Reign of the Forsaken Moon - Chapter 52: Chapter 52
You are reading Reign of the Forsaken Moon, Chapter 52: Chapter 52. Read more chapters of Reign of the Forsaken Moon.
The skies above Draeven wept ash.
Walls cracked. Towers blazed. Wolves fought tooth and claw through rubble and flame as Seraphina’s army poured into the corrupted stronghold. The ground trembled with every clash of steel, every war cry echoing through stone corridors and shattered archways.
Seraphina surged forward, her Crescent Blade trailing sparks, Mira and Darian at her sides, their wolves weaving through the chaos.
“Push to the citadel!” she shouted. “Alaric is mine!”
Her voice cut through the carnage, drawing her warriors like a tide. As they advanced, Hollow-born beasts lunged from the shadows—half-wolves twisted by dark rites, eyes glowing violet, blood oozing from snarling maws.
Mira loosed an arrow through one’s throat. Darian decapitated another with a vicious spin of his blade.
Still they pressed on.
Toward the throne Alaric had claimed.
Toward the destiny Seraphina would decide.
The Throne Room Ablaze
The doors to the citadel’s great hall shattered under Darian’s boot.
Inside, Alaric waited atop the obsidian dais, the corrupted version of the Crescent Throne rising behind him—twisted, thorned, draped in Hollow vines that pulsed with dark energy.
He rose, calm in his madness, his cloak fluttering as if caught in an invisible storm.
“So the fire returns to burn what remains,” he said. “Tell me, Luna—do you still believe you are pure?”
“I believe I am whole,” Seraphina answered, stepping forward. “And I don’t need purity to burn you from this earth.”
He drew his blade of night—forged in secrecy, pulsing with black light. “Then come, Twice-Born. Show me if you’re still worthy of the title.”
A War of Flame and Void
They clashed in an instant.
Steel against shadow. Flame against void.
Their blades met with a thunderous ring, the impact sending shockwaves across the room. Columns cracked. The floor split. Seraphina moved with deadly grace, her blade ablaze, each strike echoing with centuries of wrath and legacy.
Alaric matched her blow for blow—fueled by madness and dark power. His sword drank the light, leeching energy from the very air around them.
He slashed across her side—blood sprayed.
She screamed—but stood.
“You bleed like any other pretender,” he sneered.
She gritted her teeth. “I bleed because I still feel. Something you lost long ago.”
Revelations in Fire
As they fought, Alaric spoke—his voice a snarl between strikes.
“Your mother begged the Hollow for power. She wanted to unite the realms, to forge peace. But peace never comes without sacrifice.”
Seraphina blocked, kicked him backward. “She didn’t sacrifice—she sold her soul.”
Alaric spat blood. “And so will you, when the time comes.”
“No,” she growled. “I already died once. I won’t fall again.”
She drove her blade into his chest.
He gasped—but the blade struck not flesh—but shadow. His form dissolved around the wound, reforming behind her.
He stabbed—
—and caught only air.
She spun, flames erupting from her palm, incinerating the illusion.
The true Alaric emerged from the shadows behind the throne, panting, wounded.
“You can’t defeat the Hollow,” he hissed.
“I’m not here to defeat it,” Seraphina said softly.
“I’m here to balance it.”
Embracing the Hollow
Her mark blazed now—silver and shadow spiraling together.
The room dimmed.
Wind howled.
A storm of light and darkness rose around her, lifting her into the air. The Hollow pulsed through her veins, not as poison—but power.
“Seraphina—!” Darian called out, rushing forward.
She looked back—eyes glowing with twin flames.
“Trust me,” she said.
And he did.
She stepped into the Hollow stream—her blade glowing white-hot, her voice echoing like thunder.
“I am Seraphina Vael, Luna of the Moonlands, Daughter of Fire, Born of the Hollow, Forged by Blood!”
She struck.
Alaric screamed.
Her blade pierced through the illusion, through the lies, through his corrupted heart.
Shadow exploded outward—
—then collapsed inward like a dying star.
And Alaric fell.
Burned. Broken.
Gone.
Silence After Storm
The throne room was still.
Smoke curled from Seraphina’s shoulders. Her crown was cracked. Her breath came ragged. Her knees buckled.
Darian caught her before she hit the floor, arms wrapping around her tightly.
“You did it,” he whispered.
“No,” she said. “We did.”
Behind them, Mira entered, dragging a wounded but conscious Elric, who grunted, “Is he dead?”
Seraphina nodded. “The Hollow didn’t save him.”
Mira looked around. “Then this war… is over.”
The Queen Who Chose Fire
They returned to Windrest with their fallen and their wounded, banners lowered in mourning, then raised in triumph.
The capital waited in silence as Seraphina approached the palace gates.
She stood before her people, cloak torn, crown in her hands.
“I will not ask for your loyalty,” she said. “I will earn it. I will rule not from a throne of lies, but from the fire I’ve walked through.”
She knelt before the crowd.
And one by one, they knelt with her.
A Queen reborn.
