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Chapter 187: The Pulse In The Dark

Penulis: Nana A
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-09-02 05:46:34

Elara

The storm begins hours before it reaches us.

It isn’t a storm of rain.

Not at first.

It’s a pulse—a low, trembling hum that runs through the marrow of the world like a warning bell only I can hear.

I’m in the high spire of Solara’s citadel when it comes, staring out at the city of light sprawling beneath the glass walls like a constellation carved from living fire.

Perfect.

Blinding.

So different from the Abyss that it almost hurts to look at.

And then the hum comes again—stronger this time.

And my heart stops.

No.

Not possible.

Not now.

But the bond is a cruel thing.

You can bury it.

You can choke it.

You can smother it under years of silence and oceans of blood—

But when it wakes, it wakes hungry.

The pulse rolls through me like thunder in my veins, and suddenly the glass walls feel too thin.

The air feels too bright.

My lungs feel like they’ve forgotten how to breathe.

Kael.

I grip the balustrade hard enough to crack the glass.

It splinters under my fi
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  • Luna’s Rebellion    Chapter 214: The Core Hungers

    Elara Pain isn’t the right word. Pain belongs to bodies, and I’m not sure I have one anymore. I’m all light and fracture, a scream stretched into infinity, every thought peeling away from itself like burning paper. The Core wraps around me—threads coiling tighter, dragging pieces of me apart only to stitch them back wrong, too bright, too sharp. I taste copper and starlight. My own name slithers out of my grip like a snake shedding its skin. Choose, the voice says again, smooth as glass cracking under frost. Choose, little fracture. Break, or bind. Which will you be? “Bind what?” My words flutter into the void like dead moths. The Core hums—a sound like a thousand heartbeats collapsing into one. Everything. The Weave unravels. You can hold it, if you take the shape we give you. If you stop pretending to be small. Images pour into me like floodwater. Worlds twisting apart. Threads snapping, screaming. Shadows spilling into places that were never meant to hold them. And

  • Luna’s Rebellion    Chapter 213: Fractures In The Thread

    Elara Falling shouldn’t feel like this. It isn’t wind tearing past me, or weight dragging me down. It’s like being pulled through silk—soft, clinging, endless. Like the world forgot what “down” means, so it decided to fold me into itself instead. Light flashes. Not gold, not silver—something older. Something that hums like blood remembering how to burn. And then— I stop. Not because I hit ground. Because the falling stops falling. I’m floating in a place that isn’t a place. The air isn’t air. It’s a weave of threads—thousands, millions—stretching in every direction, vanishing into black and white and colors that shouldn’t exist. Some threads glow. Some bleed shadow. Some flicker like dying stars. And in the center of it all, I see it. The Core. It’s not a thing you can touch. It’s a pulse. A heartbeat too big for sound, thrumming through every thread until my bones vibrate with it. And gods— It feels like me. Like every piece of me that ever broke just snap

  • Luna’s Rebellion    Chapter 212: The Silence Between Heartbeats

    Elara The first thing I notice is the quiet. Not peace. Never peace. Just the kind of quiet that comes after a scream so loud it tears the sky apart—when the world hasn’t yet decided if it’s dead or just holding its breath. I’m on my knees in a field of glass. Shards glitter under me like a broken star, and every edge is wet with my blood. My reflection stares back in a thousand jagged fragments—eyes hollow, lips cracked, face smeared with smoke and tears. Kael lies a few feet away, sprawled on his side like a fallen titan. Shadows still cling to his skin in trembling wisps, twitching as if they can’t stand being without him. He’s pale. Too pale. His chest barely moves. And the worst part? I can’t feel the bond. Not humming. Not screaming. Nothing. Like someone carved it out of me with a blade too sharp to leave a scar. “Kael.” My voice is a thread—thin, frayed, ready to snap. No answer. I crawl to him on hands slick with my own blood, the glass biting deeper wit

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