Ruthless ??/ Fourth Wing

"During the Battle of Aretia, the fought against the Tyrrish Rebellion. The city was burned to the ground, leaving it in ruins Following the battle, the was signed. In honor of the lives lost and those saved by the treaty, July 1 was proclaimed as Reunification Day.The treaty also resulted in the transfer of Tyrrendor's representation in the King's Senarium from the House of Riorson to the House of Lewellen."

-The book of the Tyrrish Rebellion

"Inntinnsic"

"Its rare both of your signets are rare," I whispered under my breath, a flash of hurt crossing my face before I could hide it. I released my grip on him, my hands shaking slightly.

"If we're talking about the rarity of signets, let's talk about yours," he said coldly. "Here you are with a fire signet... do you—" He stopped when I held up a hand, silencing him.

"This isn't about me," I snapped, my voice trembling. I was trying to avoid the truth, hoping maybe he hadn't dug that deep. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't know.

"Oh, but it is about you, your Highness." His words dripped with venom, and the icy realization hit me. He did know.

"Don't," I warned, but he was already stepping closer. His every movement mirrored mine as I backed away. With each step, the distance between us shrank until I was pressed against the cold stone wall.

"Garrick knows," he said, his voice seething with anger, his breath hot against my face. "You let him in on it before you even had a thought of telling me."

His words hit me like a physical blow, and for a moment, I couldn't speak. We stood, face to face, our bodies so close I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

"How long have you known?" he whispered, his eyes dark with accusation.

"Since Threshing," I whispered back, my voice barely a breath. "How long have you known?" I paused, feeling the weight of my own words. "When you went into my head. Stole my thoughts. Took something I didn't want you to know. Stole it."

"Six years ago," he answered, his voice low but filled with finality. His words shattered the silence like a glass breaking. Six years?

The shock of it was almost too much to process. "No," I breathed. "That would have been around the Tyrrish Rebellion. I Didn't know. So hell, how the hell would you know?"

The words hung in the air like smoke, thick with confusion and disbelief. And in that moment, I realized it wasn't just the rebellion that had been brewing all this time. It was something much older, something buried deep inside the world—and inside me.

The tension between us was unbearable. My back pressed against the cold stone wall, and I could feel Xaden's proximity—his presence like a storm brewing, his gaze fierce with the weight of what he was about to say.

I had hoped to keep the truth buried, not just from him but from myself. But there was no more running from it.

"Six years ago," Xaden began, his voice lower than before, a strange mixture of urgency and frustration behind it. "When the Tyrrish Rebellion first began to spread across Tyrrendor—before it even reached Aretia—there were whispers, Nora. Whispers of an ancient prophecy, one that was meant to remain forgotten. A prophecy about a girl born."

I swallowed hard, the air between us thick with the gravity of his words. I had never wanted to hear the truth about the prophecy. Not now, not ever. But here it was, standing before me, and Xaden wasn't about to let it go.

"A prophecy?" I echoed, barely above a whisper. "What prophecy?"

He stepped closer, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp with understanding—knowing understanding.