Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

The journey to the Crimson Hold was shrouded in fog.They rode beneath a sky veiled in clouds; the light dimmed even at midday. No birds sang here. No wind stirred the pines. The land itself held its breath, as though aware that something ancient and hungry had been roused.Elara sat astride her dark mare, cloak pulled tight around her, hood drawn. Beside her, Lucien rode with the ease of a predator returning to familiar ground. His expression was unreadable, though his eyes often flicked to her, watchful, calculating, almost protective.She didn’t speak. She was still learning that silence could be armor.At the gates of the vampire stronghold—Crimson Hold—rows of pale-faced guards stood in ceremonial stillness; silver halberds crossed in greeting. Or warning.The gates opened without a word.Inside, darkness welcomed them.The Crimson Hold was unlike anything Elara had seen.Where Moonstone Keep was carved from gray mountain stone, practical and fortified, the Hold was decadence wra

Legends call it the soul of fire itself.Forged in the breath of the last true dragon and quenched in the blood of the first hybrid queen, the Flame of Virelith was never merely a weapon. It was will made manifest. A fire that thought. A force that remembered. A hunger that judged.It had no fixed shape. No true form. It chose whom it would bind itself to, and those it rejected, were reduced to ash.For centuries, the Flame slumbered in the core of the Dragon’s Teeth, the jagged black peaks that once crowned the sky like the fangs of gods. Beneath their stone roots lay ruins, scorched temples, skeletal halls, ghosts of a kingdom undone by arrogance and war. The Great Purge had ended everything: the dragons, the old alliances, the dream of a world where Lycan and Vampire bled side by side for peace.But the Flame had survived.And tonight, it stirred.Elara Moonstone stood at the foot of the temple, the wind lashing her cloak around her legs, her silver circlet glinting like frost aga

The Flame of Virelith had not spoken since the temple.It lived within Elara now, pulsing like a second heart beneath her skin. Sometimes it stirred, when danger approached, or when her blood was high with emotion, but mostly, it slept, a dragon's breath curled tight in her chest.Until tonight. She stood alone in the sanctum beneath Moonstone Keep. The chamber was once used for rituals of moon-binding and blood-pledging, long forgotten by time. Now, it belonged to her alone. The stone walls hummed softly, and the silver glyphs she’d carved herself with trembling hands glowed faintly with power. In the center, the flame flickered.Not in her chest.Not hidden.It had risen.Like it had something to say.Elara stepped closer, barefoot; her cloak draped loosely over her shoulders. The air around the flame was thick and warm, alive. She knelt. The flame pulsed once. Then again. And then it opened.Not in fire, but in memory. A crack split down the center of its glow, and from within

The wind in the Vault of Virelith howled like a grieving god.It swept through the dragon-maw archways, curling like breath across the ancient glyphs that pulsed with color and memory. The temple, carved high into the frozen breast of Eldoria’s tallest peak, was a monument to fire buried in frost, a contradiction of warmth and ruin. Snow clung to the outer ledges, but within, the air shimmered with a trapped heat, not warmth, not comfort, but a fierce, preserved power, sleeping yet aware.Elara, Kael, and Lucien stood just past the threshold, boots wet from the climb, their breath fogging in the still-charged air. The atrium around them seemed alive, walls etched with old magic, glyphs glowing in the colors of bloodlines converging under Elara’s command: silver, red, and violet. The light pulsed with their steps, like a heartbeat echoing in stone.The Flame of Virelith stirred in Elara’s chest, beating low and warm beneath her sternum. But something else stirred with it now, a twin rh

The Hall of Fangs was not built for mercy.Its bones remembered war. Its walls had borne witness to betrayal, to oaths broken and blood spilled in the name of power. No ruler stood at its center without understanding that the stones beneath their feet had been soaked in judgment. And today, Elara Moonstone stood exactly there, no crown upon her head, but with fire in her blood and truth coiled in her hands like a waiting blade.The pillars loomed around her, each one carved from the rib bones of fallen Alphas. Their legacy whispered through the hall like wind through tombs. The domed ceiling shimmered, obsidian dark, but veined with moonstone, reflecting flickers of the Flame of Virelith that glowed quietly in her palm.The court assembled around her, a ring of wolves in silk and steel. Generals with weathered scars. Elders whose eyes had seen more betrayal than loyalty. Alpha heirs with sharp smiles and sharper minds. The noble packs were present, and yet Elara could feel the weight