Chapter 99

Dawn crept slowly, painting the horizon with pale hues of silver and rose. Yet within Dawnspire’s fractured walls, the morning brought no peace. The fortress still echoed with the screams of the wounded, and the stones still bled with the memory of shadow and fire.

Serenya awoke to the weight of silence. Her body ached, her chest felt hollow, and when her eyes opened, she realized she was lying in the high chamber of the keep. A thin veil of starlight lingered on her skin, fading with every breath.

Kaelen sat at her bedside, his dark cloak discarded, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He had not slept. When she stirred, his hand clasped hers instantly, as though afraid she would vanish again.

“You came back,” he whispered. His voice carried both relief and disbelief.

Serenya tried to speak, but only a rasp came. “I thought… I was gone.”

“You almost were.” Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “You burned so brightly I thought the stars themselves would swallow you. But you held on.”

Held on—but only barely. Even now, she could feel the hollowness where the light had poured through her. Her bloodline had demanded a price, and she knew it had not finished collecting.

A creak at the doorway drew their attention. Eloria Thorne entered, her crimson gown tattered beyond recognition, her face pale but her posture sharp. Behind her limped Darian Crestfall, leaning on a crutch, his armor dented and his eyes carrying both pain and determination.

“The field is ours,” Eloria announced. “Thalric is gone, his shadows broken. But victory has left us with nothing but ruins. The kingdom is bleeding, Serenya.”

Serenya forced herself upright despite Kaelen’s protest. “Then we must bind it before it dies.”

Darian’s gaze softened, though grief flickered in his eyes. “The people already call you queen. They whisper it in the halls, even as they bury their kin. They need a crown, Serenya, even if it rests on weary shoulders.”

A cold shiver traced her spine. A crown. A word she had fled for half her life, now offered to her like both salvation and a noose.

Outside the keep, the devastation stretched across the horizon. Blackened fields, toppled towers, and smoke curling from pyres lit for the fallen. Yet even in ruin, hope flickered. Survivors worked side by side—peasants, knights, healers—patching walls, carrying the wounded, whispering prayers to the stars.

Maelis Rowan, the seer, stood among them. Though her body shook with fatigue, her blind eyes turned to the heavens, lips moving in silent rhythm. When Serenya approached, she stilled.

“You’ve passed through shadow and flame,” Maelis murmured. “But the eclipse is not yet complete.”

Serenya frowned. “Thalric is gone. What else remains?”

“The shadow is never bound to one man alone,” Maelis said softly. “It is a tide. It waits. It hungers. And in the moment of coronation, it will strike again. That is the true eclipse.”

The words chilled her, but before she could speak, Kaelen’s hand steadied her back. His expression was unreadable, though his voice was low. “Then we prepare.”

By nightfall, the great hall of Dawnspire was restored as best as hands could manage. Tattered banners were rehung, bloodstains scrubbed from the tiles, and a dais raised at the far end where once the throne had stood. The people gathered, voices hushed, faces lit with the glow of hundreds of candles.

Serenya stood at the threshold, her pulse quickening. Every step toward the dais felt heavier than the last, though Kaelen’s presence at her side was an anchor. Darian limped behind them, sword still at his hip, while Eloria moved with her usual sharp grace, her gaze fixed forward.

Whispers filled the hall as Serenya passed:

“The hidden heiress…”

“Our queen…”

“Light of the stars…”

The words pressed against her skin like chains and wings all at once.

When she reached the dais, silence fell.

Eloria stepped forward, lifting the circlet that had survived the siege—the broken crown, reforged hastily by trembling smiths. Its edges still bore scars, but it gleamed faintly in the candlelight.

“Eloria,” Serenya whispered, eyes widening.

Her rival met her gaze, and for once her smile was not sharp but solemn. “You once stole a dance from me. Tonight, I return it with a crown. Wear it, Serenya Vale, and bind this kingdom before it unravels.”

Serenya’s breath caught. She turned her gaze to Kaelen, who stood steady, his dark eyes searching hers. He said nothing—but his hand tightened briefly on hers, a silent vow: whatever choice she made, he would not leave her.

And so she knelt.

The crown descended.

But the moment the metal touched her brow, the air split.

Shadows poured from the cracks of the hall like smoke made flesh. Candles sputtered out, plunging the chamber into chaos. Gasps and screams filled the air as darkness twisted into clawed forms, more terrible than those they had faced before.

The Eternal Eclipse had begun.

Serenya staggered under the crown’s weight as the shadows surged toward her. Kaelen drew his blade, placing himself between her and the tide. Darian roared, forcing his broken body into the fray. Eloria struck with dagger and fury, cutting shadows that reformed as fast as they fell.

Maelis’s voice rose above the storm, sharp and desperate: “It is not steel that will end them—Serenya, it is you! The eclipse demands heart for heart, blood for blood!”

Her words carved into Serenya’s chest like a blade. She understood—the crown had bound her to a choice. To claim it fully, to shatter the eclipse, she must give the one thing she had always feared to lose.

Her heart.

Kaelen turned to her, his blade dripping with shadow. His eyes found hers through the chaos, fierce and unyielding. “Don’t listen—there must be another way!”

But Serenya felt the truth in her bones. She was heir, queen, and starborn flame. And the eclipse would only end if she gave herself wholly—no half measures, no disguises, no hiding.

Her voice trembled as she whispered to him, “Then promise me, Kaelen—if I burn, you will not let it be in vain.”

His face broke, a crack in the shadow of his resolve. “Serenya—”

The shadows howled, closing in. The crown pulsed on her brow. The hall trembled with the weight of choice.

And Serenya rose, her hand pressed to her chest, light beginning to bleed from her skin once more.

The eclipse awaited her sacrifice.