«CHAPTER– 13&14»
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He… he has Carlos's face.
Carlos Rodriguez was Duncan Tharagon — the demon prince of Ashkaroth.
Her eyes widened in pure horror as the realization struck her.
"How… how is that possible?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she cupped his face in her shaking hands. Her lips quivered uncontrollably, and her breath came in uneven gasps.
Her palms trembled against his skin, as if she feared he might disappear beneath her touch.
Droplets of her tears fell onto his face, sliding slowly down his unmoving features.
Her fingers tightened slightly against his cheeks, as if pressing harder would reveal the truth hidden beneath the skin.
"Carlos…" she breathed, the name breaking apart on her lips.
She remembered the cafeteria—how he had offered her a bottle of water, and how he gently told her to be careful when she accidentally bumped into him.
She cherished all those memories and knew she would be forever grateful to him.
When the other students jeered at her and called her dirty, he had still sat down beside her and eaten with her.
Hot tears slid down her cheeks, falling onto his face.
"No… no, this isn't real," she whispered, shaking her head as fresh tears spilled down. "You're not him. You can't be him, he can't be the beast"
Her thumbs brushed beneath his eyes, wiping away the streak of blood that had mirrored her own wounds.
The injuries on his body matched hers almost perfectly, as though some invisible thread stitched their pain together.
Her hands trembled as they lingered on his shoulders. He was warm, solid—human. Alive.
A faint groan escaped his lips, and she stiffened, heart hammering. His brows furrowed slightly, caught somewhere between sleep and waking, and his fingers twitched against the broken floor.
"Carlos?" she whispered again, fear and hope tangled together in her chest.
His lashes fluttered, and for a moment, she held her breath, about to speak.
But then his hand shot to her neck, and with terrifying speed, he slammed her against the wall, strangling her mercilessly.
His eyes burned red, and blood trickled from her nose—then, almost immediately, blood ran from his as well, the cruel reflection of the bond they shared.
Now, as he strangled her, he was strangling himself. Any scratch, any wound on her body mirrored itself on his. The fate that bound them was ruthless, merciless, and inescapable.
It was not just cruel—it was unbearable.
"Carlos…" she whispered, her eyes red, her face pale, lips trembling as she stared at him strangling her. His face was pale too—he was suffering alongside her.
"SPILL YOUR SEED INSIDE HER, DUNCAN THARAGON"
A maddening female voice rang in his head, and then it happened.
Before she could comprehend what was happening, her eyes turned silver, flashing brilliantly.
Blue flames erupted across her chest, and she lost control entirely. With a sudden surge of strength, she grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.
"HE BELONGS TO YOU. RULE THE GREAT ASHKAROTH WITH HIM —THE GODDESS OF THE ECLIPSE IS ON YOUR SIDE, THAILRA ALVAREZ, DAUGHTER OF GULVAN OF TULSAN!"
The same maddening female voice echoed in her mind, and she instantly pressed her lips against his, devouring them.
He immediately responded with the same fervent energy, kissing her back.
"Slowly, they vanished in a swirl of ashes and reappeared inside Albaton Palace, in King Valgor's chamber.
She lay back on the wide, soft bed, while he leaned over her, capturing her lips in a fierce, consuming, with her hands pinned above her head.
He moved closer, holding her tightly, their lips locked in a kiss that refused to break, every moment charged with a fierce, undeniable intensity.
Slowly and gently, he thrusted.
"….MINE" A moan tore from his throat as he pulled out and slammed back in, more brutal than the first thrust, spilling all his seed inside her.
"Carlos…fuck!!" she moaned sweetly.
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»MORAZANA, VARKHOLM VILLAGE—GALVESTON PALACE»
This is but the beginning of the legend of the great Ashkaroth.
A solitary figure bent forward, submerging her head into the bath.
Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, clinging to her skin and tracing the curve of her back.
Only her silhouette was visible. She drew her fingers through her hair and swept it back, sending a torrent of water streaming down her body.
Within the chamber stood more than twenty maids.
Some bore golden towels draped carefully over their arms, while others carried fine creams and freshly prepared garments.
