The Alpha of the 13th District

The night was silent.

Inside the bath chamber, the only sounds were the whispering force of the wind from the cracks in the window, and the crackling of the candles placed in the four corners of the room.

Fog clung to the mirrors, as if unwilling to leave. As if hiding something.

Her shoulder was bare.

The movement of her hand stopped, as if something suddenly grasped her. Looking in the mirror, a certain ache in her eyes hinted at a memory—and she recoiled.

There was light.

From beneath her skin at the top of her collarbone, in the very part always covered by armor, there was a glow that shouldn't be there.

No heat.

No fire.

Just light crawling beneath her skin like truth that couldn't stay buried.

It wasn't fire. But she felt its weight.

She took a deep breath, approached the mirror, and slowly brought herself closer to the light.

There she saw it completely.

The birthmark, once round and almost imperceptible, was now a crescent moon. And in the center of it—a red mark, as if a needle dipped in blood had drawn it.

A sigil.

The Mark of the Lunar Queen.

The mark in the prophecies.

The mark of balance that needs to be broken to be restored.

"No..." she whispered, trembling. "It's not yet time."

She suddenly covered it. Closed her robe, forcibly hiding the fear in her chest.

She didn't need this now. Not now, not when the palace was breaking and Asher.

She bit her lip.

She couldn't show him this. Not when the distance between them was growing.

Then the words came back.

Either he dies... or you rise...

The Priestess's voice. The prophecy she had denied before, but now seemed to be written on her skin.

She sat down on the edge of the marble tub. She stroked the part of the robe that hid the mark.

It didn't feel like destiny. It felt like a countdown disguised as fate—every pulse a warning, not a promise.

Every second she felt it pulse, she knew something was approaching. And she didn't know how to stop it.

She looked at the window. It was raining again. As if the heavens intentionally accompanied the storm she couldn't unleash.

She leaned forward, letting the rain wet her palm.

She wanted to erase everything—the mark, the fear, the questions.

But it remained. The glow beneath her skin refused to dim.

Kiera stood up.

Took a deep breath.

She needed to hide this. She needed to remain strong. She wasn't ready.

A door opened behind her. She quickly turned, immediately holding the dagger always hidden at the side of the bath cabinet.

"Who's there?" she snapped.

No answer. No one.

But the door was slightly ajar. And inside the hallway, only darkness was visible.

She stepped forward, slowly. Looking around but she saw no trace, not even a shadow. Even the guards who used to be stationed outside the door seemed to have vanished like smoke.

She gasped. And then she heard a voice. Unfamiliar, but not foreign. As if it came from the wall itself.

Don't hide it from him... he's already seen it.

The dagger fell from her hand.

Asher had already seen it. But when? How?

The image of their last night together returned. The night she thought was quiet, but it seemed she hadn't noticed much more.

She knelt down.

And as the rain slowly crept into the crack in the chamber—She knew.

She couldn't hide. But she wasn't ready to show herself.

The water on the marble mixed with the light under her skin. And with every beat of her heart, she felt a truth that could no longer be denied:

The queen's rising... is the beginning of the end of either of them.

The rooftop garden was quiet.

Not a single guard.

Only the moonlight and the cool breeze accompanied Kiera as she climbed the white stairs.

Each step felt heavier than the last.

The glow under her skin was now faint, but she still felt it—like a heartbeat with its own rhythm. She didn't know why she had come here.

Until she saw Asher.

Standing at the end of the rooftop, his back turned. His hair was drenched from the rain earlier, and his cloak was draped over one shoulder.

His upper garment was slightly open, and there—on the side of his ribcage—was still the trace of his wound.

The blood. It was still there.

But he wasn't tending to it. He wasn't even moving.

Kiera's chest tightened.

She wanted to approach him, to say that she didn't intend for everything that happened. That she didn't choose the betrayal. That she didn't give the order.

But before she could speak.

"You're glowing," Asher said quietly.

It was as if the air around them was sucked away.

She stopped. "W-What?"

"Don't deny it."

He slowly turned, his eyes cold but not angry. Tired. And full of questions.

"You think I wouldn't notice?" Asher added. "Your skin... it called to me before you even stepped onto the stairs."

Kiera shook her head, instinctively hugging her robe tighter.

"This means nothing," she whispered. "It's just a mark—"

But Asher stepped closer.

Quiet. No threat. Just quiet devastation. And he lowered his cloak on the other shoulder, revealing his shoulder.

Kiera gasped. It was there too. A mark. Like hers. But cracked.

Half a crescent moon, with faint lines like fractures. And the bloodline sigil—incomplete. As if forcibly removed long ago, but not completely gone.

It didn't glow then. But as she approached, it shone brighter. The closer she got, the brighter it became.

Until it was like fire, blazing beneath his skin.

She stopped.

Not because of fear—but because of the weight, something she had long forgotten.

The sigil pulsed—once. Deep. Like the beat of a heart that wasn't hers.

She felt a cold ache in her chest.

A feeling as if something was demanding payment. As if a power wanted to return to her.

And in that moment, she realized—

She wasn't the one seeking the mark.

It had been seeking her for a long time.

"You thought you were chosen alone?"

Kiera stared at the mark, eyes wide.

"They told me only one could bear the crest."

