Chapter 3 - Beneath the Light of Two Moons

Moonhaven breathes.

The city's heart beats beneath marble streets and glass towers, beneath the rhythm of its people-the merchants calling across the plazas, the guards pacing their posts, the soft chiming of bells at every passing hour. Even when night stills the air, the pulse remains. You can feel it, if you listen closely enough-the faint vibration of magic beneath your skin.

The scholars call it Aetherflow: the lifeblood of the Moon Goddess herself.
The Queen calls it the kingdom's soul.I call it fragile.

And tonight, it feels fainter.

The palace corridors are hushed as I move through them, my boots whispering over polished stone. Moonlight spills through high arched windows, painting the walls in pale silver and shadow. The air carries the scent of old incense and marble dust. My reflection follows me along the glass, ghostlike, watching.

Every breath grows heavier-not from fatigue, but from something deeper.
Something unseen.Something wrong.

The hum beneath the floor is uneven now, faltering like a pulse that's forgotten its rhythm. The Aetherflow-our lifeline-is thinning.

And I can feel it dying.

-

Moonhaven is built atop ancient ley lines - rivers of magic that run like veins through the world, threading the earth's molten heart to the distant stars. Once, they glowed steady and pure, a celestial lifeblood binding heaven and stone.

Now their light flickers - faint, uncertain - as if even the earth hesitates to remember what radiance once felt like.

Beneath my ribs, the corruption hums in quiet answer. A pulse not my own. It stirs whenever I pass near the runes carved into the castle's bones - those old wards that still thrum with sanctity. The thing inside me knows their purity.And it hates it.

Sometimes, I do too.

I lift a hand and brush the nearest rune. Its glow ripples under my fingertips, alive for a heartbeat, then falters. The light recoils from me, shrinking back into the stone.

Still tainted, I think. Still me.

When the glow dies entirely, only my reflection remains - a pale hand trembling in the cold light. A human hand. A fragile reminder of what I still pretend to be.

The silence stretches. The castle hums faintly beneath my feet, that constant vibration of power - weaker now, unsteady, like a faltering heartbeat. The air feels thinner. The walls feel closer.

Somewhere beyond the marble and rune-etched halls, the ley lines shift. I feel it - a subtle wrongness, a tremor in the pulse of the world. Something ancient stirs beneath the stone, stretching in the dark.

It isn't the earth remembering.It's the dark, waking.

-

That night, the dreams return.

It begins in silence.

A hall of mirrors unfolds beneath a sky the color of ash. The reflections gleam like blades, endless rows of myself watching from every direction. Each one breathes when I do. Each one blinks when I don't.

I walk through the corridor, my steps soundless on the black floor. The air smells faintly of cold iron and rain-like the breath before a storm. Every reflection moves in perfect harmony, until one doesn't.

Its mouth opens. Then another follows. Then a hundred.

Their voices rise in a whisper that fractures the stillness, thin and sharp as glass:"You were meant to be his."

The mirrors begin to melt.

Silver liquefies down the walls, pooling at my feet. The surface ripples, dark and shining, and from its depths faces begin to form-my mother's, my soldiers', my younger self. All smiling. All wrong.

Their eyes burn violet.

The glass surges upward, alive, wrapping around my wrists and throat. It pulls me down into the molten reflection.

For an instant, I see myself dissolve. My veins stain black. My skin turns to smoke. My hair bleeds from gold to the color of shadow. I try to scream-

-but the sound that comes out isn't mine.

It's laughter.

Low. Endless. Echoing.

The Warlock's laugh. It curls through me like ink through water, filling every hollow space until I can no longer tell where his voice ends and mine begins.

I wake with a gasp, the sound tearing my throat raw. The sheets cling to my skin, cold and damp. Moonlight spills through the window, pale and merciless, painting the room in silver-though for a heartbeat, it gleams red.

The pulse beneath my ribs drums wildly, too strong, too deliberate. A second heartbeat. Not mine.