One held an ornate tray adorned with brushes and combs. Clad in red and blue livery, they stood in composed silence, their gazes respectfully lowered.
Not a single whisper stirred the air.
The chamber was vast and luminous, lit by chandeliers of crystal that cast a warm, golden glow upon the marble floors.
The scent of rosewater and rare incense lingered gently, weaving through the stillness like an unseen veil.
At the center of the room, the bath stood upon a raised dais of white stone, carved with ancient sigils that spoke of lineage and power.
Steam curled upward in delicate spirals, softening the edges of the scene and cloaking it in quiet reverence.
The maids remained motionless, awaiting her command — for they did not merely serve a woman.
She rose gracefully from the bath, and at once the maids stepped forward.
Those bearing the golden towels hurried to her side, gently patting her hair and skin dry with careful precision.
When they had finished, they withdrew and bowed their heads.
The maid carrying the tray of brushes and combs approached next. With practiced hands, she brushed and arranged her hair, applying fragrant creams before stepping back in a respectful bow.
Then the attendant entrusted with her body oils came forward, anointing her skin with delicate care.
Once her task was complete, she too retreated.
At last, the maid bearing her garments advanced reverently and dressed her, ensuring every fold and fastening lay perfectly in place.
She entered her chamber, and her personal maid, who had been waiting outside, immediately followed a respectful step behind her.
Princess Arabella Valemont of Galveston, daughter of King Leontius the Lionhearted, bore the pride of her royal lineage with quiet authority.
The emblem of their house was the lion; wherever a banner bearing its fierce visage was seen, one would know they stood within Morazana.
Morazana was no ordinary realm.
It was a town steeped in ancient power, inhabited by sorcerers and witches—deadly, disciplined, and unforgiving.
Within its dominion lay six villages, each bound by loyalty to the Lion Throne.
«Drakmire – A swamp-ridden village where poisonous vapors linger and shadowy figures stalk travelers. Its inhabitants are known for mastering venomous magic and deadly traps.
»Zarveth – Cloaked in permanent twilight, home to dark sorcery.
«Krythval – Known for its brutal rites and cursed forests.
»Morvath –Remote and feared, where forbidden magic is law.
»Tharvok – Tharvok is feared for the dark rituals performed in its abandoned temples. Many say it is a place where reality itself bends.
»Varkholm– Where mercy is forbidden, the people are ruthless and unyielding, their hearts as cold as stone, as the saying goes.
From the moment they are born, their fates are sealed.
They do not fear death; rather, death itself fears to claim them. This is the village where the king resides, where the grand palace stands, and where the deadliest magic in all of Morazana is practiced.
King Leontius Valemont was married to two women: Queen Seraphina, his lawfully wedded wife, and Queen Evelyne, his concubine.
While Queen Seraphina held the official title of queen, it was Queen Evelyne who bore him the heir apparent to the throne: Crown Prince Kaelric of Galveston.
King Leonthuis and his wife gave birth to twin daughters, Princess Isadora and Princess Ismeria, who became the eldest children in the palace.
The king's youngest daughter, Princess Arabella, was born to Queen Evelyne.
Though the youngest, she was by far the strongest and most formidable among the daughters.
Atop the mountain cave of Calvaston, a tall figure stood with his hands folded behind him.
His long hair fell past his knees, and he was clad in black and gold royal robes.
His eyes remained fixed on the scene before him: a white dragon and a red dragon locked in a deadly battle in the sky, hurling fire and ice at one another.
His expression was unreadable, calm amid the chaos raging above.
Prince Kaelric was the master of the red dragon, while the white dragon belonged to his sister, Princess Arabella.
Their dragons fought constantly, their clashes fierce and unending. Neither Kaelric nor Arabella knew the reason behind the deep-seated hatred between the creatures.
Yet, one day, the truth would finally be revealed.
"Your Highness," his personal guard bowed from behind. Kealric did not speak or acknowledge him, his eyes remaining fixed on the battling dragons above.
"There's a rumor spreading that Prince Duncan Tharagon of Albaton has found his Moon and escaped his chamber," Leofric reported, bowing respectfully.
"Which means the Silver Stone is somewhere within the palace walls, Your Highness."
