<h4>Chapter 582: First Look Into The Record Book (III)</h4>


    <strong>Evaline:</strong>


    The next page felt heavier the moment I turned it, as if the parchment itself carried the weight of hesitation and fear.


    Aurelion wrote about his confusion.


    About how, despite the simplicity of his task - heal the wounded - he found himselfpletely lost.


    He described waking each morning with a knot in his chest, afraid of his own hands. Afraid of the way power surged through him without warning, sometimes gentle like a whisper, other times sharp and overwhelming like a storm trapped beneath his skin. He wrote that there were moments he wondered if the Moon Goddess had made a mistake. If he was unworthy of something so divine.


    That sentence made my throat tighten.


    He admitted that in the beginning, he avoided touching injured pack members unless absolutely necessary. He feared losing control. Feared draining himself. Feared doing irreversible damage by trying to help.


    The irony, he wrote, was that everyone around him thought he was brave.


    But inside, he was terrified.


    I exhaled slowly, my fingers pressing lightly into the margin of the page.


    He hadn’t known what to do with the power because no one had taught him. There were no guides. No instructions.


    And yet, he hadn’t been entirely alone.


    Aurelion wrote about the Alpha who had stood beside him unwaveringly.


    <i>Alpha Theron Silvermane.</i>


    The name carried weight even on paper.


    Unlike his father, Theron had been cautious. Thoughtful. Protective to a fault. Where the previous Alpha had proudly announced Caelum’s divine blessing to nearly the entire world - drawing shock, envy, and eventually danger - Theron had learned from that tragedy.


    He refused to repeat it.


    And then he made a decision that changed everything - to keep Aurelion’s divine healing a secret from the world.


    To the pack, Aurelion was announced simply as a young man studying medicine. A trainee healer learning herbs, elixirs, and potions. Someone useful... but not miraculous.


    Aurelion wrote that he had agreed instantly.


    He didn’t want worship.


    He didn’t want attention.


    He wanted time.


    Time to understand his power. Time to ept it. Time to learn how to live with something that made him different all over again.


    ording to Aurelion, only Alpha Theron and the elders of the pack knew about Aurelion’s divine healing power and all of them swore the oath of secrecy to keep it a secret.


    The rest of the pack never knew the truth.


    They saw Aurelion as diligent. Quiet. Always buried in books. They praised his dedication when he healed using salves and potions, never suspecting that beneath those careful methodsy something far more powerful.


    And while none of the elders knew the limits of Aurelion’s power, didn’t understand its full strength or origin... they still tried.


    They watched Aurelion practice in controlled settings, brought him small wounds to heal, observed how exhaustion affected him, how emotions seemed to influence the strength of his healing. They shared stories of Caelum - how he had learned through instinct rather than instruction, how he paid the price for overextending himself too often.


    But unlike Caelum, who had relied entirely on his divine healing, Aurelion chose a different path.


    He went to the witches.


    That line made my pulse skip.


    He wrote about traveling beyond packnds under the guise of learning advanced medicine. About sitting in dim huts filled with smoke and herbs, listening to witches speak in riddles and half-truths.


    He learned about nts that could stop bleeding. Roots that dulled pain. Elixirs that strengthened the body before healing.


    He learned how to heal without revealing the silver power inside him.


    Aurelion believed knowledge would give him control.


    That restraint would keep him safe.


    The final paragraph on the page was written more heavily, the ink darker, the strokes pressing deeper into the parchment.


    He wrote that he had always heard witches never helped for free.


    But he only realized toote just how heavy the prices were.


    My fingers hovered over the edge of the page.


    Every instinct screamed at me to turn it.


    To keep reading.


    To find out what the price was... and whether he paid them willingly or unknowingly.


    But I didn’t.


    Instead, I snapped the book shut.


    The sound echoed louder than I expected in the quiet room.


    I got startled, my heart jumping into my throat.


    Rowan got startled too.


    We stared at each other for a split second before the tension broke and we both let out soft, startled chuckles.


    "Moon damn it," I muttered under my breath, pressing a hand to my chest.


    Rowan shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "That thing sounds like it bites."


    "It might," I replied dryly, lifting the book with both hands as I stood.


    The weight of it felt different now. Not just physically heavy... but emotionally as well.


    I walked over to the closet, pulled it open, and carefully ced the book inside. Thenyered a stack of folded trousers over it, making sure the leather spine waspletely hidden. Logically, I knew no one was going to look for it, but logic didn’t quiet the anxiety curling in my chest.


    This book had survived five centuries.


    I wasn’t about to be careless with it.


    I closed the closet doors and turned the lock, the soft click bringing me a surprising amount of relief. Then I stood there for a moment longer, breathing out slowly, before returning to my bed.


    I nced at the clock.


    10:58 p.m.


    Just on time.


    Rowan had already set his book aside. Hey back on his pillow as I slid under my nkets, but neither of us reached for the bedsidemp sitting between our beds.


    The room remained softly lit.


    Quiet.


    Too quiet.


    It was me who finally broke the silence.


    "You can ask," I said, staring up at the ceiling.


    There was a pause.


    Then a soft sigh drifted across the small space between us. "Was I that obvious?"


    "Yes," I replied without hesitation. "You always are when you are trying not to be."


    He sighed again, shifting onto his side to face me. "Did you learn anything useful?"


    I hummed, the sound thoughtful. "More than I expected."


    I turned my head toward him, meeting his gaze. "I finally know who the first ever healer of my bloodline was."


    Rowan’s brows lifted slightly. "And?"


    "And how he got his power," I added quietly.


    His expression softened... not surprised, but intent. Listening.


    "The book... it might answer questions I didn’t even know how to ask yet," I said, the words settling deep in my chest as I spoke them.


    Rowan nodded slowly, as if that made perfect sense.


    "Well," he said gently, "then I guess you found the right book."


    I closed my eyes, the weight of centuries pressing softly against my thoughts.


    Yes.


    I had.


    And somehow, I knew it was only the beginning.