I press a shaking hand to my chest."I am not him," I whisper.

The silence in the room stirs-soft as breath, sharp as a blade.

Then a voice answers, quiet and certain, from somewhere deep inside me:Aren't you?

-

When I wake, I can't stay still.

The air in my chamber feels too tight, the silence too loud. So I leave-barefoot through the spiraling halls, my shadow stretching long across the marble. Moonlight trails behind me like a quiet ghost.

The library waits at the heart of Moonhaven, where the air still smells of peace: dust and parchment, candle wax and age. Thousands of years of memory sleep here, bound in leather and threadbare spells.

Liren, the old archivist, tends this sacred place. His robes hang like worn parchment, his hair the color of smoke. Though his eyes are clouded by age, they miss nothing.

He looks up before I reach him."Princess Luna," he rasps, setting aside a quill. "You walk late tonight."

"I couldn't sleep."

"Ah." His voice is soft as dust. "Neither can the city."

He lifts a lantern from the table, its light trembling against the rows of books."You've felt it, haven't you? The hum beneath the stones. The ley lines are thinning."

"Dying?" The word leaves my lips before I can stop it.

"Not dying," he says. "Starving. Magic is a living thing, child. It feeds on harmony-faith, balance, hope. When the world's devotion falters, the flow decays. Even Moonhaven's twin hearts can't keep it stable."

He leads me between the towering shelves, the lantern's glow carving gold into the dark. We stop before a table strewn with ancient charts-maps of glowing veins once bright, now faded like blood drained from the body.

"See how they twist near our borders?" he murmurs. "Something poisons them. Slow. Patient. When the ley lines finally break, Moonhaven's light will flicker out. And perhaps..."
He glances at me, eyes fogged yet sharp."Perhaps something else will take its place."

My throat tightens. "You mean the Warlock."

"I mean," he says softly, "whatever shadow you keep locked in your chest."

The words land heavier than I expect. My pulse stutters. I draw myself up, steadying my tone."The Queen believes the wards will hold."

He smiles faintly-that tired, knowing smile that carries more truth than comfort."The Queen believes in the light. But light, Princess..." He exhales slowly. "Light has a way of burning the ones who hold it too long."

The candles waver. A faint gust stirs the shelves, though the windows are sealed. The lantern's flame shivers-and for an instant, I hear it.

A voice. Soft. Familiar.Luna... come home...

My breath catches. I turn sharply, searching the darkness between the stacks. But when I look back, Liren is already snuffing the lantern.

"Go rest, child," he murmurs. "Before the night remembers your name."

The light dies. Shadows reclaim the library.

Only the faint hum of the ley lines remains-and the echo of my own heartbeat, steady yet uncertain, in the dark.

-

I step into the open air and breathe deeply.

The scent of frost and stone fills my lungs. From the balcony, Moonhaven stretches out below me-a sea of glass and silver towers glowing beneath the twin moons.

Verris, the pale moon, hangs high and still, serene as a promise.Sael, its crimson twin, burns low on the horizon-a red wound in the sky.

Under their light, the city lives.

Bridges of crystal arc between the spires like frozen rainbows. Rivers weave through the streets, carrying moonlight on their backs. At every corner, enchanted lanterns hum softly, drawing breath from the fading pulse of the ley lines. The air itself glows faintly-silver motes drifting through the darkness like souls mid-prayer.

It is beautiful.

And yet beneath that beauty, something stirs wrong.

The glow that once pulsed in harmony now flickers-uneven, feverish. Some towers burn too bright, others dim to near shadow, their runes faltering like dying stars. The rhythm is broken.

The balance that once made Moonhaven holy now makes it ill.

From here, the kingdom looks like a candle struggling not to go out.

---

When I finally return inside, Jack is waiting by the door to my chambers, helm tucked beneath his arm. His expression is steady, though the concern in his eyes betrays him.

