Chapter 7: The Last Gift of Moonlight
Chapter 7: The Last Gift of Moonlight
Three years had turned Lyranna Vaelith into a ghost of herself.
Her once-vibrant orange hair hung limp and dull, her violet eyes now shadowed by dark circles that never faded. The curves of her face had sharpened into angles, her collarbones protruding beneath the threadbare fabric of her servant's dress. She moved through the Spire like a whisper, her steps silent, her voice rarely heard.
But her hands—always her hands—remained gentle when they touched Lux.
The summons came at dusk.
Lady Seraphine, Dainar's newest wife, had requested Lyranna's presence in her room. The message was delivered by a smirking handmaiden who didn't bother hiding her contempt.
The room was bathed in crimson light, the setting sun painting the room in blood hues. Lady Seraphine lounged on a sofa, her silver hair coiled like a serpent around her shoulders. A single goblet sat on the table between them.
"My lord says you've been looking unwell," Seraphine purred. "I thought you might appreciate some… nourishment."Lyranna's fingers trembled as she lifted the cup. The wine smelled wrong—bitter, like crushed nightshade.
She drank it anyway. Then she left and ran to the spire no one stopped her for they knew she was no more.
The cough started at dawn.
Lyranna Vaelith pressed a trembling hand to her lips, pulling it away to find black blood smeared across her palm. She stared at it for a long moment—this dark, unnatural stain—before quietly wiping it away on her ragged skirts.
Across their tiny attic room, three-year-old Lux sat perfectly still, watching her with eyes full of intelligence.
"Just a little sick, my sun," she whispered, forcing a smile.
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She waited until midnight, when the Spire's halls lay empty.
Her hands shook as she lifted the loose floorboard beneath her pallet, revealing a small velvet pouch worn thin with age. Inside rested two silver crescent earrings—so old their edges had worn smooth, yet they still gleamed with an impossible inner light.
Lux sat before her, his small hands folded in his lap. He didn't speak. He hadn't spoken a word since his first year, though his eyes said everything.
"These belonged to my mother," Lyranna whispered, fastening one to his left ear. The metal warmed at his touch, thrumming like a second heartbeat. "And her mother before her. All the way back to..."
Her breath hitched. A drop of black blood escaped her lips, splattering against the silver.
Lux's small hands flew to her face, wiping desperately at her chin. His golden-brown eyes burned with fury—not at her, never at her—but at the world that had done this.
"Hush now," she murmured, catching his wrists. With great care, she fastened the second earring. "Our family... we were not always like this."
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She told him between coughing fits, each word bought with pain:
"A million years ago, when the Moonlit Dawn Goddess still lived, our people walked as gods." Her fingers traced the crescents at his ears. "The Sun Elves of the Eternal Empire, warriors who danced between stars, whose voices could shape worlds and the House of Vaelith was the royal family."
Another cough wracked her body. Lux pressed against her, his small frame trembling with barely contained rage.
"The God-King hates us. When he killed our goddess, he cursed her children—stripped us of divinity, condemned us to live as mortals for one million years." A bitter smile touched her lips. "Tomorrow... tomorrow the curse ends."
Black tears tracked down her cheeks as she cupped his face. "I should have been the one to awaken. To reclaim our power. But my body..."
Lux shook his head violently, his small hands clutching at her dress.
"Listen," she gasped, blood bubbling between her lips. "The earrings are keys. There are five more—hidden where the God-King cannot reach. Find them, and you'll find..."
Her body convulsed. Lux caught her as she fell forward, his tiny arms straining to hold her weight.
Her breath grew shallow. With the last of her strength, she pressed her forehead to his.
"Be strong my sun."
Then—
Silence.
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Lux did not scream.
He did not cry.
He sat perfectly still as his mother's body cooled in his arms, the silver crescents burning against his skin.
Outside, the three moons aligned—silver, crimson, and black—casting their combined light through the attic window. It painted patterns across the floor, forming symbols Lux somehow knew:
The black moon's voice slithered through the cracks in the world:
"Find the others before He does."
And in that moment, something deep within Lux's chest—something that had slept for a million years—
Stirred.
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