Jiselle
“Wake up.”
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The words weren’t shouted. They didn’t need to be. Eva’s voice carried the kind of weight that yanked me out of whatever thin veil of sleep I’d managed to catch. My body ached from labor, from flame, from everything. but the urgency in her tone burned through exhaustion.
The chamber was cold. Ash clung to the cracks in the walls, and the leyline’s faint hum pulsed weakly under the stone. Nate stirred beside me, his arm instantly tightening around my waist, his wolf alert before his mind even caught up. Across the room, Ethan was already upright, pale but awake, as though the call had reached him before the rest of us. Solara, curled against her woven ash blanket, blinked once and then sat straight up, unnervingly alert for a child barely past her first year.
Eva stood at the center of the room, hair loose and damp from rain, eyes glowing faint silver. Her hands trembled–not with weakness, but with something heavier. Revelation.
“She spoke to me,” she said, and for a moment her voice cracked. “The Moon Goddess. She broke the silence.”
That was enough to silence us all.
Bastain, hunched at the edge of the shadows, lifted his head slowly. “The Goddess hasn’t spoken to anyone directly since Serina,” he said. His tone wasn’t skeptical. It was reverent.
Eva nodded once. “And she said the prophecy was never about ending destruction. Not about fire. Not even about power.” She turned, her eyes flickering across each of us before settling on me. “It was about refusing legacy. The ones who came before us, the Sovereigns who ruled… they all fell. Because they thought they had to hold everything. To become the center. To govern.”
Her breath shook. “The Goddess said that Sovereigns who chose… lived.”
The words fell like stones into water, rippling through the room, breaking the silence into jagged pieces. I stared at her, trying to anchor the meaning before it slipped. “Chose what?”
Eva lifted her hands, and the silver light pulsed through her fingers. “The curse can be broken–but only through three choices. Freely given. No coercion. No prophecy twisting our hands. One must rule. One must follow. And one must burn.”
The chamber went utterly still. Even the leyline beneath us seemed to hold its breath.
Nate’s jaw clenched, the tension rolling through his body like thunder. “One must burn,” he repeated, voice low and dark. “That’s not choice. That’s sacrifice.”
Eva’s eyes didn’t waver. “Not if it’s chosen. That’s the difference. That’s what every Sovereign before failed to understand. They thought they had no say, that destiny meant command. But the Moon Goddess says otherwise. Choice is the only path left.”
I held Solara closer, my heart rattling. She was watching Eva, her small brow furrowed, as though she understood every word. Maybe she did. She had always known more than she should.
16:14 Mon, Sep 29
Chapter 227
Ethan finally spoke, his voice brittle. “And if none of us choose?”
Eva’s gaze softened, but she didn’t flinch. “Then the Gate stays open. Forever.”
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The silence that followed was heavier than stone. Bastain rubbed a hand over his mouth, muttering something too low to catch. Nate’s grip on my arm tightened, as if he thought he could keep me tethered with sheer force. Ethan stared at the ground, his mark faintly glowing through the fabric of his shirt.
And me? My thoughts spun. The words rule, follow, burn circled like wolves waiting to strike. Three paths. Three sacrifices. None of them safe. None of them fair.
Solara leaned into me suddenly, her tiny hand pressing against my chest. Her touch burned warm–not painful, but searing in a way that reminded me she wasn’t just a child. She was more. She was choice embodied.
“She’s watching us,” I whispered. “Waiting.”
Nate’s voice was ragged when he answered. “Then we make damn sure she doesn’t have to carry it alone.”
Eva closed her eyes and lowered her hands, the silver glow fading. “The Moon Goddess didn’t tell me who it has to be. Only that it must be done freely. And soon. Because the fracture in the leyline isn’t healing anymore. It’s splitting.”
The room seemed to tilt, the weight of it all pressing down harder than ever.
Ethan’s laugh was hollow. “So we’re supposed to sit around and decide which one of us gets to burn? That’s not choice. That’s torment.”
Bastain finally stepped forward, voice hard. “It is torment. But Eva is right. Prophecy has always been twisted by those who refused to listen. If this one is different–if it requires will instead of obedience–then maybe it can be undone. But don’t pretend it won’t break us first.”
I closed my eyes briefly, fighting the tremor in my hands. For months, maybe years, every step had been toward fire. Toward sacrifice. But hearing it spelled out now, in the voice of the Goddess herself, it settled differently. It wasn’t just my burden. It was all of ours.
Solara shifted again, her eyes finding Ethan. For a second, the mark on his chest flared, steady and sure. He swallowed hard, as if he felt the weight of her gaze. “She already knows,” he murmured. “She’s already choosing.”
“No,” I said, sharper than I meant. “Not her. Us. This isn’t her war to fight.”
But even as I spoke, I wasn’t sure I believed it. Because the truth was, Solara had been fighting since the moment she breathed.
The night dragged on, thick with silence and unspoken thoughts. Eventually, the others drifted to corners, trying to rest. But no one really slept. The prophecy pressed into all of us like a blade.
I stayed awake. Solara slept against me, but her dreams were not quiet. Every so often, her lips moved, whispering words in tongues I didn’t know. Once, I swore I heard my own name.
16:14 Mon, Sep 29
Chapter 227
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When dawn broke, the light carried no warmth. The sky bled red over the horizon, streaked with ash clouds. The leyline beneath us pulsed once, violently, and the ground shook. Dust fell from the rafters.
And then, from the far side of the chamber, came a sound. A crack. Sharp. Echoing.
We all turned.
The relic–the stone monolith that once held Serina’s first mark–stood against the wall, untouched for centuries. Its surface had always been smooth, lifeless. But now, a fissure split down its center, glowing faintly from within.
The crack spread slowly, splintering outward like veins. Heat rolled off it, thick and heavy.
I rose to my feet, Solara still in my arms. Her eyes snapped open, glowing violet–gold, and she reached toward the relic with a small, steady hand.
The fissure widened, and inside–pulsing, alive–was an ember.
Shaped like a heartbeat.
The chamber shook again.
And none of us breathed.
AD
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