"Milady," he says, inclining his head. "Forgive the intrusion. The guards reported seeing your light wandering through the halls."

"I needed air," I answer quietly. "And answers."

He frowns. "And did you find any?"

"Only more questions."

For a moment, he studies me - that soldier's calm never leaving his face. His gaze lingers just long enough to catch what I can't quite hide: the tremor in my hand, the exhaustion beneath my eyes.

"You look pale," he says softly. "Maybe you should rest."

"Rest won't fix what's dying under our feet."

The words come out sharper than I intend, but he doesn't flinch. He only shifts his weight, hesitant.

"Then at least let someone watch your door tonight," he says. "Just in case."

I exhale, too tired to argue. "Fine. But if something comes for me, I doubt steel will stop it."

He hesitates, as though wanting to say more, then bows. "All the same, I'll stand guard."

I almost tell him not to - that nothing human can guard me from what stirs in my dreams - but the words catch in my throat.

When he leaves, the silence that follows feels heavier than before. The air hums faintly, like a held breath. And somewhere deep beneath the palace, the ley lines pulse - slower now, dimmer.

- slower now, dimmer.

---

Sleep doesn't come easily.

When it does, it feels fragile - a thin veil stretched over something that watches from the other side.

I dream again. But this time, the darkness isn't chasing me.

It's waiting.

At the center of a vast black sea stands a figure - tall, faceless, cloaked in smoke. The surface ripples beneath its feet, spreading rings of shadow across the water. When it speaks, its voice slithers through the silence like a caress.

"You can't outrun what you are, little moon.

The ley lines weaken because of you.

You are their rot - the broken pulse in the heart of the world."

I want to deny it.

But my hands are already glowing.

Veins of violet light crawl up my arms, pulsing in rhythm with something deep beneath the earth - the heartbeat of the world itself. Each throb sends ripples through the black water, and the darkness spreads further with every breath I take.

"Stop," I whisper.

But the light only burns brighter.

The Warlock's laughter coils through the void - low, endless, and unbearably familiar.

When I wake, the horizon is already paling.

The air feels heavy, unmoving. Outside my window, the twin moons hang low - Verris pale and fading, Sael smoldering like a dying ember. Below, the city gleams too bright, too still - a body that's forgotten how to breathe.

And in the whispering silence before dawn, I finally understand.

Moonhaven isn't merely sick.It's dying - with me.

---

At dawn, the Queen summons the council.

The chamber is vast, the air cool with incense and light. The table - a single slab of pale stone veined with quartz - gleams where the sun strikes it, scattering pale reflections across the marble floor.

Around it sit twenty of Moonhaven's highest voices, their robes whispering as they shift in their seats. They murmur of familiar things - harvest yields, border patrols, whispers of unrest. Their words coil through the air like smoke, shapeless and far away.

I listen. I nod when expected. But it all feels meaningless.

The city falters. The ley lines dim. And still, they speak of crops and trade.

When the meeting finally ends, chairs scrape and scrolls shuffle-until the Queen's voice cuts through the noise like a blade.

"Stay."

The single word halts me mid-step. I obey.

She waits until the others have gone before she speaks.

"You're restless again."

"I'm fine," I lie.

Her gaze sharpens, all patience gone.

"Luna, do not insult me with denial. The wards flickered last night. I felt it in my bones."

My pulse stutters.

"It must be strain from the eastern ley line-"

"No." Her voice slices through mine. She rises from her throne, the silver filigree on her gown catching the light.

"It came from here. From you."

The world stills. My heartbeat sounds too loud, too fast.

"I-" I start, but the words splinter in my throat before they can form.

The Queen steps closer. Her eyes, pale as moonstone, catch the light-unreadable, ageless.

"You carry more than duty, my daughter," she says softly. "You carry something dangerous. I can see it in your aura."

I force my voice steady.

"I'm in control."

Her hand lifts, brushing my cheek-gentle, but cold.

"Control is a fragile illusion," she murmurs. "The Warlock thought he controlled his power once, too."

