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My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her

247 Chapter 247 THE HALL OF MEMORIES · Nov 02, 2026

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Chapter List (549)

Page number / 11

201 201 Chapter 201 CANDLELIGHT AND NOSTALGIA 2026-11-02
202 202 Chapter 202 HOT COALS 2026-11-02
203 203 Chapter 203 A PIECE OF THE MOON 2026-11-02
204 204 Chapter 204 LOCKWOODS AND CARTRIDGES 2026-11-02
205 205 Chapter 205 PUP WHISPERER 2026-11-02
206 206 Chapter 206 NOT A CARDBOARD CUTOUT 2026-11-02
207 207 Chapter 207 HEAD OVER HEELS 2026-11-02
208 208 Chapter 208 SUCKER FOR JEWELRY 2026-11-02
209 209 Chapter 209 WRITER’S BLOCK 2026-11-02
210 210 Chapter 210 A PERSONAL TOUCH 2026-11-02
211 211 Chapter 211 PERFECT TIMING 2026-11-02
212 212 Chapter 212 CHARM ON THE ICE 2026-11-02
213 213 Chapter 213 SO CLOSE 2026-11-02
214 214 Chapter 214 HEARTBREAKINGLY HONEST 2026-11-02
215 215 Chapter 215 MAN AND WOLF 2026-11-02
216 216 Chapter 216 STRONG ROOTS 2026-11-02
217 217 Chapter 217 HALF-SHIFT ANOMALY 2026-11-02
218 218 Chapter 218 A Quick Note Please Skip If Paying! 2026-11-02
219 219 Chapter 219 BLANK SPACE 2026-11-02
220 220 Chapter 220 ORDINARY 2026-11-02
221 221 Chapter 221 CHILDHOOD RESENTMENTS 2026-11-02
222 222 Chapter 222 PROPHECIES BE DAMNED 2026-11-02
223 223 Chapter 223 STAY WITH ME 2026-11-02
224 224 Chapter 224 MOON GODDESS 2026-11-02
225 225 Chapter 225 STEAM AND ICE 2026-11-02
226 226 Chapter 226 GO BACK 2026-11-02
227 227 Chapter 227 THE BOND 2026-11-02
228 228 Chapter 228 TIME 2026-11-02
229 229 Chapter 229 HAPPY BIRTHDAY 2026-11-02
230 230 Chapter 230 SHEER 2026-11-02
231 231 Chapter 231 A NOBLE SENTIMENT 2026-11-02
232 232 Chapter 232 SAFE SPACE 2026-11-02
233 233 Chapter 233 SHAMELESS 2026-11-02
234 234 Chapter 234 THE HEIR CEREMONY 2026-11-02
235 235 Chapter 235 ASHAR’S BLESSING 2026-11-02
236 236 Chapter 236 TAKE CARE OF YOU 2026-11-02
237 237 Chapter 237 INSECURITY 2026-11-02
238 238 Chapter 238 YOU’RE MINE 2026-11-02
239 239 Chapter 239 YOURS 2026-11-02
240 240 Chapter 240 SIMPLY EXISTING 2026-11-02
241 241 Chapter 241 MONSTERS OUT THERE 2026-11-02
242 242 Chapter 242 ONE PIECE 2026-11-02
243 243 Chapter 243 TAWDRY CLICHÉS 2026-11-02
244 244 Chapter 244 COSMIC LUCK 2026-11-02
245 245 Chapter 245 BEAUTIFUL TORTURE 2026-11-02
246 246 Chapter 246 A DIFFERENT BEAST 2026-11-02
247 247 Chapter 247 THE HALL OF MEMORIES 2026-11-02
248 248 Chapter 248 THE SAME PATH 2026-11-02
249 249 Chapter 249 MOONLIGHT ALLEY 2026-11-02
250 250 Chapter 250 THE TALISMAN 2026-11-02

247: Chapter 247 THE HALL OF MEMORIES 247: Chapter 247 THE HALL OF MEMORIES SERAPHINA’S POV

The Frostbane library had always been solemn and dignified, impressive in its own rigid, aristocratic way.

The New Moon Institute’s library, colloquially referred to as the Hall of Memories, felt like stepping into a world conjured straight out of a movie.

A magical one.

The moment I crossed through the archway, my breath caught.

Soft light spilled from shimmering glass panels embedded in the ceiling, shifting like slow-moving constellations.

Shelves towered upward, carved from dark wood etched with flowing script that glimmered when the light touched them.

Floating platforms carrying stacks of books drifted between levels, moving as if weightless.

Pages rustled quietly—though no one nearby touched a thing.

The entire library, its tomes and volumes, seemed alive.

For a moment, I simply stood, awed by its quiet majesty.

No wonder scholars worshipped this place.

It felt sacred.

I wandered deeper, each corridor opening into another maze of shelves.

Some held books so old they were bound with metal clasps; others held sleek, freshly printed journals organized with glowing tags.

Wolves, witches, humans—all of it was represented.

A tapestry of the natural and supernatural world.

Finding the section I needed, however, was…less magical.

It took nearly half an hour, three wrong turns, and one kind archivist pointing me toward the “Wolf Physiology–Advanced Studies” wing before I finally reached the shelves.

My excitement dimmed quickly.

Most of the volumes lined up neatly in front of me were painfully familiar.

The Frostbane library—despite its obsession with secrecy and hierarchy—had collected the same texts.

Some were even earlier editions.

I sifted through the shelves anyway, stubbornly undeterred.

A few minutes passed before a handful of unfamiliar spines caught my eye.

I reached for the first one.

It was hefty and old, the leather worn along the edges.

A faint scent of dust and parchment rose as I opened it.

On the inside cover, a list of borrowing records was written in elegant handwriting.

My eyes skimmed down the list.

