The Alpha’s Fated Outcast: Rise Of The Moonsinger

Chapter 279 279: Hard choices

Lyla

I followed Nathan to the back of the Alpha house down a narrow corridor I'd never explored before.

The pack house was large, with wings and passages I'd never had reason to visit. This section felt older somehow, filled with the musty scent of wood and old paper.

"How much further?" I asked in a whisper. There was something about this place that demanded reverence.

"We're here," Nathan replied, stopping before a metal door. Different symbols and ancient runes were carved on the frame. I recognized some from old pack text, while others felt completely foreign to me.

Nathan produced a heavy iron key from his pocket. It looked ancient, the metal dark with age. The lock clicked open with surprising ease, as if it had been regularly used despite its appearance.

"After you," Nathan said, gesturing for me to enter first.

I hesitated for just a moment before stepping inside.

The moment I stepped into my father's private study, what I saw made me freeze in my tracks.

The room was dimly lit, and the scent of old parchment and cedarwood lingered in the air. My eyes widened as they landed on the wall before me—covered in photographs, clippings, and detailed analysis.

It seemed as if I had just walked into an investigation room. My picture was at the center of the investigation board. In the other spaces on the walls were pictures of me at different stages of my life.

Some were from childhood, and others seemed recent. There was even a picture of me on my college graduation day. Nanny—my mother's face appeared beside mine in most pictures, but they were mostly from when I was younger.

A large idea board on a stand dominated one side of the room as if the one on the wall wasn't enough. It was filled with meticulous notes, diagrams, and calculations. The words "Moonsingers" were scrawled across the board in bold ink, underlined multiple times.

My chest tightened as I stepped closer. I reached out to touch one of the pages pinned to the board, trying to fight the nostalgia that had suddenly seized me.

"My father did all of this?" I managed to ask.

must have had help. When he was still here, he would end our training early with an excuse that he wanted

face colored with embarrassment.

course they couldn't do it in the pack house. Your mother

the other materials on the board. Most of them were information

my spine, and I

already dead before I was officially announced as a

shrugged, completely unfazed. "I have

so I turned and moved to the wall. My fingers started tracing the lines connecting different names and places. There were several mentions of

caught my attention – a section detailing the Auréans. My

times, alongside references to other Moonsingers, I think in a

was also surprising was that, at the beginning of the wall, my father had been researching pheromones, looking for a solution, and in the process, he traced me back to Neriah. There was even detailed documentation about my birth and the things that happened on that day, and most of them

bottom of that information was a yellow paper pinned to the corner. It was a short passage of something, and it was written in faded ink. I bent down

– the last of her kind, blood of Neriah, vessel of the goddess. Neither wolf nor human

Moonsinger, the other prophecy, and this prophecy speaks

– this obsessive researcher, this man who had documented my entire existence – was completely unknown to me. If I had know this part of

clear my thoughts and went back to scanning the other documents I saw there. A heading caught my attention, and I drew closer to look at it. It said, 'How to kill the Dark One.' It looked

removed the pin, held it to the wall, and flipped it open. True enough, there was only enough write-up on the first page; the rest were blank. This must have been what he was working on

in the room with me, and I didn't notice the aura that had suddenly seeped into the

watching me with an eerie expression that I immediately recognized. He had stared at me like that during the Harvest Moon Festival, when everyone had bowed

my spine, but I forced myself to step toward him. Something about his

of him. He remained silent, but his eyes never left mine, as

name. I wondered if the blackness of his pupils was because

a word to me. He just kept

raised my hand to his cheek. The contact sent a jolt through me, but I maintained composure and began humming a healing tone

He kept watching me intently; if anything, the only changes I noticed were his muscles tensing and

motion. Pressing me hard against the wall he