Asher's voice turned bitter.

"They lied." He looked her in the eyes.

"They always lied."

The wind picked up, howling across the stones.

A chill seemed to crawl up Kiera's spine. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I thought it would kill you," Asher answered. "And I'd rather bleed alone than drag you into it."

Kiera took a shaky step forward. "But it's happening anyway."

Their marks—now pulsing in unison.

Like twin hearts. Twin fates. And there they both understood. It was a vow.

A curse written not on paper, but on flesh. A bond that could not be erased, no matter how many wars passed.

And the world around them? It fell silent.

No thunder. No rain. No fire.

Only the beat of the mark.

The beat of blood.

The beat of history awakening again.

For a moment, time stopped.Because when their fates aligned—the past, the pain, and the prophecy all made sense.

"This isn't just a prophecy," Kiera said slowly, eyes on his chest. "It's a curse."

Asher gave a cold laugh.

"We're not soulmates." His eyes flickered gold to violet. "We're sacrifices."

Kiera stumbled back half a step.

Why did that feel more real than all the promises they had made?

The air suddenly felt heavy.

The wind stopped. But the pressure remained—pressing down on them, watching. And there they both understood—That they weren't brought together to love.

They were brought together to choose. Whose will would prevail—The curse, or the heart.

Love repeatedly tested by time and destiny always accompanied by a price?

And between two beats—two different hearts, one beat—

only one thing was certain.

One of them had to disappear… for the other to remain.

Asher clenched his fists. "Every time I bleed, the mark reacts. Every time you glow, it answers. I tried to ignore it. Pretend we weren't connected. But now..."

"You can't run from it anymore," Kiera finished.

A silence passed between them thicker than any lie.

Then, the moon above, shone. Too bright. Too sudden.

Kiera shielded her eyes. Asher gritted his teeth.

And then they heard it. A howl. Not from a wolf. Not from this world.

Like a creature from the oldest shadows of the world.

The leaves in the rooftop garden began to wilt. The flowers bent.

And their marks? Burned.

Kiera screamed softly, falling to her knees, clutching her collarbone.

Asher dropped beside her, grabbing her shoulders.

"Kiera don't fade. Don't let it in."

But she could feel it. Something ancient. Something watching. And in its presence, the truth was clear.

Their mark was not an ornament.

It wasn't a gift. It was a reminder—that they weren't destined to love

but to suffer.

Not the silence of peace—but of warning. The kind of silence that envelops a place before being struck by lightning.

The wind had stopped. Even the moon seemed to hold its breath.

Kiera stared at Asher, his face carved in shadow and red moonlight.

The mark on his shoulder still glowed—pulsing in the same rhythm as hers.

Then, Asher stepped back. One step.

Enough to make her feel cold again.

"Asher?" she whispered.

But he didn't answer immediately.

He turned away for a moment, as if waiting for the courage he had long wanted to hear.

Then his voice broke the silence. "I've seen this prophecy before."

Kiera clung to the edge of the marble basin.

"What do you mean?"

"Not in visions," he continued, eyes still not on her. "Not in dreams. But in blood. In my past life."

It felt like the air was being sucked from her lungs.

She didn't know if she could face the ghosts of the present—or the fact that ghosts were rising from the past.

"Asher..."

He finally turned. And what she saw in his eyes wasn't pain—it was truth.

"Everything we thought was part of the prophecy—chosen, destined, love." He shook his head. "They lied, Kiera."

Her heart beat faster.

"They said one of us must die." He stepped closer. "But the truth is... One of us must kill."

She didn't react immediately.

The surroundings seemed to grow cold, even though the wind hadn't returned.

Kiera's lips parted.

"Kill who?" she whispered.

He didn't need to say it. But he did anyway. "Each other."

There she finally weakened. She sat down on the ground, her knees suddenly giving way.

"No..."

"Yes, Kiera," Asher said. "That's why the marks exist. Not to choose a ruler. But to bind executioners."

"Executioners?" Kiera's voice cracked.

"But... it's us."

"I know." His voice softened. "Our love was never the prophecy's gift.

It was the weapon they wrapped it in."

Kiera cried. Not because of fear. But because of deception. All the sacrifices.

Every kiss, every promise of "forever."

Used as ropes and nets to hurt them.

"How long have you known?"

"Since the trial," Asher answered. "The mirrors... showed me what I was. Not just who I am now."

"And you still stayed?"

Asher looked at her then—really looked.

"Because I hoped fate could be wrong for once."

Then, the sky above them shifted. The clouds parted—revealing the full red eclipse.

It wasn't like the ones she had seen before.

It wasn't a promise.

It was a warning.

In the courtyard below, a sound of shattering echoed.

Kiera looked.

In the midst of fire and ash, the statue of the first Queen fell. No one moved. No one pushed. But it broke apart.

As if the carved stone had failed to protect the secret of the throne.

Kiera's heart stopped.

Asher whispered, almost broken.

"The shadows are moving."

Under the blood and moon, as the secrets of history blazed, two hearts that once loved were now destined to destroy each other in a fate they hadn't chosen.

When love and darkness collide, which one survives?

And destiny was counting not moments, but wounds that would reopen.

With the last beat of the moon, a heart would stop. And a legend would finally be written—in blood, and in war.