Kaelric's lips curled into a smirk, one eyebrow arching as he turned slightly to regard him.
"His Moon appeared?" Kaelric asked, his tone sharp.
Leofric bowed even lower, silent in acknowledgment.
Kaelric scoffed, then returned his gaze to the battling dragons, now entwined midair, their bodies coiling around one another as their horns clashed with thunderous force.
"Have you found out her name? Where she's from? What she looks like?" Kaelric asked, his gaze still fixed on the dragons.
Leofric stepped forward and produced a sheet of parchment, upon which a portrait of Thailra had been drawn.
He held it out toward the prince.
Kaelric glanced at it briefly before taking it from him. As his eyes traveled over the image, they widened, betraying a flicker of something rare—surprise.
"You mean… she's his Moon?" he asked, eyes wide in disbelief. Leofric bowed even lower, silent.
Kaelric could hardly believe what he was seeing.
His fingers clenched the parchment so tightly the paper creased beneath them. Veins throbbed along his neck, beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his ears flushed a deep red.
Every instinct in him screamed—anger, disbelief, and the need to act.
"Thaira….."
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"What? You intend to travel to Ashkaroth for six months? For what—for that girl?" Lady Evelyne demanded angrily.
Prince Kaelric knelt before her, his expression unreadable.
Lady Evelyne Venmora, though merely a concubine, commanded more respect than the Queen herself.
A black sorceress from the village of Krythval, she was as deadly as she was venomous.
It was said that her blood carried poison potent enough to kill any living being within a single minute.
She kept many creatures as pets—venomous snakes of every kind.
Yet none could harm her. If a serpent dared to bite her, it would be the snake that perished instead, for her blood was lethal to most creatures that dared to taste it.
"Do you have any idea what you've just said?" Lady Evelyne asked, her voice cold and cutting.
"You intend to travel to Ashkaroth? And for what, exactly? Do you wish for them to kill you with their Six Eclipses of Souls, Kaelric?"
Her eyes flashed with restrained fury.
"Do you truly believe our Nine crescent powers are anywhere near the power of their Six Eclipses of Souls?" she demanded, her tone sharpening with anger.
"Mother, please permit me to go," Kaelric said, bowing his head respectfully.
"I will return safely. I only wish to confirm something. Once I have my answer, I will come back at once. I am not going there to fight—I only seek the truth. Please, Mother… I will travel in disguise."
Lady Evelyne's fists clenched tightly at her sides as she glared at him, her piercing gaze heavy with anger and fear.
"Please, Mother," Kealric said softly.
Lady Evelyne Venmora closed her eyes, drawing in a slow, steady breath as though restraining the storm rising within her.
For a brief moment, the room was utterly silent. When she opened them again, the fury in her gaze had dimmed—though it had not vanished.
She turned away from him, the hem of her dark gown whispering across the marble floor.
"Very well," she said at last. "You may go."
Her tone hardened once more.
"But you will carry my protection with you. I will prepare a binding charm—one tied to your life force. If your heart falters, I will know. If your blood spills, I will feel it."
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes glinting like poisoned emeralds.
"Do not mistake my permission for trust in your plan. I allow this only because I know you will go regardless of my command."
A faint, dangerous smile touched her lips.
"And if Ashkaroth dares to touch a single hair on your head… they will learn why Krythval's witches are feared."
Kealric's lips curved into a dark, knowing smirk as he lifted his gaze to meet hers.
Their eyes locked—mother and son, bound not only by blood, but by ambition and shadow.
That was the reason he would forever love her.
Her ruthlessness. Her power. Her unwavering devotion to him.
The only other woman who held a fragment of his loyalty was his aunt—his mother's twin—equally formidable, equally feared.
But even she did not command his heart the way Evelyne did.
He would go to Ashkaroth.
And he would take what rightfully belonged to him.
The mere thought deepened the darkness in his expression. His smirk sharpened, no longer touched by hesitation—only by resolve.
Ashkaroth believed they possessed the silver stone.
Ashkaroth believed they had claimed his moon.
They were wrong.
And soon, they would learn that nothing stolen from Morazana—nothing stolen from Kealric—remained out of his grasp for long.
