Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 44: Chapter 44

The altar stood like a crown of ruin at the center of the Hollowgrove’s heart, glowing faintly with ancient magic. Twisting black roots climbed the stones surrounding it, pulsing like veins. The air was heavier here—thicker, colder, and soaked in something older than fear.
Seraphina stood with Darian at her right and Elric to her left. Mira and Lucien flanked behind them. All five stared at the grotesque figure that rose from behind the altar.
It was no ordinary beast.
It was once a wolf—but its form had long since decayed into something other. Patches of flesh clung to its skeletal frame, dark mist leaking from its jaw. Its eyes burned white and hollow, and its growl made the very trees tremble.
“A Hollow Warden,” Elric said grimly. “Created by Celestine to guard the altar. Fed with the souls of ancient Alphas. It's more shadow than bone.”
“Well,” Mira muttered, “that’s disgusting.”
Seraphina narrowed her gaze. “Then we end it.”
The Trial of Fear
But before any of them could move, the Warden opened its mouth—not in a howl, but a whisper.
A spell.
Black tendrils of fog erupted from its jaws, racing across the grove and slamming into each of them with icy precision.
Seraphina’s world spun—and then she was somewhere else.
Alone.
Surrounded by snow.
She stood on the battlefield of her past—the exact moment her children were taken. Their screams rang through the air. Flames engulfed her kingdom. Her body was frozen. Powerless.
And then she saw herself—kneeling—begging Celestine for mercy.
“No,” Seraphina whispered, stepping forward. “That’s not how it happened.”
The illusion didn't break.
Because it wasn't an illusion.
It was her fear.
Her failure.
A voice coiled in her mind: You think you’re ready to rule again? To birth a new world? But your hands are soaked in ash and sorrow. You will lose again.
“No,” she said aloud, raising her hands, summoning her flame.
“I burned once,” she shouted. “And I survived the ashes. My past does not define my future!”
The scene shattered in a storm of fire—and Seraphina collapsed to her knees in the real world, heart racing.
Darian’s Test
Darian, meanwhile, stood in a different darkness.
He was back in the heart of the Silver Spire—a dungeon.
Chains around his wrists. Blood on the floor.
He saw Seraphina through iron bars, reaching for him, begging him not to give in.
But another version of himself stood behind her—tall, arrogant, cruel. The Darian he used to be.
“You’ll never be enough,” the cruel one whispered. “You were made for war, not love. She’ll leave. Or worse—she’ll fall, and you’ll be the one who couldn’t save her.”
Darian bared his fangs.
“I am not him anymore.”
The darkness laughed.
“You think love will make you strong? Love is weakness.”
Darian’s eyes burned gold.
“No,” he said. “Love is the reason I fight.”
And with a roar, he broke the chains—and the vision.
He returned to the grove gasping, drenched in sweat.
But whole.
A Sacrifice Demanded
The Hollow Warden reared back, clearly wounded by their resistance.
But it did not fall.
Instead, it turned its milky gaze toward Lucien—who had not yet moved.
Lucien stood in a trance, face pale.
“No,” he whispered. “Don’t make me choose.”
“What is it?” Mira shouted, shaking him.
Lucien’s breath came in ragged gasps. “I see my sister. I see the day I left her behind. I let her die. She begged me—and I ran.”
Mira’s eyes widened. “Lucien…”
“I let them kill her,” he gasped. “To save myself.”
Seraphina stepped forward. “Then redeem her. Fight.”
Lucien’s eyes snapped gold—and he hurled a bolt of searing light at the Warden.
The creature shrieked, writhing.
But then—it laughed.
A deep, guttural sound that chilled the marrow.
And the altar flared red.
The air twisted—and a voice rang out.
“Only blood can open the path.”
A symbol appeared before them, carved into the earth.
A circle. A blade. A heart.
The Choice
“A blood offering,” Elric said grimly. “One of us must feed the altar to reveal the gate to the Hollow.”
“Not happening,” Darian snapped. “We don’t need ancient rituals—”
“We do,” Mira interrupted, scanning the runes. “This isn’t a wound sacrifice. It’s a truth sacrifice.”
Seraphina narrowed her eyes. “Explain.”
Mira knelt beside the symbol. “It needs a willing blood gift… from someone carrying a hidden truth that could break them.”
All eyes turned to Elric.
He raised his brow. “You’re assuming it’s me?”
“You’ve hidden things from all of us,” Darian growled.
Elric sighed. “And you think you haven’t?”
But then Seraphina stepped forward.
“I’ll do it.”
“No,” Darian barked. “Absolutely not.”
She turned to him. “I have truth I’ve buried, Darian. About what I almost became. What I wanted. Who I once wished to be…”
She drew a small blade from her belt and sliced her palm.
As her blood hit the altar, it glowed red—then gold.
And a voice whispered:
> “Truth accepted. Path revealed.”
The earth trembled—and the altar cracked open, revealing a descending stairwell bathed in eerie silver light.
A Warning Delivered
But before they could descend, the Warden let out one final roar—and collapsed into ash.
In its place stood a single glowing symbol: a crescent moon pierced by a fang.
“The Hollow sees you,” Elric whispered. “And he’s waiting.”
As they stepped forward, Seraphina glanced back at Darian.
His jaw was tight.
“You’re angry with me,” she said quietly.
“I’m terrified,” he corrected. “Of losing you. Of watching you fall into something I can’t reach.”
She touched his cheek. “Then stay close. And keep pulling me back.”
He kissed her—slow and possessive.
“I will. No matter what we find below.”