CHAPTER 402: DEEPER WEB

Rayma~

The first light of morning slipped through the cracked shutters of my cottage, scattering gold across the rough wooden table where Star and I shared breakfast. The cottage was small but alive and the light made it feel almost sacred—like the sun was blessing us for surviving another day.

Our meal was simple: slices of bread still warm from the oven, drizzled with thick golden honey from my own hives, and a pot of steaming herbal tea that filled the air with the soft scent of mint and chamomile. It wasn’t much, but it carried a quiet comfort—a kind of peace only solitude can teach.

Outside, the world stirred awake. Leaves whispered against each other in the chill breeze, and somewhere in the woods, a bird gave a lazy morning call. But inside, the silence between us felt heavier than the air. It wasn’t the comfortable kind of silence either—it was the kind that hummed with things unsaid.

Star sat across from me, shoulders tense, his gaze lost somewhere far beyond the table. He didn’t eat, not really. Just nudged his bread around with a fork as though he could rearrange his memories by moving crumbs. The shadows under his eyes told their own story—nights broken by screams, dreams that dragged him back to whatever hell I’d pulled him from.

I wanted to speak—to tell him the nightmares would fade, that the ache in his chest would ease—but lies have no place in a home built on truth. So I just watched him, quietly, as the steam from our tea curled upward and vanished like ghosts between us. My ancient heart ached with a father’s concern—a role I’d never sought but now couldn’t abandon. "Star," I said gently, "You barely touched your food last night, and now this? What’s weighing on you, son? We talked about it yesterday—your dreams, that pain in your heart. I promised I’d help uncover it today."

He looked up, his face a mask of youthful defiance mixed with vulnerability. His black hair fell messily over his forehead, and his eyes—those piercing dark eyes flickered with shadows that danced unnaturally in the light. "Rayma...Dad," he corrected himself with a small, reluctant smile that tugged at my soul. "I don’t know if I’m ready. What if it’s something I can’t face? Last night, I had a strange dream. It was worse than the unfocused but weirdly terrifying dreams I’ve had in the last two months. This time, I saw a girl—flashes of red hair, blue eyes like storm-tossed seas. And then... pain. Like my chest was being ripped open."

I reached across the table, placing my hand over his. My skin, eternally youthful yet marked by the eons, felt the tremor in his fingers. "That’s why we’re doing this, Star. You’ve been running from it long enough. Eat a bit more; you’ll need your strength. Remember, I’m here. Whatever we find, we’ll face it together."

He nodded, tearing off a chunk of bread and chewing mechanically. "Fine. But how? You said you’d ’look into my past.’ What does that even mean? You’re not some wizard from the old tales, are you?" There was a hint of humor in his voice, a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, and I chuckled softly, the sound rumbling like distant thunder.

"Oh, I’ve been called worse," I replied with a wink, leaning back in my chair. The wood creaked under me, a reminder of the fragility of this mortal guise I’d adopted. "Think of it as... diving into a river of memories. I’ll guide us. But first, finish that tea. It’s got herbs to steady the mind—my own recipe, from days when the world was younger."

He sipped obediently, his gaze drifting to the window where Selena—my daughter, the moon—had left her pale glow lingering in the dawn sky. "You always talk like you’ve lived forever, Dad. Makes me wonder about your past. But okay, I’m ready. Or as ready as I’ll ever be."

We cleared the table in companionable silence, the clink of plates and the splash of water in the basin grounding us in the mundane. But as Star turned to stack the dishes, I seized the moment. Without a word, without letting him know—for his sake, to spare him the intrusion’s weight—I extended my essence toward him. It was effortless, like breathing after holding my breath for millennia. My mind slipped into his, a gentle probe at first, then deeper, weaving through the labyrinth of his thoughts and memories. He didn’t flinch; to him, it must have felt like a fleeting daydream.

Inside, his mind was a tempest—a swirling vortex of shadows and illusions, befitting his character. I navigated carefully, past the surface fears and into the core, where the pain festered like an open wound. And there it was: the memory that haunted him, vivid and raw, unfolding before me like a tragic play.

I saw Star — sharper, fiercer than I’d ever seen him — standing in a vast chamber bathed in the golden light of morning. The air was heavy with the scent of vanilla and the faint electricity of an oncoming storm. Sunbeams spilled through the tall windows, catching the edges of silver weapons and training dummies scattered across the marble floor.

And then, there was her.