"You will travel in disguise," she continued, her voice steadier now.
"No royal banners. No dragon bearing our crest. You are not the Crown Prince of Morazana—you are a wandering noble seeking trade"
"Yes—mother"
As long as she had granted his permission, the King's opinion no longer mattered.
When Lady Evelyne Venmora spoke, her will became law—unwritten, unquestioned, and absolute. Even the throne bent, subtly and silently, to the weight of her influence.
That was another reason he would forever cherish his mother.
In the palace, the King wore the crown… but it was Evelyne who commanded fear. And in Morazana, fear was far more powerful than authority.
Kealric's smirk deepened, dark satisfaction settling into his features.
With her blessing, nothing could bar his path.
Ashkaroth awaited him.
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«QUEEN– SERAPHINA»
"The Crown Prince will be traveling to Ashkaroth soon?" Queen Seraphina asked, her gaze shifting toward her daughters, Isadora and Ismeria.
They knelt before her, hands folded neatly beneath their laps, their long hair adorned with gleaming flowers that tumbled all the way to their waists.
Identical in every way, it was almost impossible to tell them apart.
They both nodded in unison.
Queen Seraphina's eyes widened, and a single eyebrow arched in surprise, her expression carefully controlled yet betraying a flicker of concern.
Queen Seraphina was unlike any other witch in Morazana.
Though she possessed the blood of a black sorceress, she was rarely seen performing rituals or weaving spells.
If there were a way to strip herself of her abilities entirely, she would have done so without hesitation.
She despised the weight of magic—the darkness it invited, the conflicts it stirred, the blood it had cost.
"Have you both discovered the reason he has suddenly decided to travel to Ashkaroth?" Queen Seraphina asked quietly.
They shook their heads.
"Ashkaroth is no ordinary land. It is powerful—far more powerful than Morazana. Our Nine Crescent Powers are no match for their Six Eclipse of Souls. Within their grasp, even the strongest witches become powerless."
Her voice lowered, edged with concern.
"If he goes there openly, bearing his true identity, Duncan—that beast—will tear him apart without hesitation. And now that he has been released, it can only mean one thing: he knows exactly where the Silver Stone lies."
She paused, her gaze darkening.
"The eclipse of the sun that occurred hours ago… it signifies only one truth. He has found his Moon."
The twins exchanged uncertain glances, blinking repeatedly, their young minds struggling to comprehend the gravity of her words.
"You both remember what happened when the first eclipse occurred, do you not?" Queen Seraphina asked softly.
The twins' eyes widened at once.
A slow, knowing smile curved upon the Queen's lips as the pieces fell into place within her mind.
"Thailra Alvarez of Tulsan," she murmured.
The twins gasped, their hands flying to their mouths in shock. Queen Seraphina's smile deepened, calm yet unsettling.
"The late princess… survived?" they asked in unison.
Queen Seraphina gave a subtle nod.
The sisters exchanged another wide-eyed glance before turning back to their mother. Unhurried, she lifted her cup, gently blowing across its surface before bringing it to her lips and taking a measured sip.
"The late princess… is Prince Duncan's Moon?" they whispered together, disbelief evident in their voices.
Queen Seraphina lowered her cup slowly, her gaze distant and thoughtful.
"Fate," she said quietly, "has a cruel sense of humor."
The twins remained frozen in place.
"But Mother," Ismeria insisted, her voice trembling slightly, "we witnessed her death. She was burned to ashes. She died from a poisoned arrow. Duncan's Moon cannot be her. It is impossible for someone to rise from the dead when her body was reduced to ash."
Isadora nodded firmly in agreement.
Queen Seraphina regarded them calmly.
"What you witnessed," she said evenly, "was a body consumed by fire. But the soul does not burn so easily."
The twins fell silent.
"Princess Thailra was born in Ashkaroth," Seraphina continued. "She died in Morazana. Yet a soul always returns to where it truly belongs. Her spirit was never meant to remain here."
She set her embroidery aside, her gaze growing distant as she spoke of ancient history.