Silence stretches between us, thin and fragile as spun glass.

Then, more quietly:

"You are not him, Luna. But every day you fight this alone, you move closer to becoming what he was."

The weight of her words presses the air from my lungs.

For a moment, I can't breathe.

Finally, she steps back, her face once again the mask of a queen.

"You will not ride out alone again," she says. "If this corruption spreads, it will not only destroy you-it will consume Moonhaven."

I bow, stiffly, the motion mechanical.

"As you command."

Her gaze lingers on me-a flicker of sorrow, quickly hidden.

"You are light, Luna," she says. "Do not let it turn against you."

The words hang in the air long after she turns away, as fragile and heavy as moonlight itself.

---

When I'm finally alone, I press my back to the cold stone wall outside the council chamber and slide down until my strength gives way. The marble bites through the thin fabric of my sleeves. My breath catches-shallow, uneven-as though even the air resists staying inside me.

I stare at my hands.They won't stop trembling.

The corridor is silent, save for the faint hum of the wards buried deep beneath the castle. Once, their rhythm comforted me-a steady heartbeat beneath the stone. Now it only reminds me how easily things break.

Light spills across the floor from the quartz veins in the marble, fractured and shifting like liquid glass. I tilt my head, and for a moment, I see my reflection in the polished stone beside me: a pale ghost of myself. Eyes too bright. Too sharp. Rimmed with exhaustion.

Then the light moves.

A flicker ripples behind the reflection-violet and faint, like a pulse beneath the surface. I blink, thinking it only a trick of the stone. But the glow doesn't fade. It lingers. Waiting.

And then, impossibly, it moves.

A second self stares back from the marble. The same face. The same eyes. But colder. Patient. Knowing.

I draw a breath, slow and unsteady. The reflection doesn't follow.

When I exhale, she smiles.

A slow, deliberate curl of lips that isn't mine.

The corruption smiles back.

---

That night, sleep refuses me.

The palace is too quiet, the air too still-like the world is holding its breath. I wander the corridors barefoot, the chill of the marble seeping through my skin. My fingers trail along the carved runes that line the walls, each one pulsing faintly beneath my touch. Their magic feels uneasy. It recognizes me. And it recoils.

I can feel it now-the tether.

Not a chain of flesh or metal, but something deeper. Spiritual. A thread of power buried beneath the city, pulling taut inside my chest.

Something is calling me.

Something that has waited too long to be answered.

And I know where it leads.

The old temple at the forest's edge-the one no one enters anymore. The place where the moonlight never reaches.

I pause at a window. Beyond the glass, the world lies black and breathless. The forest stirs under Sael's crimson light, every leaf shivering in that blood-red glow.

My reflection stares back, eyes shadowed, lips pale.

I whisper into the dark.

"Show me."

For a moment, nothing moves. Then the shadows ripple-slow, deliberate-like a sigh from the depths.

And they answer.

The glass clouds over, black swallowing silver. Shapes emerge in its depths-Moonhaven's towers burning, their crystal bridges collapsing into flame. Rivers boil, streets crack, the twin moons eclipsed in blood. I see the Queen's crown tumble from her head, swallowed by fire. I see soldiers turned to ash beneath violet light.

And over it all, a figure stands at the heart of the ruin-its eyes my eyes, its hand raised in command.

The laughter that follows isn't the Warlock's this time. It's mine.

I stagger back, breath shattering in my throat. The vision fades, but the scent of smoke lingers, heavy and real.

"No..." The word breaks out of me in a whisper. "Not again."

The shadows recede, curling like smoke into the cracks of the walls, leaving silence behind. But the image won't leave me.

If what I saw is true, Moonhaven will burn-and it will be by my hand.

I press a palm against the cold stone, forcing my heartbeat steady. There's no time left for doubt.

I have to act.

I have to gather the others-Flahera, Ravensha-before the darkness takes everything.

Before it takes me.