บททั้งหมดของ QUEEN OF THE BROKEN MOON: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 18

Snow fell gently over the southern pines, casting a dreamlike hush over the forest.Elira stood at the edge of the tree line, her fur-lined cloak rippling behind her in the cold breeze. Before her lay the village of Hearthglen—a once-thriving shifter settlement tucked between the mountain ridges.Now it was silent. Too silent.There was no movement. No fires burning in the hearths. No children laughing or wolves howling in the distance.Just stillness.And the scent of rot beneath the snow.Lucien’s scouts had arrived at the palace days earlier with reports of “strange occurrences”: crops dying overnight, animals mauling themselves, entire families going missing. The worst came from a soldier who had returned shaking, eyes hollow.He said the people in Hearthglen were smiling when they screamed.Elira clenched her jaw.Beside her stood Ruvan, tense and alert, a hand on his sword.Behind them, a team of elite guards waited in silence, their expressions grim.Lucien had wanted to come h

The last light of dawn vanished the moment Elira crossed into the Ashen Hollow.There was no sunrise here—no wind, no sound, no sky.Just the weight of silence pressed against the earth like a held breath.She stood at the edge of the veil with her traveling companions: Mara at her left, ever-watchful; the Crimson Mage cloaked in blood-red robes at her right; and two warriors from the Veilguard behind her—Ruvan and Isolde, both hand-picked for their loyalty and fearlessness.Ahead, the path dipped into a chasm carved by time and forgotten by gods. According to the Daughters of Dusk, somewhere at the heart of this dead land stood a ruin from the first age of moonlight—a temple dedicated not to the Moon Goddess, but to the thing that once tried to unmake her.The Hollow God’s first sanctuary.Or, perhaps, his birthplace.No records of it remained in Lycan history.Only warnings.“You’re certain it’s here?” Ruvan asked, his voice tight.Elira nodded. “The shard glows stronger the closer

The wind over the ruins of Eilenthal carried the scent of ash and old sorrow.Once, it had been a beacon of light in the east—jewel of the Moon Court’s mortal alliance, a city where shifters, witches, and fae gathered under the banner of peace. But it had fallen long ago, devoured in one night of fire and betrayal.Now, it stood in silence.Jagged towers, half-collapsed, reached like broken fingers toward the storm-heavy sky. The streets were buried beneath layers of soot and vine-choked stone. There were no birds, no beasts. Only the memory of screams etched into the stones.Elira stood at the city’s edge with her cloak billowing behind her, the Starlight Crown glinting dimly upon her brow. The Crescent Mark on her chest pulsed, sensing something old, something familiar.“It remembers,” she murmured.Lucien stood beside her. “This place?”“No,” she said. “I do.”Behind them, the Veilguard prepared camp. Mara set up sentry wards. Ruvan checked the perimeter. The Crimson Mage muttered

The sea was not meant to be still.But as Elira's ship neared the Isles of Mourning, the water beneath the hull grew unnaturally calm—so smooth it reflected the clouds like a blackened mirror. Not a single gull flew overhead. Not a single wave dared rise.Only silence and the heavy scent of salt and sorrow.She stood at the bow of the vessel, her hair pulled back in braids woven with moonthread, the Starlight Crown and the Glass Pendant of Truth both tucked beneath her hooded cloak. Beside her stood the Crimson Mage, who had grown unusually quiet since they set sail.“They say this sea remembers,” Elira said softly.The mage nodded. “It does. Every betrayal, every death. It’s all down there, still screaming.”Behind them, the Veilguard prepared in grim silence. Mara was sharpening her silver-bladed daggers; Ruvan checked the enchanted spears; Isolde warded the ship with runes older than empire. Lucien hadn’t come this time—not because he feared the sea, but because Elira needed him at