Chapter 26 TWENTY FIVE
(KADE’S POV)
Vegas is a lie.
Bright lights, loud music, fake smiles, and the kind of magic that pretends it’s harmless while sinking its claws into your spine. Humans think this city runs on money and vice.
They’re wrong.
It runs on secrets.
I stand in front of the Obsidian Archive disguised as a private collection museum wedged between a high-end casino and a pawn shop that smells like desperation.
No sign. No windows. Just a door etched with sigils so old they itch behind my eyes.
If you don’t know what you’re looking for, you walk right past it.
If you do, the door opens as you approach.
Inside, the air is cool and sterile, like a tomb preserved too carefully. Rows upon rows of glass cases stretch into the shadows, each one holding something that should not exist—bone weapons, cursed crowns, fragments of gods that lost their wars.
And somewhere in this place is supposed to be the answer.
The Lunar Crystal.
Or rather what’s left of it.
I flex my jaw as a thin man approaches, spectacles perched low on his nose. He smells like dust, ink, and old magic.
“Kade Thorne,” he says without looking at a ledger floating in front of him. “Alpha-blooded, enforcer class, viking lineage. Poor impulse control.”
I snort. “You forgot devastatingly handsome.”
He finally looks up, unimpressed. “You’re early.”
“That’s because your message said urgent,” I reply. “And because if I’m here, someone’s already dead or about to be.”
His lips thin. “Not dead. Missing. And not someone, something.”
That gets my attention.
“Talk.”
He gestures for me to follow, leading me past a restricted wing sealed with wards thick enough to stop a god on a bad day.
“The Lunar Crystal was never whole,” he says as we walk. “That’s common knowledge. What isn’t… is where its fragments went after the goddess scattered them.”
“I’m not here for a history lesson,” I cut in. “I want locations.”
He stops.
Turns.
And for the first time, I see something crack in his composure.
“There are no locations.”
My blood goes cold. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking,” he replies quietly. “The archive doesn’t have them. Never did.”
I stare at him. “Then why the hell did I get sent here?”
“Because until three days ago,” he says, “we at least had records. We had the map to follow.”
My fists clench. “And now?”
“Now,” he says, voice dropping, “the records are gone.”
“What do you mean gone?” I growl. “Destroyed?”
He shakes his head. “Erased.”
That’s worse.
Magic leaves scars, destruction leaves residue.
Erasure means intent. Precision. Someone powerful enough to rewrite history without triggering the fail-safes.
“Who had access?” I demand.
He hesitates just long enough for my instincts to scream.
“Say it,” I warn.
“The archive is sealed by seven keys,” he says carefully. “Three are blood-bound. Two are time-locked. One answers only to lunar magic.”
My stomach sinks.
“And the seventh?” I ask.
His gaze lifts to mine.
“The seventh opens only for those marked by the Crystal itself.”
The room feels smaller.
“You’re telling me,” I say slowly, “that whoever wiped your records didn’t steal the fragments…”
He nods.
“They are the fragments, or better still clues to them.”
Silence crashes between us.
“No,” I mutter. “That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” he counters. “The Crystal was never just an object. It was the heart of the goddess, a conduit. Power doesn’t disappear, Kade. It relocates.”
My mind flashes—silver light, lunar magic surging out of control, Nyra collapsing.
Fuck. Why I'm I thinking about her right now?
“When were the records erased?” I ask.
His answer is immediate.
“Last night.”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
“What else?” I demand.
“There was… an echo,” he admits. “A residual signature left behind. Not full lunar magic, but not void either.”
My pulse pounds. “Then what?”
His voice drops to a whisper.
“Something in between. Something bound.”
“Give me everything you have,” I say. “Every echo. Every scrap. Every half-burned footnote.”
He hesitates.
I lean in, letting just enough of the monster show. “Or I start ripping answers out of you one finger at a time.”
He swallows hard and snaps his fingers.
A projection blooms in the air—symbols, fractured sigils, broken diagrams. At the center is a mark.
A crescent moon split down the middle.
My chest tightens.
“That symbol,” I say hoarsely. “Where else has it appeared?”
He hesitates again.
“Speak.”
“On a Voidsteel schematic recovered from the border ruins,” he says. “And once… in a prophecy fragment tied to the Dark Alpha.”
My blood turns to ice.
“So let me get this straight,” I mutter. “The Lunar Crystal isn’t missing. It’s alive. It’s bonding to people. And someone just erased the map so no one else can follow the trail.”
He nods.
“Who?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No name. But whoever it is… they’re moving faster than anyone anticipated.”
I turn toward the exit, already pulling my phone.
“Then we’re already behind.”
I stop at the door, pulse hammering.
“One more thing,” I say without looking back. “If the Crystal is marking hosts… what happens when it finishes?”
The archivist’s voice follows me, grim and certain.
“Then the war stops being about territory.”
The door opens.
“And starts being about survival.”
Outside, Vegas burns bright and oblivious.
I dial Keiran.
He answers on the first ring.
“Kade,” he says sharply.
I stare at the crescent symbol burned into my mind.
“Bad news,” I say. “The Lunar Crystal isn't hidden. The fragments are bonding to people.”
" That's a minor issue. Hurry home, Nyra's fighting for her life.”
" What!”