Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 40: Chapter 40

The temple torches flickered low, casting long, jagged shadows across the sacred stone floor. The scent of burnt herbs lingered, and the hum of ancient magic thrummed in the walls. It was just before dawn—the hour when spirits walked closest, when truths hidden by sunlight dared to speak.
Seraphina knelt before the ancient altar of the Moon’s Voice, her palms pressed together, her breath steady despite the tremors beneath her skin.
Behind her stood High Priestess Sylra—silent, watchful—and three temple elders. These were the women who preserved the old ways. The same who had refused to bow to Seraphina during her first rule.
Now, they knelt with her.
“You summoned the crescent flame,” Sylra said softly. “And passed every trial. The moon listens to you now, Luna… but she also warns.”
“What kind of warning?” Seraphina asked, her eyes closed.
Sylra stepped forward, and with a blade of bone and silver, sliced her own palm. Blood dripped into the bowl before them, mingling with ground wolfsbane and powdered crystal.
Then the chanting began.
A Prophecy Revealed
The blood ignited.
Flames curled into the air, forming symbols—ancient, forgotten. One by one they rotated, spinning around Seraphina like a storm of runes.
Then a voice echoed—not Sylra’s, not any elder’s—but the Moon Herself.
> “Twice-born Luna, flame-kissed queen.
Betrayal waits behind the silver screen.
Love will burn and bones will break,
when shadowed blood begins to wake.
The mate you cherish holds the key,
but death may come for him or thee.
Choose the wolf, or choose the crown—
One shall rise, one shall drown.”
The room trembled.
Seraphina’s breath caught.
Darian. The Crown. The flame. The war.
It was all connected.
When the runes vanished, she opened her eyes and whispered, “How much more must I lose?”
Between Desire and Destiny
Later that morning, Seraphina sat alone in the royal bath, steam curling around her like a veil. The water smelled of eucalyptus and clove. The prophecy spun endlessly in her mind.
Choose the wolf or choose the crown.
Was there no world where she could have both?
“Penny for your thoughts?” came a familiar voice.
She didn’t have to turn to know it was Darian.
She leaned back against the stone edge, eyes closed. “The Moon Goddess has a sick sense of humor.”
“Did she mention how amazing I am in bed?” he teased.
She smiled despite herself. “Only that your stamina is a divine blessing.”
He chuckled and stepped behind her, slipping his arms around her shoulders. The heat of his body met the warmth of the water, and suddenly, her ache wasn’t only emotional.
“I can feel how tense you are,” he murmured against her ear. “Let me help.”
His hands slid down her arms, massaging slowly, gently. But it wasn’t long before his fingers drifted lower… his mouth trailing kisses down the back of her neck.
Seraphina arched into him.
“Gods, Darian…”
“Tell me what you need.”
“You,” she breathed. “Just you.”
He pulled her into his lap, water sloshing around them as lips met lips, fire meeting fire. This wasn’t rushed or frenzied. It was reverent. Slow. As if they both knew each moment might be stolen from the storm that was coming.
And when they collapsed in a tangled, soaked heap, he whispered:
“If I’m the one meant to drown, then I’ll do it loving you.”
A Glimpse of the Past
That evening, a messenger arrived.
She was small, hooded, and bore the mark of the Moonborn—a long-lost bloodline believed extinct after the fall of the Silver Vale.
“I bring a message,” the girl said, eyes wide with reverence. “From someone who once called you sister.”
Seraphina’s heart clenched. “From who?”
The girl unwrapped a piece of aged parchment, the edges singed.
On it were only four words, written in blood-red ink.
> “He walks among you still.”
Seraphina’s blood ran cold.
Lucien?
No… Elric?
Or someone else?
She turned to Darian. “This doesn’t feel like a message. It feels like a warning.”
Hidden Truths
They summoned Lucien that night.
“I want you to examine this,” Seraphina said, placing the parchment on the war table. “And tell me if it’s your handwriting.”
Lucien’s gaze lingered for a beat too long. Then he said, “No.”
But Darian’s eyes narrowed.
“You hesitated.”
Lucien met his gaze. “I was surprised. Not guilty.”
Seraphina stepped between them. “Enough. The Moonborn haven’t been seen in years. If one has emerged, it means something ancient is waking.”
“And not all ancient things are allies,” Darian added.
A Pact Sealed in Fire
The next morning, Seraphina and Darian stood before the temple again—but not as trialists.
As mates.
As rulers.
They joined hands over a bowl of sacred flame. A bond-sealing ritual, ancient even before the first Lunas walked.
Sylra began the chant.
“By fire, by blood, by moonlight—”
But as the final words were spoken, a burst of wind tore through the chamber. The flames flared violently, dancing in the shape of a snarling wolf.
The elder priestess gasped. “That’s not… That’s not normal.”
Seraphina gripped Darian’s hand tighter.
Then came the howl.
Far away.
Feral.
Familiar.
Not Celestine.
Not Hollowfang.
But something older.
Something deeper.
The prophecy’s shadow had arrived.