CHAPTER 64: MADNESS OR VISION?

"You don’t need to worry about my sources, or whether this will fail." Rion’s tone was calm, like a man who had already rolled the dice and seen every possible outcome. "You just need to cooperate, and you’ll have my end of the bargain."

I stared at him, frustration knotting in my chest. He wanted me to trust him blindly, but how could I?

"But I need to know something at least. What are these keys? Why do you even consider me as one?"

"You carry a faint energy of the Celestial Wolf," he said simply. "That’s how I know."

My lips parted. The words were jarring. Celestial Wolf. The name itself was a relic, a whisper in the old stories. She was the one blessed directly by the Moon Goddess, sealed away centuries ago for whatever reason. She was legend. Myth.

And now Rion Morrigan was looking me straight in the eye, saying I bore her energy.

"That doesn’t make sense," I whispered, my throat tight. "My whole life, no one’s ever told me that. Not once. Only you."

I took a step closer, glaring. "And how would you even recognize the energy of the Celestial Wolf? She’s been asleep for centuries, long before you were born."

I knew he was older than he looked. The Undercity Alpha wasn’t young by any means... his power stretched decades, maybe longer. But even then, not old enough. Not old enough to have lived when the Celestial Wolf was sealed, when the legends were first written into history.

"You couldn’t possibly know," I pushed, suspicion bristling sharp in my voice.

He smirked. "I have my own ways. I’m a very resourceful person, you see."

I scoffed under my breath, crossing my arms.

"Resourceful," I repeated, the word tasting bitter. "That’s your excuse?"

His smirk widened slightly, like my disbelief only entertained him further.

"Let’s just say... once upon a time, it all appeared to me in a dream."

I froze, staring.

He leaned against the stone pillar as if speaking of dreams and prophecies was casual conversation.

"Like I was summoned by the Moon Goddess herself, entrusted with a vision to fulfill a prophecy." His voice took on a mocking lilt, his smile sharp, unreadable.

I stared at him, caught between disbelief and the sting of insult. Was he mocking her? The Moon Goddess was a divine being, not to be joked about. But with that smile, half arrogant, half amused, I couldn’t tell if he was ridiculing the divine, or daring me to believe him.

"You expect me to believe that?" I asked, my voice flat, though beneath it my pulse raced.

"I expect you to understand it doesn’t matter whether you believe," he replied smoothly. His crimson eyes locked on me with frightening certainty. "What matters is that I will make it happen."

Then his smile curved darker, his arrogance spilling over.

"I am the chosen one." He spoke the words as if they were undeniable fact. "And so I am sure of what I’m doing. The fate must be fulfilled."

I let out a harsh breath, half scoff, half laugh. "You are insane."

His bloodred eyes glimmered with so much amusement they seemed to bear the stars. It was as if he enjoyed hearing me say it, enjoyed how much his madness unsettled me.

"You think I’m mad," he said, almost lazily. "But madness and vision are often mistaken for each other."

I shook my head, fighting the urge to back away. "You talk like a zealot."

"Or like a man who knows his place in fate."

"There are certain things I must collect to complete the keys." Rion’s tone was even, sure, as if he’d been waiting to execute this plan his life whole life. "One of them is the Millow Shade. That’s why I was determined to get it from Arjan."

"You tricked him."

I didn’t spit it as an accusation. The words were plain, stripped of emotion, the way one might acknowledge the color of the sky. A fact.

"Oh?" His brow arched high, mirthful. "I think you’re twisting the story. I made a bargain with him, and I honored that bargain, didn’t I?"

I stared at him, bitterness scraping the back of my throat. This was how men like him thrived—by twisting truths until they sounded like honor.

By calling deceit bargains, and calling manipulation strategy. It wasn’t skill alone that kept men like Rion at the top of this cruel world. It was the art of reshaping reality until no one could tell where truth ended and lies began.

"Yes," I admitted tightly, "you honored it. But you also sent a message to those wolves. That’s why they knew where to ambush Arthien’s pack, and when to strike."

The shift in him was small, too small, perhaps, for anyone else to notice. His eyes narrowed, the faintest gleam flickering like red fire deep in his gaze. Fascination.

My pulse quickened. That single flicker was enough to confirm my assumption. I didn’t need words.

"You knew," I pressed, my voice low but steady. "You made sure they knew."

I clenched my fists, digging nails into my palms until the sting grounded me.

"I don’t know much about Arthien. But I do know one thing... they’re famous for doing things in the shadows. For generations they’ve managed to hone a unique cloaking magic to use when dealing with their jobs. Untrained, disorganized rogues could never have found them so easily."

I took a breath, sharp and shaky. "And yet those rogues knew exactly where to wait. Exactly when to strike. That doesn’t happen by chance."

The images of that ambush clawed back into my mind. Snow stained crimson, screams swallowed by the wind, wolves scattering under the sudden, merciless attack.

"Unless those rogues were smarter or more skilled," I went on, "it would have been impossible. But they weren’t. From what I saw, they were strong but uncoordinated and too wild. They couldn’t have sniffed out Arthien on their own." My gaze snapped to his, burning. "Someone helped them. Gave them exactly what they needed."

His smirk bloomed slowly, darkly, across his lips.

And I knew. I didn’t need him to confirm it.

The truth was written in the gleam of his eyes, in the curl of his mouth, in the shadows that stirred faintly at his back as though restless to spill blood again.

It wasn’t bloodshed for him. It wasn’t war. It was a show. An entertainment.