Not by blood.
Not by prophecy.
But by choice.
Walls cracked. Towers blazed. Wolves fought tooth and claw through rubble and flame as Seraphina’s army poured into the corrupted stronghold. The ground trembled with every clash of steel, every war cry echoing through stone corridors and shattered archways.
Seraphina surged forward, her Crescent Blade trailing sparks, Mira and Darian at her sides, their wolves weaving through the chaos.
“Push to the citadel!” she shouted. “Alaric is mine!”
Her voice cut through the carnage, drawing her warriors like a tide. As they advanced, Hollow-born beasts lunged from the shadows—half-wolves twisted by dark rites, eyes glowing violet, blood oozing from snarling maws.
Mira loosed an arrow through one’s throat. Darian decapitated another with a vicious spin of his blade.
Still they pressed on.
Toward the throne Alaric had claimed.
Toward the destiny Seraphina would decide.
The Throne Room Ablaze
The doors to the citadel’s great hall shattered under Darian’s boot.
Inside, Alaric waited atop the obsidian dais, the corrupted version of the Crescent Throne rising behind him—twisted, thorned, draped in Hollow vines that pulsed with dark energy.
He rose, calm in his madness, his cloak fluttering as if caught in an invisible storm.
“So the fire returns to burn what remains,” he said. “Tell me, Luna—do you still believe you are pure?”
“I believe I am whole,” Seraphina answered, stepping forward. “And I don’t need purity to burn you from this earth.”
He drew his blade of night—forged in secrecy, pulsing with black light. “Then come, Twice-Born. Show me if you’re still worthy of the title.”
A War of Flame and Void
They clashed in an instant.
Steel against shadow. Flame against void.
Their blades met with a thunderous ring, the impact sending shockwaves across the room. Columns cracked. The floor split. Seraphina moved with deadly grace, her blade ablaze, each strike echoing with centuries of wrath and legacy.
Alaric matched her blow for blow—fueled by madness and dark power. His sword drank the light, leeching energy from the very air around them.
He slashed across her side—blood sprayed.
She screamed—but stood.
“You bleed like any other pretender,” he sneered.
She gritted her teeth. “I bleed because I still feel. Something you lost long ago.”
Revelations in Fire
As they fought, Alaric spoke—his voice a snarl between strikes.
“Your mother begged the Hollow for power. She wanted to unite the realms, to forge peace. But peace never comes without sacrifice.”
Seraphina blocked, kicked him backward. “She didn’t sacrifice—she sold her soul.”
Alaric spat blood. “And so will you, when the time comes.”
“No,” she growled. “I already died once. I won’t fall again.”
She drove her blade into his chest.
He gasped—but the blade struck not flesh—but shadow. His form dissolved around the wound, reforming behind her.
He stabbed—
—and caught only air.
She spun, flames erupting from her palm, incinerating the illusion.
The true Alaric emerged from the shadows behind the throne, panting, wounded.
“You can’t defeat the Hollow,” he hissed.
“I’m not here to defeat it,” Seraphina said softly.
“I’m here to balance it.”
Embracing the Hollow
Her mark blazed now—silver and shadow spiraling together.
The room dimmed.
Wind howled.
A storm of light and darkness rose around her, lifting her into the air. The Hollow pulsed through her veins, not as poison—but power.
“Seraphina—!” Darian called out, rushing forward.
She looked back—eyes glowing with twin flames.
“Trust me,” she said.
And he did.
She stepped into the Hollow stream—her blade glowing white-hot, her voice echoing like thunder.
“I am Seraphina Vael, Luna of the Moonlands, Daughter of Fire, Born of the Hollow, Forged by Blood!”
She struck.
Alaric screamed.
Her blade pierced through the illusion, through the lies, through his corrupted heart.
Shadow exploded outward—
—then collapsed inward like a dying star.
And Alaric fell.
Burned. Broken.
Gone.
Silence After Storm
The throne room was still.
Smoke curled from Seraphina’s shoulders. Her crown was cracked. Her breath came ragged. Her knees buckled.
Darian caught her before she hit the floor, arms wrapping around her tightly.
“You did it,” he whispered.
“No,” she said. “We did.”
Behind them, Mira entered, dragging a wounded but conscious Elric, who grunted, “Is he dead?”
Seraphina nodded. “The Hollow didn’t save him.”
Mira looked around. “Then this war… is over.”
The Queen Who Chose Fire
They returned to Windrest with their fallen and their wounded, banners lowered in mourning, then raised in triumph.
The capital waited in silence as Seraphina approached the palace gates.
She stood before her people, cloak torn, crown in her hands.
“I will not ask for your loyalty,” she said. “I will earn it. I will rule not from a throne of lies, but from the fire I’ve walked through.”
She knelt before the crowd.
And one by one, they knelt with her.
A Queen reborn.
Not by blood.
Not by prophecy.
But by choice.
End of Reign of the Forsaken Moon Chapter 52. Continue reading Chapter 53 or return to Reign of the Forsaken Moon book page.