**Chapter 34 – The Moroi Queen Speaks**
Friday, January 28, 2028 – 10:47 p.m.**
If someone were to ask me if I was a witch or a vampire, I'd laugh.
I'm a Blood Wizard.
Queen of the Moroi.
Yes, I'm part Romanian (the rest is a mess of German, Japanese, and whatever ancient Dacian storm decided to stick around in my veins). And Before High School I was a normal kid well mostly.
And Dracula? Well, he was just a Strigoi King-General who fought the Ottoman Empire like his life (and undeath) depended on it—for his kingdom, his people, and maybe a little too much for his ego. Dacia She's is much older "Early Bronze Age Older".
I say "was" because he no longer walks the earth, but that's another story for another night when the hot springs steam is a little thicker and the ghosts get chatty.
This story?
It's about me, my friends, my family, and the struggles that keep us bleeding, burning, and breathing together.
Tonight is no exception.
I'm in the Ohio Club basement again, leaning against the bar while Holly finishes her set.
Her voice is smoke and cinnamon, wrapping around "Fever" like she was born to make dead men sweat.
The crowd (ghosts mostly, plus a few yokai who snuck in through Kayo's portals) is rapt.
Remy's hand is warm on my lower back, thumb tracing circles under my hoodie.
Seras is at the piano, playing backup with fingers that leave faint scorch marks on the keys.
Kayo's sipping ghost-sake, nine tails hidden but her eyes glowing fox-gold in the low light.
Aki and Riku are arm-wrestling with Frankie Yale (they're losing, but laughing).
Rowan Vale is in the corner booth, nursing his eternal coffee, watching everything like he's grading the afterlife.
Holly hits the final note, bows with a flourish, and hops off the stage straight into Malik's arms (he's been her biggest fan since the ridge, even if he cries every time she sings "My Way").
She spots me and grins.
**Holly:**
"Your turn, storm queen.
Sing something Romanian.
Make the old ghosts cry."
I shake my head, laughing.
**Celeste:**
"I don't sing. I summon."
**Holly (winking):**
"Same difference down here."
Al Capone slides me a root beer that tastes suspiciously like tuică.
**Al:**
"Kid, you look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders again.
Spit it out."
I take a sip, feel the phantom warmth.
**Celeste:**
"The Forty-Eighth is getting bolder.
She severed the locket.
Took Remy's heartbeat like it was nothing."
Remy's hand tightens on my waist.
**Remy (low):**
"We took it back."
**Celeste:**
"Yeah. But she's not stopping.
Every mirror in town is her eye now.
And with the Monastery on alliance terms, I'm not sure who to trust when I hit thirty pieces."
Rowan looks up from his booth, galaxy eyes unreadable.
**Rowan:**
"Trust the ones who bleed with you, not for you."
Kayo's tails flick once.
**Kayo:**
"The Hollow Choir was just the opening act.
The real players are moving now because you're getting close to something they can't control."
Aki cracks his knuckles.
**Aki:**
"Let 'em come. I've been bored."
Riku yawns, but his eyes are sharp.
**Riku:**
"Bored oni are dangerous oni."
Seras slides off the piano bench.
**Seras:**
"We've got your back, storm queen.
Fire, fangs, foxes, ghosts—the Forty-Eighth doesn't stand a chance."
Holly raises her ghost glass.
**Holly:**
"To the Moroi Queen and her misfit court.
May the Forty-Eighth choke on her own reflection."
We drink.
The ghosts cheer.
The night goes on.
And for one heartbeat, in a basement full of dead gangsters and living legends, the struggles feel a little less heavy.
Because the story is about us.
Me, my friends, my family.
And no mirror-girl is going to change the ending.
Not while we're still writing it.
Thirty Percent**
Friday, February 18, 2028 – 3:33 a.m.**
I come back to myself gasping on the orchard floor, cedar needles stuck to my cheek, blood dripping from my nose.
Thirty percent.
I've lived thirty different lives in the last four months (thirty grandmothers, thirty storms, thirty heartbreaks, thirty victories).
Tonight's was the worst.
I was a queen named Livia who watched her entire village burn rather than surrender the crown piece hidden in the well.
I felt the flames on my skin.
I heard the children scream.
I made the choice anyway.
Dacia kneels beside me, looking older than the mountains.
**Dacia (voice raw):**
"That one always hurts the most.
She was the reason we swore the crown would never be used for conquest again."
I wipe the blood with the back of my hand.
**Celeste (hoarse):**
"I understand why now."
The HUD burns bright, steady, merciless.
```
Language Mastery: 30%
Stories lived: 30 / 100
New Active Unlocked:
- BLOOD OATH (bind an unbreakable promise—cost: one memory of your choosing)
- STORM MEMORY (relive any grandmother's final stand once per lunar cycle)
Warning: The Forty-Eighth felt this threshold.
She is preparing.
```
Dacia helps me stand.
**Dacia:**
"Thirty percent is the line, child.
Past this, every new symbol you take from me is one she can no longer copy.
She's whole in pieces, but you're becoming whole in stories.
That scares her more than any weapon."
I look at my hands—still trembling from Livia's fire.
**Celeste:**
"Good."
The orchard dissolves.
I wake up in my bedroom.
Remy is already there, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes glowing gold in the dark.
He felt me come back screaming.
He doesn't ask what I saw.
He just pulls me into his lap and holds me until the shaking stops.
**Remy (quiet, fierce):**
"Tell me when you're ready."
**Celeste (against his chest):**
"I just lived through a genocide I ordered to protect the crown.
Thirty percent means I'm starting to understand why some queens chose to become monsters…
and why I never will."
He kisses the silver scar on my forehead.
**Remy:**
"That's why you win, storm queen.
Monsters don't have you."
My phone buzzes.
Seras:
felt that one from across town
coming over
bringing pancakes and rage
Kayo portals in without knocking, tails fully visible, eyes blazing.
**Kayo:**
"The Forty-Eighth just tried to open seven mirrors in Hanamaki.
We shut them down.
She's desperate."
I look at my crew—coyote, fire, fox—gathered before the sun even thinks about rising.
**Celeste (steady):**
"Then let's give her something to be afraid of."
Thirty percent down.
Seventy to go.
The stories hurt.
But they're making me unbreakable.
And the Forty-Eighth is running out of time.