Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 51: Chapter 51

The borderlands between Windrest and Draeven were quiet—too quiet.
The forest of Eltheren, once a place of sacred rites and midsummer dances, now loomed like a graveyard of whispers. Seraphina rode at the head of her column, her senses alert, the Crescent Blade strapped across her back, its edge tingling with forewarning.
Mira rode beside her, bow on her back, her keen eyes scanning every shadow.
Behind them, Darian kept the second line tight, his soldiers—Wolves of the North—marching in flawless formation. The rest of Seraphina’s newly unified banners followed: the Ashen Guard, the Crescent Sisters, and remnants of the old Moon Clans.
The path to Draeven was open.
And yet—
“This doesn’t feel right,” Mira murmured. “We’ve seen no scouts, no skirmishers, not even a fire trail. Alaric wouldn’t abandon the border.”
Seraphina’s Hollow mark burned faintly beneath her glove.
“He hasn’t,” she said grimly. “He’s waiting.”
The Trap
They made camp at dusk, setting a defensive ring around the ruins of an old outpost.
Night came too fast.
And with it—the screaming.
It started on the eastern ridge. A sentry’s howl cut off in a choked gurgle. Then another. And another.
Seraphina was on her feet in an instant, sword drawn, Darian and Mira flanking her.
Shadows moved beyond the firelight.
Not rogues.
Not wolves.
But shades.
Creatures of the Hollow, draped in mist and smoke, their bodies shifting like nightmare ink.
Seraphina raised her hand, flame sparking from her fingertips.
“Defensive ring! Hold formation!”
The battle erupted like thunder.
War in the Dark
The shades were fast—too fast. Swords passed through them with little effect unless coated in silver or flame. Screams echoed. Chaos reigned.
Darian cleaved through two with his greatsword, but one latched onto Mira’s back, dragging her toward the shadows.
“Seraphina!” she yelled.
Flame surged from Seraphina’s hands, forming a shield that incinerated the shade in an instant. Mira rolled free, panting.
“These things aren’t natural,” she said. “They’re born of something older than us.”
“They’re Hollow-bound,” Seraphina growled. “Alaric’s begun the forbidden rites.”
And deep in the forest, a pulse of black fire shimmered in the sky—like a beacon.
Darian cursed. “He’s not hiding. He’s summoning.”
The Forbidden Ritual
They pushed forward before dawn, following the sickly light to a glade choked in ash.
There, in the center, stood Alaric.
Surrounded by cloaked figures in a ritual circle, his arms raised, a tome of ancient origin floating before him.
Seraphina halted the army.
Then stepped forward alone.
“Eltheren was sacred,” she called out. “Now you poison it with Hollow flame.”
Alaric lowered his hands, smiling. “It’s fitting, isn’t it? A place of rebirth—now your tomb.”
“The court crowned me. The wolves follow me. You have nothing.”
“I have the truth,” he said.
He held out a crystal shard, glowing dark red.
And when he shattered it, an image bloomed in the air—
—of Seraphina’s mother, the former Queen, kneeling before a Hollow altar.
“Your bloodline is not just touched by the Hollow,” Alaric said. “It was born from it. You are not the savior they think you are, Seraphina. You are the end.”
Cracks in the Ranks
Murmurs rippled through Seraphina’s army. Uncertainty. Fear.
Even Mira’s eyes widened. “Is it true?”
“I don’t know,” Seraphina said, voice trembling. “I never knew my mother’s secrets.”
Alaric’s voice boomed. “You think she was killed in a coup? She invited the Hollow into her soul to gain more power—and it consumed her. You were born under its influence. Reborn in its fire. How long before it consumes you too?”
Darian stepped forward, sword drawn. “She is not her mother.”
But the damage was done.
The army hesitated.
Alaric smiled.
A Queen Divided
That night, the camp was silent.
Mira paced. Elric said nothing. Even Darian sat apart, sharpening his sword.
Seraphina sat alone, staring at her reflection in a bowl of still water. Her eyes glimmered faintly—too faint to notice unless one looked close.
She remembered her rebirth.
The fire.
The void.
The silence.
And the voice in the dark that whispered: Rise.
“Is it true?” she asked the reflection.
And the water whispered back: Yes… and still you chose the light.
Darian appeared behind her.
“You’re not her,” he said quietly.
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
He crouched, taking her hand.
“You are the woman who rose from betrayal, reclaimed a kingdom, and loved fiercely despite being broken.”
She leaned into him. “They won’t follow me now.”
“Then we make them see the truth. In fire and blood if we must.”
The Choice
At dawn, Seraphina stood before her army.
“I will not lie to you,” she said. “The truth Alaric revealed may have some merit. My mother sought power beyond our laws. And the Hollow touched my soul when I was reborn.”
Gasps. Murmurs.
“But hear me now—I chose the fire. I chose the light. I chose to protect this kingdom. Not destroy it.”
She drew her blade.
“If you will not follow a Luna who has faced darkness and won—then turn back. But if you believe strength is not purity, but perseverance—then stand with me.”
Silence.
Then Mira stepped forward.
“I follow my Queen.”
Elric followed. Then Darian.
And one by one—
—so did the rest.
The Battle Begins
They marched on Draeven at dusk.
The Hollow fire still burned in the sky, but now Seraphina’s army burned brighter.
The gates fell under a rain of arrows and flame. Steel clashed. Wolves shifted mid-run, howling as they drove through Alaric’s defenses.
Seraphina fought like a storm reborn—her blade alight with both fire and shadow.
Alaric appeared atop the citadel, wielding a blade of pure darkness, his eyes wild with corrupted power.
They locked eyes.
Their final battle had begun.