CHAPTER 13

A Throne Stained in Shadow the Sky Weeps

The heavens above Eldoris shattered in a cascade of golden and obsidian light. The celestial realm trembled as the prophecy took an unexpected turn.

Lyra knelt beside Malakar's fallen form, her hands trembling as she pressed them against the wound in his chest. The Shadow born dagger pulsed with dark magic, poisoning him from within. His silver eyes, once fierce and unrelenting, had dimmed.

"Malakar—hold on," Lyra pleaded, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Her brother gave a weak, wry smile. "Fate… it seems… had other plans for me."

"No." Lyra shook her head violently. "We were supposed to fix this. Together."

Malakar's fingers brushed against hers, his touch as fragile as moonlight. "Maybe… in another life."

His breathing slowed. His grip loosened.

Then—his body stilled.

The mark on his arm, the dark twin of Lyra's celestial sigil, faded into nothingness.

And the world fell silent.

The Birth of a Queen's Wrath

Something inside Lyra snapped.

A terrible, blinding force of celestial energy exploded from her body, sweeping across the battlefield like a divine storm. The heavens echoed with her grief, and the very ground trembled beneath her fury.

The assassin who had plunged the dagger into Malakar barely had time to react before he was lifted into the air, his body writhing under Lyra's raw, unfiltered power.

"You stole him from me," Lyra whispered, her voice laced with unrelenting rage. "For that, you will suffer."

The assassin screamed as golden fire consumed him, his soul ripped from existence.

Alden and Kael shielded their eyes as Lyra's power surged, the battlefield becoming an extension of her grief. The celestial mark on her forearm burned hotter than ever, reshaping itself—evolving.

This was no longer the mark of an heir.

It was the mark of a ruler.

The Celestial Queen had awakened.

A Kingdom in Chaos

As the celestial storm faded, the battlefield stood eerily still. The Shadow born army, sensing their leader's fall, began to retreat into the abyss, their forms vanishing into the void.

Eryx, who had remained strangely silent through the battle, finally spoke. "It is done."

Lyra turned to face him; her expression unreadable. "Is it?"

Eryx held her gaze. "Malakar was the Shadow born King. Without him, their forces will fracture. The war is over."

Lyra's voice was ice. "Then why does it feel like we've already lost?"

Kael stepped forward cautiously. "Lyra… your power—"

"I don't need a lecture, Kael." Her voice was sharp. "I need answers."

Alden, ever her anchor, studied her carefully. "What will you do now?"

Lyra's fingers curled into fists. She had lost too much. Given too much. And now, the kingdom was hers to claim.

She turned to the ruined temple, where the celestial throne—a seat untouched by time, waiting for its ruler—stood among the remnants of history.

She took a step forward. Then another.

A hush fell over the battlefield.

And as she ascended the steps, her voice rang out like a prophecy fulfilled.

"I will take my rightful place."

"And Eldoris will never be the same."