Lahat ng Kabanata ng The Forgotten Heiress: Rise of The Lycan Queen: Kabanata 51 - Kabanata 60

The stars hung low over Eldoria that night, suspended like uncertain gods, caught between mourning and marveling. A hush blanketed the land, as if the sky itself held its breath.Below, the capital shimmered with a solemn sort of fire. Violet torches lit the spires and courtyards, flickering across banners that had once borne symbols of division, now faded, frayed, or repurposed in uneasy truce. From the towering heights of Moonstone Keep, the city seemed changed. No longer distant. No longer whole. Just... ready.Ready to break.Or ready to begin again.In the Grand Forum, an amphitheater carved from the petrified ribs of a forgotten titan, torches blazed in ceremonial rows, casting long shadows across ancient stone. The arena, once a temple to debate and glory, now trembled under the weight of centuries-old bloodlines: Vampire nobles cloaked in ash-dyed velvet, their crimson sigils stark against the gray. Lycan warlords clad in leather spun with iron thread, every movement of theirs

When ancient Eldoria was whole, kings and queens were not chosen by inheritance, nor declared by council or blade alone.They were forged.In fire, in memory, in sacrifice.The Trial of Three Moons, spoken of only in hushed tones within the oldest scrolls, remembered by the dwindling few known as Flamekeepers, was once the crucible through which Eldoria’s greatest sovereigns emerged. It was not a rite of passage, but of purpose. It did not demand blood from enemies, but truth from the soul.Few survived it.None had attempted it in over five hundred years.Until now.Beyond the cliffs of Avaryn, where wind howled like forgotten names and no sunlight dared settle, the Temple of Moons waited. Carved into the marrow of the mountain itself, it pulsed with a silence that was older than gods and twice as watchful.Elara stood at its gate, the air sharp against her cheeks, her heavy black cloak thrashing like a living thing in the wind. Her breath misted with tension, her hand resting lightl

The Temple of Moons was not finished with her.Even after surviving the Mirror of Truth, even after facing down her own fractured soul and reforging it into something whole, the ancient forces that once forged Eldoria’s sovereigns were not yet satisfied.They did not want allegiance.They demanded a sacrifice.And in Eldoria, sacrifice was never measured in coin or conquest.It was always blood.The night after her trials, as the three moons wheeled like silent sentinels over Moonstone Keep, the earth trembled. A groan rolled through the foundations of the citadel, ancient stone crying out as something older than memory stirred beneath the eastern courtyard.With a sound like thunder being torn apart, the ground cracked open.Stone split and fell away, revealing a pit of perfect blackness, bottomless, humming, and thrumming with old, hungry power.The Well of Sacrifice.The second, unspoken trial.Elara stood at its edge, cloaked in moonlight and shadow, the Flame of Virelith burning

The Temple of Moons was dying.Its sacred stones, once etched with flame-carved sigils and monarch-forged runes, now cracked underfoot. Walls trembled. Pillars groaned as age and prophecy collided, shedding dust into the air like falling ash. The very soul of the Temple, the seat of trials older than written memory, was unraveling.The final test had come.Not by decree.Not by prophecy.But by the will of the Moons themselves.And it demanded the cruellest contest of all.Blood against blood.Sister against sister.The courtyard darkened beneath a sky gone still. Winds stilled. Birds vanished. Even the mountain trembled.Above, the three moons aligned: silver, crimson, and black, each carrying the weight of ancient truths. Their alignment, the Eclipse of Kings, had not occurred in a thousand years.It would not return for another thousand.At the heart of the crumbling temple, two figures stood beneath the unblinking light.Elara Moonstone, Queen of Flame and Ash, bearer of the Flame

The fires of the Temple of Moons had not yet faded to ember when the next summons came, borne not by courier or bird, but by something older, something colder. A scroll of blood-red vellum, inked in shadows, sealed with the sigil of the First Houses: the original vampire clans, as ancient as the bones of the realm, and once the unwavering pillars of Eldoria’s fragile order. But loyalty had long since turned to poison, and their betrayal had scattered the realm like a chalice dashed on stone.The message contained no pleasantries, no explanations. Only six words, etched like a threat:Come to the Hollow Court. Come alone. Or come to die.Elara stood at the arched windows of Moonstone Keep, the letter trembling slightly in her fingers, though from cold or fury, even she could not say. Behind her, the room pulsed with heat, not from the fire in the hearth, but from the words being hurled within it.“You can’t go alone,” Saphira spat, pacing like a caged blade. “They’ll kill you the momen