บททั้งหมดของ ASHES OF THE LUNA QUEEN: บทที่ 101 - บทที่ 110

Liora stepped through the door.The moment her foot crossed the threshold, everything behind her vanished, walls, flames, Liolai’s fading touch. Even the Inkblade in her hand dimmed, as if uncertain whether it belonged here.Because this place wasn’t built for battles. It was built for truth. A hollow, endless gray expanse, No sky, No stars, No up or down. Just a chair in the center. And the figure seated upon it.They didn’t look up when she approached. They just turned a page. The book in their lap was ancient. Not worn. Weathered. Its pages were not paper, but something harder. Denser. The texture of memory pressed thin.The writing glowed faintly, names, choices, regrets, all in Liora’s hand, The figure was draped in long black robes. No face. No skin visible. Just long fingers stained with ink.And a voice like her own, years older, years colder. “You finally arrived.”Liora’s throat tightened. “Who are you?”“I’m the one who finishes your story.”They closed the book, No wind, N

Kael stepped into the circle of memory, No smoke, No sword, No power humming beneath his skin. Just a quiet man with the weight of too many timelines stitched into his shoulders.His eyes met Liora’s, unflinching, unreadable, Behind him, the light flickered unnaturally, And from that flickering veil stepped the one she never dared to name. The one she thought was only myth.Not a monster, Not a god, Not even death, But the author who never left, The being that had been there at her first heartbreak, her first vow, her first lie. It didn’t speak, It didn’t need to. Its presence was oppressive.Not loud, but absolute, Liora felt it not in her ears, but in her ribs each breath harder to pull, It wore no face. Its robe was stitched with moments from her life, animated like memories playing on silent film.There was her first howl. Her mother’s death. Her rejection. Her daughter’s birth. Her daughter’s scream, Kael bowed his head but didn’t kneel. “You brought it here?” Liora whispered.Ka

She wore Liora’s face like it had always belonged to her. Same cheekbones. Same burn-scar at the jawline. Same tired eyes sharpened by years of loss.But there was something in the smile. It wasn’t relief. Or welcome, It was the smile of someone who had been waiting. And now? She was done waiting.Kael moved first, instinctively stepping in front of Liora and Liolai, His body wasn’t ready to fight, not after the last rupture, not after nearly being rewritten. But it remembered.This was what protection had always looked like for him. Liora pulled Liolai behind her, eyes locked on the figure. She took a slow step forward.The field around them didn’t move. No wind, No sound, No birds, No story. The new Liora spoke first. Her voice identical in tone but colder. Wiser. “So this is the version that survived.”Liora felt nausea swirl in her gut. She knew what this was. Not a clone, Not a shade, Not a memory. A discarded draft.One the realm didn’t erase. One that had lived on unwritten, un

The throne bled, Not metaphor, Not illusion. But thick, black ink spilling from the cracks along its jagged arms. Each drop struck the ground and wrote itself. Words etched into the grass, crawling like veins:Not Yet WorthyNot Yet WholeNot Yet ForgivenLiora stood frozen, her hand still warm from where she’d held her fallen shadow, The false self now absorbed, her own body thrummed with new memories, ones she had never lived, but somehow felt.And beneath her skin, her veins ran darker than before. She was no longer just the rewritten. She was rewriting. But the throne did not open for her. It screamed.It rose like a tide. High. Shrill. Agonizing, It wasn’t a battle cry, It wasn’t even pain. It was grief. Old. Forgotten. Buried.And it called her name. “Liora.”Not Liolai, Not Ashen, Not Kael, Something beneath the realm had spoken. Liolai shuddered in Ashen’s arms, hiding her face. Even Kael stepped back.Only Liora stepped forward. Because she knew that voice. It echoed from a p

They rose from the cracks like smoke turned solid. Hundreds. Possibly thousands, Each a version of Liora. Some bore scars she didn’t have yet. Some were pregnant with children she never carried.Some were wolves. Others walked with crowns of bone. One had no face at all, just a veil of blood-red ink dripping down her shoulders.But all of them Looked at her with hatred, Because in every timeline where she had been rewritten, left behind, or erased, She had been the one who survived.And survival, to them, looked like betrayal, Ashen stepped in front of her, but Liora raised a hand.“No,” she said. “They’re not enemies.”“They’re not allies either,” Kael said through clenched teeth. “They’re fractures.”“I know,” Liora whispered.The crowned one watched from atop the throne of broken scripts, arms folded, golden quill floating above their head like a sun made of lies.“You asked for a story,” they said. “Now face the stories that died for you to have it.”Liolai clung to her mother’s w