Katrina Anderson-Moor. Star’s memory whispered her name like a ghost. She stood before him — tall, defiant, heartbreak carved into every line of her face. Her reddish-blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in wild, untamed waves, glowing like fire beneath the chandelier. Her blue eyes burned with a tempest of panic and fear, the kind that spoke of battles both fought and lost.

She was a contradiction — beauty wrapped in fury, strength trembling beneath grace. The aura around her shimmered faintly, the pulse of celestial magic weaving with the raw, primal energy of her lycan blood. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles had gone pale, as if she were holding her emotions hostage, daring them to stay buried.

The room seemed to hold its breath between them — two storms waiting to break.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice cracking, tears welling up again. But there was a spark of her fierce independence there, her celestial magic glowing faintly under her skin. "Vincent, explain! If Winter’s in trouble, we can help. My family isn’t like that—we protect our own. Nicholas wouldn’t—"

"Ask Nicholas yourself!" Star spat, his eyes blazing with fury. "See what he says about the ’monster’ he just fled from. But there’s no more pretending, no more long game. I’m done playing the charming outsider."

Understanding dawned on her face, horror mixing with heartbreak. "You... you were using me? All this time? The mate bond, the kisses, the promises—it was all a lie?"

"Not all," he admitted through gritted teeth, the bond twisting like a knife in his gut. But rage drowned out the regret. "But now? Now it’s over. I won’t wait for you to reject me like Nicholas did to Winter. I reject you, Katrina Anderson-Moor, as my mate. Right here, right now."

The words ripped from his throat, and the pain hit like a lightning strike—searing through his veins, doubling him over. The mate bond snapped, a golden thread fraying into oblivion, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. Katrina gasped, clutching her chest, her knees buckling as she sank to the floor. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her reddish-blonde hair falling like a curtain around her face. "Vincent... no... it hurts... why?"

Star staggered back, fighting the wave of agony, his shadows surging to bolster him. "Because your family took everything from me once. I won’t let it happen again. I’ll pay you back a hundredfold for what you’ve done to mine—starting with finding my sister."

She reached out weakly, her voice a broken whisper. "Wait... please... we can fix this. Don’t go like this. Vincent!"

But Star turned, bolting through the door, her cries fading behind him. The large house corridors blurred as he ran, following the faint trail of his sister’s essence—a shadowy whisper in the air, pulling him toward her. Fear and fury warred within him, but one thing was clear: revenge had just ignited into war.

Back in my mind’s eye, the memory shifted, revealing the depth of Star’s hatred. Flashes of his past: hearing about his mother’s death through fragmented gossips—Kalmia, fierce and beautiful, impaled by Zane’s lycan claws while Natalie unleashed celestial light that burned her essence away. Memories of his father, roaring in defiance before being sealed in eternal imprisonment but no image to back the memory. Star’s heart burned with vengeance, a fire that had driven him to seek Katrina initially for revenge, only to fall into the trap of genuine love. The conflict tore at him, fueling the nightmares that brought him to my doorstep.

But then, as I delved deeper, probing Katrina’s image in his memories, a shockwave hit me—a revelation that shattered my composure. I focused on her essence, peeling back the layers. There, in her veins, pulsed a familiar light: Selena’s blood. My daughter’s essence, crystalline and pure, intertwined with my own neutral force. It wasn’t just her; I traced it further, seeing echoes in her mother, Natalie, the Celestial Princes? What was that? The blood ran through her brother, Alexander, as well, bore it in his strength and wisdom. Even her uncles—distant figures in Star’s memories—hummed with it, a lineage stretching back through generations.

My mind reeled. How? Selena, my child, had woven the mate bonds across species, but this... this was direct descent. A bloodline born from her clarity, perhaps a hidden union or infusion I’d never known. Suddenly, Star’s pain wasn’t isolated; it connected to my own fractured family. And now, Selena’s blood in the very family that had caused Star so much pain. This wasn’t just about mending a broken heart anymore; it was a cosmic tangle, threatening to unravel the balance I’d fought so hard to preserve. Wars could ignite, old grudges reborn. My solitude, my peace—it was crumbling.

I withdrew from Star’s mind swiftly, my breath catching as I returned to the cottage. He was still stacking dishes, oblivious, humming a tuneless melody. "Dad? You okay? You zoned out there for a second."

I forced a smile, my heart pounding with the weight of secrets. "Just thinking, son. About how much bigger this all is than we thought."