All Chapters of Luna’s Rebellion : Chapter 241 - Chapter 250

Elara The tremor rolls through the blackened earth again, harder this time. The fractured ground splits like torn parchment, dust pluming into the starless air. Kael doesn’t move. Doesn’t even glance back at me. He just stands there—barefoot on broken stone, golden light breathing off him like heat from a forge. And then— The sky screams. Not thunder. Not wind. A shriek that rakes the marrow from my bones, bending the horizon like a blade. I spin toward the sound— And freeze. They’re crawling out of the cracks. Dozens of them. Then hundreds. Things made of bone and void, their limbs bent at angles that make my stomach lurch. Skin stretched too thin over frames too long. Empty sockets burning with something not-fire, not-shadow—just hunger. Their claws scrape against the broken glass of the plain as they drag themselves free, one after another, their mouths yawning wide enough to split their skulls. Gods. The Woken. I thought they were just stories. Warnings whispered in

Elara Lucious hits like a star falling. His blade arcs gold, cutting through the dark, bright enough to sear the edges of my vision. Power ripples off him in waves, enough to make the air crackle, enough to make the shattered earth hum beneath my boots. Kael meets him with nothing but his bare hands. And gods help me— It’s enough. The clash detonates. Light against light, gold against gold—but Kael’s glow burns different. Wilder. Not sunlight, not clean. It’s molten and raw, like the heart of a forge that’s been let off its chain. Lucious’s strike should have cleaved him in two. Kael catches the blade with one hand. The impact ripples the ground, sends cracks spidering through the plain. My knees almost buckle. Lucious’s eyes widen, just for a fraction of a second—before Kael twists. Steel screams. Lucious flies back, wings snapping wide to slow his fall, but it’s not enough. He crashes hard, skidding across glassy stone, his blade torn from his grip. And Kael— Kael doe

Elara The first thing I taste is iron. The second is ash. When I drag in a breath, it scrapes like glass down my throat, and the air stinks of something burning—something holy, something that should never burn. It smells like prayers turned to smoke. The world is wrong. I feel it before I see it. The bond in my chest doesn’t hum anymore. It howls. A raw, endless scream that vibrates in bone and blood until I want to tear my own heart out just to make it stop. It’s too loud, too deep, and it’s him—but not him. Not the Kael I knew. This is something older. Hungrier. I push myself upright and almost black out. My hands skid through what used to be marble—now nothing but shattered white dust, streaked with veins of darkness that pulse faintly like open wounds. Every vein throbs like a heartbeat, slow and cruel. The ground is warm, as if something alive crawls beneath it. The Sanctum is gone. The city beyond it, too—I can feel the absence like a hole in the sky. Where there should be

Elara The Ashen Road doesn’t end so much as disintegrate. By the time we collapse behind a jagged wall of stone—if stone even means anything in this place—my lungs are fire, my legs are shaking, and my mind is shattered glass. Lucious slams his back to the wall, sword in hand, chest heaving like a bellows. Light seeps from the cracks in his armor, dim and raw. He’s burning out. Seris doesn’t even look winded. She crouches low, blades gleaming black, scanning the nothing around us with eyes like a hawk scenting blood. Her voice slices sharp. “That thing—what was it?” Lucious answers without looking at her. “Not a thing.” His jaw grinds like a whetstone. “A herald.” Herald. The word coils cold in my gut. “For what?” My voice is wrecked, torn raw by running and the bond and the terror still rattling my bones. Neither of them answers. Not at first. Because the void answers for them. It shifts. The ashen ground ripples like silk, and from the blackness rise figures—ta

Elara The Ashen Road bleeds under my feet. Not with blood, but with memory. Every step I take grinds the bones of what was into dust—fragments of cities, echoes of voices, scraps of myself I didn’t know I could lose. It’s quiet here. Too quiet. No roar of void, no screams of worlds unraveling. Just the sound of my breath and the slow, steady unraveling of everything I thought I was. And then— The visions begin. At first, they’re thin as smoke. My mother’s laugh. The taste of summer fruit on my tongue. A child’s voice—mine—singing some long-forgotten lullaby. I reach for them, but they dissolve like mist. Then Kael. Not the Kael I left bleeding in the shadows, not the Kael whose hunger I feel in my marrow now—but Kael as he was that night under the obsidian sky, firelight curling across his jaw, his hand warm against mine. “Elara,” he whispers, and I almost fall to my knees. Because it’s not the Throne’s voice. Not yet. It’s his. But when I blink, the image splits—Kael at the