"You have both studied the chronicles of Tulsan Village. They were the first to discover the Silver Stone… and the first to awaken the Six Eclipse of Souls. Azreal Regathor—of Tulsan—was the only being in recorded history to ascend to the Ten Dominion Powers of the Soul."
The twins swallowed hard.
"And Thailra," Seraphina went on, her voice lowering, "is of that same bloodline. The daughter of Gulvan and Quinet Alvarez—the power couple who first laid their hands upon the Silver Stone."
A heavy silence filled the chamber.
"Do you truly believe," she asked softly, "that such a lineage would allow their daughter to perish so easily?"
The twins shook their heads in disbelief. Queen Seraphina merely nodded, lifting her cup once more and taking a slow, measured sip.
"Her body was reduced to ashes," Isadora said carefully, exchanging a glance with her sister, who nodded in agreement. "If her soul returned to Ashkaroth… how did she regain a body?"
They turned their questioning eyes back to their mother.
Queen Seraphina lowered her cup gently onto its saucer, a faint smile playing upon her lips.
"There are powers," she began calmly, "that transcend flesh and bone. In Ashkaroth, the soul is not bound as it is here. When a soul of great lineage returns to its homeland—especially one touched by the Silver Stone—it does not wander without form."
The twins listened intently.
"The Silver Stone is not merely an object of strength," she continued. "It is a relic of restoration. It remembers. It rebuilds. It shapes the vessel anew for the soul it has claimed."
Ismeria's breath caught. "You mean… it gave her another body?"
Seraphina's eyes glimmered with quiet certainty.
"Not another," she corrected softly. "The same essence—reborn through power older than Morazana itself."
A hush settled over the room.
"In Ashkaroth," she added, "death is not always the end. For those chosen by the Eclipse… it is merely a passage."
The twins swallowed hard, their throats tightening as the weight of the revelation settled upon them.
Their fingers curled into tight fists against their laps, knuckles paling under the strain.
A thin sheen of perspiration gathered along their temples, trailing slowly down their skin despite the cool air within the chamber.
Fear was not an emotion easily entertained in Morazana—yet this was no ordinary matter.
If Princess Thailra had truly returned… then the balance between Morazana and Ashkaroth had already begun to shift.
And neither of them knew whether that shift would bring salvation—or ruin.
Seraphina rose slowly and walked toward the tall arched window. Beyond it, Morazana stretched beneath a dim sky, its towers dark and proud.
"If Thailra has awakened as Duncan's Moon, then the Six Eclipse of Souls will grow stronger. The bond between Moon and Eclipse amplifies power beyond imagination. And if the Silver Stone has truly chosen her…"
She paused.
"Then Ashkaroth will no longer be merely powerful. It will become unstoppable."
"And Morazana?" Ismeria asked quietly.
A faint smirk touched Queen Seraphina's lips. Isadora swallowed hard beside her.
"Morazana," Seraphina began, her voice calm yet edged with truth, "is a realm of dark sorcery. We thrive on rituals, blood-bound spells, and shadows shaped by will. Our power is formidable—but it is crafted."
She paused briefly.
"Ashkaroth, however, is the cradle of ancient forces. Their strength is not conjured—it is inherited. It flows through bloodlines, through the soul itself."
Her gaze sharpened.
"The smallest fragment of power drawn from the Silver Stone could reduce nations to dust. That is why the five towns wage silent wars to claim it. Not merely for dominance… but for survival."
The twins felt a chill settle over them.
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«NEXT—DAY»
«ASHKAROTH—ALBATON PALACE»
Thailra's eyes fluttered open.
For a fleeting moment, they shimmered an unfamiliar blue—bright and luminous—before gradually clearing to their natural hue.
The first thing she saw was a wooden ceiling above her, carved with ancient patterns unfamiliar to her memory.
She shifted slightly, her hand brushing against the surface beneath her.
The bed was undeniably soft—far softer than anything she remembered. Slowly, she pushed herself upright, her long hair falling around her shoulders in a wild, disheveled cascade.
Then it came rushing back.
Fragments of the previous night flashed violently through her mind—voices, shadows, heat, a presence far too close.
She still couldn't believe that the demon prince from a thousand years ago was the same Carlos she had known.
She wondered how she had ended up here—this was definitely a royal chamber.
