archives. It holds the true history of the Royal Line. If there was ever a pair of twins who survived... the answer will be there."
The Royal Archives was a massive stone building near the Council Hall. Killian bypassed the main entrance and led me to a heavy iron door hidden behind a statue in the garden.
He sliced his thumb with a small knife, pressing his bloody print against the stone.
Rumble.
The door slid open, revealing a spiral staircase plunging into darkness.
"Stay close," he commanded, taking my hand.
The air downstairs smelled of ancient parchment, dried ink, and secrets. Rows of towering bookshelves stretched into the gloom, filled with books bound in leather that looked suspiciously like skin.
"Where do we start?" I whispered, overwhelmed.
"Section X," Killian said, walking straight to the back. " The Anomalies."
We spent hours pulling books. The Red Moon of 1402.The Feral Plague.The Betrayal of the South.
Dust coated my fingers. My back ached. But I kept reading.
"Here," Killian said suddenly. His voice was tight.
I rushed over to the table where he was standing. He had a massive, crumbling book open.
"Read this," he pointed to a faded entry dated nearly eight hundred years ago.
"Year of the Twin Suns. Queen Lysandra gave birth to two sons. Vorian and Valerius."
"Twins," I breathed. "Royal twins."
I scanned the text.
"The Elders demanded the sacrifice of the second-born, fearing the Split Soul Curse. Queen Lysandra refused. She fled into the Whispering Woods to seek the aid of the Moon Witch."
My heart raced. "She fled? Did she save them?"
I turned the page eagerly.
The next page was torn.
Half of it was missing. The only text remaining was a jagged scrawl at the bottom:
"...the ritual was dangerous. Blood for blood. Soul for soul. The beast was quieted, but the price was..."
The rest was gone. Ripped out.
"The price was what?" I groaned in frustration. "What happened to them?"
Killian was already moving to the next shelf, pulling down a genealogy scroll. He unrolled it across the table.
"Look at the family tree," he said, tracing a line.
There was Vorian (King). And next to him... a burned mark. A name erased. But the line didn't end in a skull (death). It ended in a question mark.
"He lived," Killian whispered, his eyes intense. "The second twin. He didn't die at birth. The line continues for at least twenty years before it disappears."
"So there is a way," I said, hope blooming in my chest. "The Moon Witch. She performed a ritual."
"The Whispering Woods," Killian muttered, looking at the map on the wall. "That territory has been abandoned for centuries. It's wild magic land. No Alpha goes there."
"We have to go," I said, grabbing his arm. "Killian, if she saved them, maybe her descendants know how. We have to find this Moon Witch."
Killian looked at the torn page, then at my hopeful face. He closed the book with a heavy thud.
"It is dangerous," he warned. "Witches do not give favors for free. And the Whispering Woods are full of illusions."
"I don't care," I said fiercely. "I will walk through fire if it means saving our son."
Killian stared at me for a long moment. Then, a slow, proud smile curved his lips.
"That's my Queen," he said.
He took my hand.
"Pack your bags, Elena. We are going hunting for a witch."
Just then, a sound echoed from the spiral staircase above us.
Footsteps.
Slow, deliberate footsteps coming down into the forbidden area.
Killian's head snapped up. He shoved me behind him instantly, his body shifting into a defensive stance.
"Who is there?" he growled, his voice echoing in the silent library.
A shadow emerged from the darkness.
It wasn't a guard. It wasn't a Council member.
It was an old woman, bent with age, leaning on a twisted wooden staff. Her eyes were milky white—blind—but she looked straight at us.
"You seek the ripped page, young King?" she rasped, her voice sounding like dry leaves.
She reached into her ragged cloak and pulled out a crumpled, yellowed piece of parchment.
"I have been waiting for you."