Chapter Sixty-Five

Beneath Two Worlds

The journey east took three days under twin skies.

By dawn, gold light flooded the valleys; by night, silver washed the land clean again. Between those hours, the faint pulse of crimson shimmered on the horizon—the Blood Moon rising before its time.

Selene felt it tugging at her with every step. It wasn’t malevolent this time, not yet. It was calling.

Kaen led the way through a canyon where cliffs glittered like obsidian mirrors. The child walked beside Selene, quieter since the attack, one hand pressed to the faint scar on its shoulder.

“Why does the moon bleed again?” it asked softly.

Selene glanced upward. “Because balance remembers its wounds.”

They reached the place at sunset—a valley split cleanly in half by light and shadow. At its center stood what remained of the original Blood Moon temple: cracked marble, stone pillars webbed with vines, and a single altar carved with symbols that shifted between Lucien’s sigils and Kimberly’s runes.

The ground still hummed with dormant power. When Selene stepped inside, the mark on her chest flared.

Kaen growled low.

The child followed cautiously. “It feels… familiar.”

“It should,” Selene murmured. “This is where your ancestors ended the first war.”

They moved through the hall. The air shimmered, and faint echoes began to whisper along the walls—Kimberly’s voice first, soft and steady.

Balance must hold…

Then Lucien’s: Light without shadow devours itself.

Selene closed her eyes. “They’re still here.”

The child looked around. “Are they angry?”

“No,” she said. “Just watching.”

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They stopped at the altar. The carvings there glowed faintly red, then gold, then black. Selene reached out and laid her hand upon the surface. It was warm—alive.

A pulse answered from deep within the earth.

The temple floor rippled like water, and a beam of light shot upward, splitting into three colors—silver, black, and gold. The Heart inside her responded with a heavy thrum.

Kaen snarled, backing away.

The child shielded its eyes. “What is it?”

“The rift,” Selene whispered. “The very first one. It never truly closed.”

The beam solidified, forming a circle of energy that floated above the altar. Inside it, images shifted: Kimberly facing Mona; Lucien holding the dying light; their hands joined in sacrifice.

Then the scene changed. It showed Selene herself, crossing the veil, awakening the Heart, creating the child.

And beneath all of it—a deeper darkness, a void that watched every act, patient, waiting.

Selene felt cold. “That’s what the Heart meant. Creation and destruction share a pulse.”

The child stepped closer to the circle. Its glow reflected in their eyes. “Then the void was never gone. It just learned to wait.”

Selene reached for its hand. “Don’t go near it.”

But the being moved forward anyway, drawn as if by gravity. “If it’s waiting, it’s waiting for me.”

“Because you’re its heir,” Selene said quickly. “Not its enemy, but its next chance.”

The beam flared brighter. The floor cracked. A column of shadow shot upward, forming a shape—half-human, half something far older. Its voice echoed through the hall.

So the child of the Heart finally returns.

Selene stepped in front of the child, hands raised. “Stay behind me.”

The shadow laughed softly, a sound like collapsing stone. Do you know what you carry, Luna? You think the Heart obeys you? It only waits to be whole again.

“You were born from the void’s hunger,” Selene said. “That ended when Kimberly gave her life.”

Nothing ends, the figure said. You opened the path again. You built a bridge and called it balance.

Its gaze fell on the child. And you… you are the bridge made flesh.

The child trembled but didn’t step back. “If I am the bridge, then I decide who crosses.”

Light burst from its chest—gold, silver, and black all at once. The shadow recoiled, hissing.

Selene seized the moment. She joined her hands with the child’s, their powers merging into a single torrent that struck the altar.

The beam fractured into thousands of shards of light that scattered through the temple like falling stars. The shadow screamed as it dissolved into mist.

Then silence.

The gold faded. The air grew still.

Selene fell to her knees, gasping. “It’s gone.”

The child crouched beside her. “For now.”

She looked up. “For now?”

“It will return,” it said softly. “As long as creation remembers to dream.”

Kaen padded closer, resting his head against her arm. The gesture grounded her.

Selene rose slowly. The temple walls still hummed, but the tremor had quieted. The rift above the altar had sealed into a smooth disk of light.

She reached out and touched it. It was cool now, calm.

“We didn’t destroy it,” she said. “We changed it.”

The child nodded. “Balance always becomes something new.”

Selene turned toward the doorway. “Then our work isn’t finished. Every rift that’s opened will need healing.”

Kaen barked once, as if in agreement.

The child smiled. “Where will we start?”

Selene looked back one last time at the temple—where her ancestors had ended one story and begun another. “Everywhere,” she said. “We’ll start everywhere.”

And together, they stepped out beneath the twin suns and the steady, watchful moon—

leaving behind the ruins of the old world,

and walking toward the dawn of the next.