The rebellion did not begin with swords. It began with silence.
Hidden letters passed between gloved hands beneath cloaks. Secret meetings unfolded in the basements of abandoned libraries, behind closed tavern doors, under frost-bitten bridges where no noble eyes dared look. The city of Aerthrial was still on the surface, but beneath it, something pulsed and grew—a network of promises, betrayals, and whispered alliances.
At the heart of it stood Selene.
She walked the royal corridors with the same grace she always had, crimson eyes sharp beneath her lashes. The nobles still bowed. The courtiers still smiled. But now, every glance she met carried suspicion, every curtsy masked a potential dagger.
Lucien moved in shadows as well, though his methods were different. Where Selene wielded diplomacy and precision, Lucien gathered strength through the forgotten channels of Aerthrial's underbelly—mercenaries, rogue spellcasters, beastkin emissaries who whispered from the fringes of human lands. He sent Alaric to the western isles, where forbidden contracts lay buried beneath sand and ash.
They weren't trying to save the kingdom anymore.
They were trying to rewrite it.
In the Eastern capital, Evelyne Greymoor pressed her fingers to the blood mirror. Her reflection shimmered and rippled. Reports flooded her chambers—spies captured, loyalists turning traitor, merchant guilds refusing her coin.
Her lips curved in a cold, perfect smile.
Let them rebel, she thought. Let them chain themselves tighter.
Because tonight, she would bind something far more permanent.
The Blood Moon Pact.
It was an ancient rite, older than Aerthrial itself. Performed under the rare convergence of moons—one crimson, one gold—it allowed a ruler to seal destiny for an entire generation.
At the peak of midnight, Evelyne stood atop the Eastern Sanctum tower, emerald cloak sweeping the marble floor. The twin moons hovered above, aligned for the first time in centuries.
She spoke words no living mage had dared to utter in a thousand years.
"With this pact, I sever balance."
Her voice echoed across the skies.
"I bind tragedy to the crimson soul, betrayal to the golden."
The wind screamed.
"Let love rot in its cradle."
Lightning crackled silently across the clouds, blood-red against the sky.
Back in the royal city, Selene collapsed to her knees, clutching her chest.
Lucien stumbled in his chambers, his vision fracturing into shards of light and shadow.
But this time, they did not fight it alone.
Lira was there, steadying Selene with trembling hands, her own heart heavy but resolute.
Alaric stood at Lucien's side, gripping his shoulder—not as a servant, but as a brother.
The binding magic of the Blood Moon tore at their hearts, but it did not break them.
Not yet.
By morning, Aerthrial awoke to a sky stained gold and red. The people whispered of omens, of curses, of fate sealed in blood.
Selene rose from her bed, eyes sharper than before.
Lucien donned his cloak, golden eyes narrowed.
They knew what Evelyne had done.
She had rewritten the rules of the game.
But they would rewrite them again.
Together.