Caelum withheld the final, devastating detail. He couldn’t speak it. How could he?
His fury felt misdirected. He didn’t even know the true source of his rage.
His mental and physical exhaustion, compounded by paralysis, frustrated him into cruelty.
He knew the tragedy of the past wasn’t solely their fault—they were mates madly in love.
But the memories were poisoned.
His gaze taut with hers. ’Don’t look at me like that. I want to hold you, kiss you, and cherish you with all my might right now. But I don’t know if I’m even worthy to breathe the same air as you.’
His mind reeled, burning with the intensity of her soft, pleading gaze.
He realized it then: He wasn’t angry at her. Never.
"Lethia... you should ask the fox inside you," he stated flatly. "She ignited the moria magic and sent these memories to me. She must know what we should do next."
Hearing him called her with just Lethia was strange—it sounded distant, and her heart ached with the formality.
"I can’t, Caelum. Whisney won’t respond, not even if I yelled or shake up my head right now." Her voice trembled.
It was unfair, they didn’t share the same memories, yet she bore the burden of his hatred.
"Then go," he dismissed her, cold and absolute. "Come back when the fox tells you what to do next."
Lethia clenched her fists against the sheer injustice. He kicked her.
Her gaze darted to his motionless legs. ’Was there no way to heal his paralysis?’
It had to be linked to the moria magic. The source of the magic must be the key to his cure.
’But who, how, and where should I search for the source?’
"Can I ask you something?" she pressed. "If your memories are so vivid, do you remember who proposed to Lyria on the hill?"
Caellum smirked, the bitterness sharp. "You should never have accepted that proposal. That was the beginning of our misfortunes. He was Zeran."
Lethia’s eyes widened in shock. "Isn’t it strange that you’re the only one who got the memories back?" she yelped.
"Moria magic targets only those its initiator intends. You need to ask the fox, she’s the one who activated it."
"No, Caellum, I told you when we saw the picture at the old house, Whisney said someone else placed her blood into the frame."
"How are you so sure the fox isn’t lying?" he challenged.
"That’s because—" Lethia faltered. Gasp. Flinched. She wasn’t sure anymore.
The conversation with Caellum was fogging her mind. She was doubting her own judgment.
"You said that in your memory fragments, only the woman’s face was clearly visible, right?" Caellum smoothly took the phone from his bedside table, his fingers moving nimbly despite his paralysis.
"Yes. Whisney said she might be our clue."
"Here, is this her face?" Caellum showed her the phone.
Lethia’s eyes widened, suppressing a gasp.
Long lashes, hazel eyes, beautifully pinned red hair, slim cheeks, and the clear dimples in her smile—It was an exact match to her memory fragment. The only difference was that she looked older here.
"Yes, it’s her. Who is she?" she demanded quickly.
"Eleanor Wood. She’s a she-wolf from Aroland, the owner of the world’s largest investment company. She invested in my last movie, so I know her. When you described the photo, I remembered everyone in it. I never suspected Eleanor Wood was also a reincarnation. The funny thing is, her name is still the same as in the past."
Lethia gulped at Caellum’s serious, concise explanation. "That can’t be a coincidence, can it?" Caellum merely shrugged.
"Lethia. Listen, our past memories are the last thing you should be worrying about right now. Did Zeran tell you why he needs to mark you under the red moon?"
Lethia froze, remembering their wedding planned in three days during the red moon.
She couldn’t recall Zeran giving any reason besides it being a sacred day.
"Do you know something?"
Her counter-question made Caellum scowl. ’This woman still doesn’t know her life is in danger.’
He blew out a ragged sigh of frustration.
"Lycan have a curse."
"Yes, I know. Your kind cannot find a fated mate, and the heat from a she-wolf—"
"The tale that the Moon Goddess cursed us because we sided with humans in the werewolf-human war?"
Lethia nodded.
"There is another secret," he paused, his voice dropping low. "The Moon Goddess wants us driven to extinction. So, every female, human, she-wolf, or even a Lycan itself, who gets pregnant with a Lycan’s pup, would die while giving birth."
The words landed like a physical blow.
Caellum watched Lethia’s expression go blank, as if someone had instantly ripped out her soul.
Her hands began to tremble faintly.
Caellum realized the shock had hit her hard.
He hated this, but someone had to lance the infection to stop the further misery of this prolonged vengeance.
He didn’t care if everyone thought him cruel; he was just tired.
"Cael..." The words choked her. "What..." Lethia struggled to process Caellum’s words.
The pulse at her temples intensified, her vision blurred.
The pressure was overwhelming. Dizzy. Suffocating.
"If you and Lyria are truly different, then just end this misery by dying while giving birth. Forget the bead, forget your tails, forget whatever promise you made to the fox. I will believe you then."
Lethia’s eyes burned with tears.
Even through the coldness of his voice, she sensed Caellum’s own pain—the way his jaw clenched, his fists tightly balled.
She knew he didn’t want Lethia to die.
But this felt like a dead end for him, for all of them.
’Dying during childbirth?’ What kind of cruel joke was fate playing with her life?
If Caellum’s words were true, if she truly was Lyria, she was suddenly desperate to confirm one final detail.
"In the past, did Lyria give her beads to you, too?" she asked, sobbing.
Silence. Caellum looked away.
"If that bead is taken from your body, will it endanger you?" She asked again.
Without looking at Lethia, Caellum offered a cold smirk.
"Fox’s beads are a living force. It will take my soul in my most vulnerable state to give the fox a new power from the tails. See? The fox hasn’t given you this detail. Either you’ve been manipulated, or you’re just pretending not to know to manipulate me."
He maintained his cold facade, refusing to meet her eyes, perhaps out of disgust—or maybe because he couldn’t bear to see her cry.
He was still full of spite.
Lethia knew her presence only exacerbated the storm raging inside his mind.
If fate dictated she die because of a curse that wasn’t hers, NO—she would not submit to such a death.
She would fight to live.
Not for the fox, not because she was Lyria, and not to fulfill anyone’s demands. She had to live because she loved her life.
She would fight to ensure that she and the people she loved survived, living their lives to the fullest.
Lethia wiped her tears and stood.
"I’m leaving first. You just need to focus on your recovery. Don’t think about anything else. Just know this, I won’t give up on fixing things, Caellum. Whatever it takes, we are not our past lives. None of us deserves to live in that misery. I’m going."
Her hand clutched his arm tight—her last desperate connection—before she walked out of the room.