Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 47: Chapter 47

The courtyard of the Moon Court had been transformed.
The Trial of Ascension’s first rite—Spirit—was not meant to be a contest of strength or skill, but of will. Of truth.
Stone sentries lined the edges of the ceremonial ring. Torches burned green with ancient flame. The runes carved into the ground shimmered with layered magic so old, even Mira stood at a distance, her brows drawn tight in caution.
“This rite,” intoned the Trial Master, “shall summon the Echo of Regret. Each challenger must face a manifestation of their own past—their shame, their failure, their deepest fear. No allies may intervene. Only your spirit may carry you through.”
Alaric stood smirking in his silver half-armor, his cloak rippling in the wind. “I was forged by exile,” he declared to the watching crowd. “I have no shame.”
Seraphina said nothing as she stepped forward, wind teasing the strands of her midnight hair. The Crescent Blade remained sheathed at her back—not needed for this battle.
Darian watched her from the stands, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword. Mira stood beside him. Elric leaned against the stone balustrade, eyes narrowed.
“You can do this,” Darian whispered.
But the rite had already begun.
The Echo Awakens
The moment Seraphina stepped into the ring, the runes flared red. A gust of wind swept across the arena, and the world warped around her.
She stood no longer in Windrest’s courtyard—but in the ruins of her past.
Her childhood palace, half-burnt. Snow falling from a broken ceiling. Her children’s laughter, faint like distant bells. A shadow in the corner—watching.
The echo took form slowly.
It wasn’t a monster.
It was… her.
Younger. Pristine. Still whole. Still unbroken.
“Why did you let us die?” the echo asked, voice low, emotionless.
Seraphina’s breath hitched. “I didn’t let you. I fought.”
“But you failed,” the echo continued. “You loved a mate who betrayed you. You trusted your kin. You stayed and believed. And in the end… your children burned.”
“No,” Seraphina said firmly. “They didn’t burn. They were taken. They were stolen.”
The echo’s form twisted, becoming them—Talia and Roan—laughing, running toward her.
Then crumbling to ash before her eyes.
Seraphina fell to her knees, sobbing.
The wind whispered, You are not strong enough.
Darian’s Fury
Outside the vision, Darian could only watch. From his vantage, Seraphina stood frozen in the ring, her eyes wide, her lips trembling.
“What is she seeing?” he demanded.
“She’s battling herself,” Mira said, voice tight. “Her regrets. Her pain.”
Elric leaned closer. “This trial breaks most. Even if you win, you come back changed.”
Darian gritted his teeth. “She’s stronger than that.”
But his voice shook with fear.
The Fire Within
In the vision, Seraphina stood alone—until a hand rested on her shoulder.
Not her children this time.
Not her mate.
But a younger version of her future self. The one reborn in the fire.
Scarred. Burned. Glowing with both Moonlight and Void Flame.
“You are not this weakness,” the flame-marked Seraphina whispered. “You are the storm that survived. The flame that refused to die.”
“How do I move on?” the real Seraphina asked. “How do I live with what I’ve lost?”
“You don’t forget,” the other said. “But you rise. Because rising is your answer to pain.”
The wind screamed again—but Seraphina did not fall this time.
She opened her arms—and flame erupted from her back, wings of fire arching across the battlefield.
“I am Seraphina Vael,” she roared. “Luna of Ash. Queen of Fire. Mother of loss. And I. Will. Burn. Through.”
The echo shattered.
The snow melted.
And the vision collapsed.
Triumph
When the glow faded, Seraphina stood alone in the center of the ring, the Crescent Blade on her back glowing faintly.
The crowd was silent.
Then—applause erupted.
From the court.
From the commoners gathered beyond the walls.
Even from a few council members who had once doubted her.
The Trial Master stepped forward, bowing deeply.
“Luna Seraphina,” he intoned. “You have passed the Rite of Spirit.”
Alaric narrowed his eyes but offered a tight smile. “Impressive,” he said. “But not surprising. Guilt is a powerful motivator.”
Seraphina met his gaze. “You’ll discover what mine becomes when it turns to purpose.”
The Threat Within
Later, behind the closed doors of the palace, Seraphina slumped into a chair, her hands still shaking from the rite’s aftershock. Darian was beside her instantly, arms around her.
“I saw them again,” she whispered. “Talia. Roan.”
He kissed her hair. “And they saw you stand.”
“I felt like I was drowning.”
“But you rose.”
She turned to him, her lips brushing his. “I did.”
He pulled her into his lap, his forehead resting against hers. “You’ll pass every trial, Seraphina. Because no one carries what you carry—and still walks.”
She kissed him—hard, desperate, needing to feel something alive beneath all the ghosts.
Their clothes tangled. Her body burned against his, and his hands anchored her like gravity.
“I need this,” she whispered.
“You have me,” he murmured.
And they moved together, breathless and wild, love flaring like wildfire through the dark.
A Whisper in the Halls
Far above, in the eastern tower, Alaric poured a glass of crimson wine as a robed figure entered.
“Well?” he asked.
“She carries the mark,” the figure said. “The Hollow has branded her.”
“Good,” Alaric replied. “Then when I crush her in the final rite, they’ll all believe she was too corrupted to rule.”
“And if she wins?”
“Then we tear her apart from the inside.”
The Next Rite
At dawn, Seraphina rose and stared at her reflection.
She no longer looked like the woman who had run through the snow for her life.
She looked like the woman who would never run again.
The Rite of Strength was next.
And this time… there would be blood.