And froze.

Edward Lockwood.

The name stared back at me like a ghost resurrected.

Slowly, almost mechanically, I reached for the next unfamiliar book.

My pulse stuttered.

His name again.

Then the next.

And the next.

My heart thudded unevenly.

My father had come here.

He’d searched the same volumes I now pored over.

What were you looking for, Father?

What did you hope to find here?

…What did you already know?

My hands were trembling as I moved to the terminal at the end of the row where a tall touchscreen column that allowed readers to search borrowing histories by name, topic, or date was fixed to the wall.

I hesitated.

Then typed in his name.

A list materialized, long enough that I had to scroll several times.

At first glance, the topics looked scattered.

Some concerned wolf genetics.

Others were about recessive traits.

A few referenced bloodlines, shifting anomalies, suppressed instincts.

Individually, each topic felt clinical, almost random.

But together…

A faint, unmistakable pattern emerged.

Genetics.

Heredity.

Suppression.

My fingertips pressed harder against the screen.

It felt like a cold hand was closing around my throat.

My father—emotionally absent, dismissive, disdainful, steeped in tradition and pride—had come here for something that touched all the questions I had been terrified to ask about myself.

Did he already know?

About my wolf?

About what I lacked?

What I was becoming?

Speculations spiraled through my mind like a tornado.

My mother’s words were like debris picked up by the storm.

‘Among your siblings, you were destined to live an ordinary life.

Mundane.

Unremarkable.’

‘You’re just like everyone else.

Worse, if anything.’

‘Please…let her be spared.’

I forced myself to breathe.

Blinked furiously until my blurry vision steadied.

Focused on the task at hand.

When I reached the end of the borrowing list, I expected more book titles.

Instead…

A row of redacted entries.

Nothing but black bars where titles should have been.

Only dates remained—three, to be precise.

And on each date, the same location was listed: Origins Archives Room.

I frowned.

I hadn’t seen anything with that name on the directory map at the entrance.

And the Hall of Memories, vast as it was, certainly didn’t have any obvious door labeled “Origins Archives.”

Curiosity and unease twisted together inside me.

I had to find it.

I scoured the Hall of Memories from end to end.

Every wing.

Every staircase.

Every alcove.

Nothing.

And when I started asking around, the responses were strange.

A junior archivist blinked at me, confused.

“I’ve never heard of that room.”

A researcher frowned thoughtfully.

“Pretty sure that’s just a myth.

Bunch of old scholars made it up to feel better about themselves when they couldn’t find what they were looking for.” He shrugged.

“Better that the knowledge is restricted than it doesn’t exist.”

Two others exchanged glances before muttering something about old legends.

Finally, I was directed to a professor-level scholar hunched over a thick encyclopedia.

Irritation flashed across his face when I interrupted him with my inquiry, but he didn’t dismiss me immediately.

Instead, he peered over the rim of his round, wire-framed spectacles, the lenses catching the library’s enchanted ceiling light in a way that made his eyes look almost silver.

“And what exactly,” he said, voice thin and papery, “are you looking for?”

My grip tightened around my bag strap.

“Just researching.”

His stark white eyebrows arched as he gave me a slow, evaluating once-over, like he was appraising a misfiled document rather than a person.

His nostrils flared delicately, as if he were smelling a lie.

“What kind of research?”

“Personal interest,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral.

“Mmm.” He leaned closer, curiosity flickered in his eyes.

“People don’t ask about rooms like that on a whim.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“Why are you looking for it?”

I hesitated.

His gaze was too sharp, too perceptive to brush off easily.

And I needed something—anything—that could push me closer to answers.

So I gave him the vaguest truth I could.

“My Shifting has…complications.

I’m trying to understand it better.”

He must have noticed it then—the lack of aura around me, the incomplete signature of a wolf who should’ve Shifted long ago.

His face hardened instantly.

“Oh,” he said, leaning back as if my situation was contagious.

His lips pursed, thin and pale.

“And I suppose you’re looking for a miraculous explanation the Hall of Memories can’t give you.”

My jaw twitched.

“Let me be clear,” he continued, tone dripping with superiority.

“The so-called Origins Archives—if it exists—is not a place for an incompletely-transitioned wolf to inquire about.”

He adjusted his spectacles with a sniff.

“You should stick to the accessible sections.

They’re more…appropriate for someone in your situation.”

Heat rose beneath my skin—anger, humiliation, and an old, familiar sting I thought I’d left behind in Frostbane territory.

I forced myself to inhale slowly through my nose, steadying the breath.

Fine.

It was a stumbling block; a setback.

I was used to those.

They never deterred me.

If the scholars wouldn’t help, I knew someone who might.

***

Later that evening, when I was all settled in my rented lodging, I called Maxwell.

He listened attentively as I explained everything without divulging too many details.

“Origins Archives Room,” he murmured when I was done.

“I’ve never heard of it either.”

Disappointment sank in my stomach.

Then he added, “But if such a place exists, there’s only one person who would know.”

“Who?” I asked, hope rising.

“The institute’s director,” Maxwell replied.

“Director Alois.

He was Willow’s mentor, and she spoke highly of him.

Said he was brilliant and kind—but she mentioned that he became reclusive around three years ago.”

“Reclusive?” I echoed.

“Doesn’t attend public lectures anymore.

Rarely makes appearances.

Mostly communicates through his assistant these days.”

“Okay, so can I meet up with his assistant?”

Maxwell hesitated.

“Lionel.

He’s…a handful.”

I didn’t even want to imagine what ‘a handful’ meant coming from the man who raised Noah and Zach.

But at least I had a lead.

Alois.

Lionel.

The Origins Archives Room.

Answers existed.

Hidden, maybe.

Guarded, definitely.

But not unreachable.

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