Page 84 of Fated Alpha Baby

They’re talking about us. The children. The lunas. About every hybrid they have hunted.

The crowd begins chanting then, as if the news alone induces ritual. The words are unfamiliar, spoken in a language I don’t recognize, yet somehow, the meaning settles into my bones.

This is devotion, worship, an obsession with the Hollow King. These are his followers. They aren’t just serving Vaelkor—they adore him like he’s a god.

The realization horrifies me.

These people don’t think they’re doing something evil. They believe they’re saving something sacred. As if our ancestors didn’t lock the dark entity away for a reason, for the goodness of mankind and everything earthly.

The masked leader turns toward a wall covered in ancient markings. A single name is carved into the stone above the symbols. The letters blaze with crimson light, and I have to force myself to focus to read it first, then to memorize it. To hold on to it.

Because this is why I came here. This is what we’ve been searching for. The answer.

The name burns itself into my mind, along with the heavy realization of what’s going on here. This is a secret society hidden among wolves, witches, and humans alike. The very people working to free Vaelkor.

A cult.

“The Crimson Veil will endure,” the masked leader declares, and the crowd erupts in cheers again.

“We will break the prison.”

The chants grow louder.

“We will free the Hollow King!”

The chamber trembles with the vibration of the cult’s devotion, the candles exploding just as the memory begins to shatter.

Suddenly, every head in the room turns toward me, and my breath catches. A hundred pairs of eyes lock onto mine as the masked figure slowly tilts its head.

“Hannah Young.” The voice echoes through the chamber, and my blood freezes.

The figure can see me. Not the memory. Not the nameless witch whose name doesn’t even matter anymore.

Me.

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

The darkness lunges in treacherous ribbons around me, like tendrils aiming to grab me. That’s when I rip myself free from the vision, using every ounce of might I possess to get out.

My eyes snap open, and air floods my lungs. For a moment, the world spins around me.

The ritual chamber comes into focus, but it takes me a moment to gather my surroundings, to figure out if this is still the vision, the memory inside the witch’s mind, or reality.

I blink, and things start to come into focus. Candles. Runes.

Looking around, I see familiar faces, and breathe a sigh of relief when my eyes stop on Conan.

Everyone is staring at me. Waiting. Watching. I take a slow breath as Conan comes toward me, then another, letting my heartbeat find a steady pace again. Unlike last time, I remain standing. There’s no darkness threatening to pull me under, and I’m fully conscious when William, Theodore, Orlando, and Heinrich come forward to cover the witch before and take her away before she wakes up.

Conan’s hands grip my shoulders gently, and he leans down to look into my eyes.

“Hannah?”

I smile softly. “I’m okay.”

Relief washes over his face so quickly that it almost makes me laugh. Almost. Because what I learned is far too important.

Amalia steps forward immediately.