Then she remembered how he had been strangling her, and the next thing she recalled was the maddening voice, how she had pressed her lips against his lips, and everything that followed.
Did that mean she had just cheated on Daniel?
Her eyes widened.
She glanced down at herself—and froze.
She was completely naked.
A sharp breath caught in her throat as she snatched the duvet, pulling it tightly around her body. Her fingers trembled slightly as she scanned the unfamiliar chamber.
The room was vast and dimly lit, adorned with dark wooden beams and heavy iquiet, lingering power.
The door swung open, and Duncan stepped inside, clad in full royal attire. His long hair fell past his waist, and his hands were folded neatly behind him.
Thailra's breath caught in her throat.
The face before her—so familiar, so impossibly the same—made her stomach twist. It wasn't a dream after all.
Duncan's gaze locked onto hers as he began to walk forward. Instinctively, she tightened her grip on the duvet, pressing it closer to her body.
Then, with the snap of his fingers, the duvet vanished.
Thailra's eyes widened in shock. She scrambled to cover herself, crossing her legs and clutching herself desperately.
Duncan's lips curled into a dark, knowing smirk, his gaze unwavering.
"And what exactly are you hiding that I haven't already seen?" Duncan asked, his voice deep and commanding, each word vibrating with authority.
Thailra swallowed hard, pressing herself closer to the bed, covering her chest with trembling hands. She dared not look at him.
"What we had last night… was only a fling," she said, her voice tight and hurried. "I'm not in love with you. Let's just call it… a one-night thing. Nothing more, Your Highness."
She gulped down the heat rising in her throat, trying to steady her racing pulse.
Duncan let out a dry, low chuckle, the sound reverberating in the room like a warning.
Before she could react, a force seemed to seize her, drawing her forward against her will. Her legs moved of their own accord, carrying her closer to him, until she was nearly within his shadow.
Her eyes widened in panic.
"What—what are you doing?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
"What does it look like? You made the move last night, and this morning you told me to forget about it and treat it as a one-night stand—when you have my seed inside you?" Duncan said.
Her eyes widened as her chest pressed against his, and his hand went to her hip. He grabbed her and pulled her closer, and the force made her breasts bounce.
Her eyes widened even more.
"You have my seed," he said coldly. "In weeks, it will become a being, and you think I'll let you treat what happened last night as a one-night stand? And did you just say you don't love me? Do I look like a man who exists on this planet for love? You have my seed—that means you'll bear my child, and you'll rule the throne with me. I spilled my seed inside you because it was destined to be."
She swallowed hard, her heart pounding.
He grabbed her ass and squeezed it, and she bit her lip, staring deeply into his eyes.
"You're that desperate for a child that you need me to spill my seed in you? I'll flush it out once it starts to become a being… I promise," she muttered, swallowing hard.
His smirk darkened as he leaned closer to her face.
"I dare you to do it," he said, "and you'll bear the consequences. After all, you made the first move last night, and you were moaning so loudly that the sky couldn't help but answer with thunder. That reminds me—fail to answer this question correctly, and you'll regret ever crossing paths with me."
He pulled her closer by her ass.
She bit her lip, wavering, her heart pounding in fear as she wondered what he wanted to ask.
"You kept screaming one name throughout our…make out. Who the heck is Carlos?" His voice was cold and hard.
"Carlos was never a name," she whispered, swallowing hard. "In Tulsan, Carlos means… gentle."
Her forehead was dotted with beads of sweat as she locked eyes with him. He smiled—a cold, almost cruel smile—leaning even closer to her face.
"And you think I'll believe that?" he murmured, his words brushing against her lips. The heat of his breath sent chills down her spine.
She swallowed hard and pressed a single finger against his chest, forcing him to pause. Her eyes held his as she drew him back slightly, her pulse racing.
"Carlos… does it truly mean what you claim, or is it just a name—someone I remind you of?"
Duncan's eyes drilled into her, piercing through her very soul.
Her eyes widened, heart hammering, and his smirk deepened.
"Your lover?" he added, his voice low and dangerous.
Thailra swallowed hard, hot, invisible beads of sweat sliding down her face.
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