ASHES OF THE LUNA QUEEN のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

He had no face, Only a hollow where a soul might have lived, His body shimmered with ink that bled upward writing itself constantly, rewriting his skin in looping, jagged sigils. Liora didn’t need a name to understand what he was.He was the consequence of refusal, The thing that came when someone said no to the Scribe and tried to steal the pen anyway. He was the Unwritten. And now, he was hungry.He moved like memory quick, echoing, impossible to hold. His hands, when they struck, didn’t touch her skin. They edited her, One moment, her flame burned, The next, it didn’t, One moment, she remembered her name, The next, it was gone.Liora stumbled, her voice caught in her throat. “You are not meant,” he rasped,“to exist outside the page.”She summoned fire, But it flickered, Faltered, Not because she was weak, but because he was erasing the reason she’d lit it in the first place, A battle not of bodies, But of meaning. Her mind reeled, She began to forget Her pack, Her pain, Her reason

The throne room of Nightwind was silent as stone when Liora entered. No guards, No council Only her, The Other Queen. Seated on her throne Hands folded in her lap, Eyes void-black and bottomless.Liora paused in the doorway, her crown flickering against her spine like a heartbeat out of rhythm. The flame within her rose in warning, but she willed it still.She would not burn first, Not here, Not with this. “Get off my throne,” Liora said.The Other Queen smiled.“I’m not sitting on it, Liora. I’m reminding you what it cost to keep it.”The Other Queen rose slowly, steps graceful and terrible. “We’re not enemies,” she said. “We’re results.”Liora frowned. “Results of what?”“Of the same wound,” her echo replied. “We were both betrayed. Both burned. Both reborn.”“Then why are you here?”“To ask a question,” the Other Queen said, walking the edge of the chamber. “If the world begs you to lead… will you let it dream?”Liora stiffened. “What does that mean?”“In my world, I wrote peace,”

It was her voice, It was always her voice, But now it echoed like something trapped behind glass cracked, distorted, hungry. “Hello, me.”“Let’s decide who gets to wear the ending.”Liolai stepped down from the throne of the mirror-Nightwind, She didn’t walk, She glided, as if the world beneath her rearranged itself to keep her aloft, Everything about her was almost-Liora.The same eyes, The same flame in her palms, But it burned inward, Consuming her. Feeding on her, She wore the Hollow Crown in reverse spines facing in, bleeding into her scalp like barbed roots.Liora didn’t summon fire. Not yet. Instead, she stepped forward and asked quietly, “What are you?”Liolai tilted her head, smiling with broken serenity. “I’m the girl who swallowed her sorrow instead of surviving it.”She raised her arms. “I’m the version of you that didn’t forgive Kael. Who didn’t mourn. Who let vengeance grow teeth. You cast me off the page…”“Now I’m writing myself back.”The ground warped beneath their f

Across the realm, the rewrite surged like a second wind: Auren’s eyes lost their wolf-gold hue, flickering to grey. Sera's scars earned in the war with Kael vanished without a trace.Aria no longer recognized the Flame Library. She called it the Book Nest, and said it had always been that way. Even the wolves began to shift oddly, Their bodies turned halfway, then reversed.Some blinked and spoke lines they’d never learned: “Do you remember what it’s like to be real?”But not everyone forgot, The Hollow Crown recoiled from the edits, Wherever Liora walked, the world shimmered, like it couldn’t quite overwrite her presence.Rooms bent, Time stuttered, She was becoming… an error in the narrative, And the First Quill had noticed, At midnight, a raven landed on her windowsill., Its feathers were dripping ink, Its eyes were ink wells.And when it opened its beak, a scroll unrolled from its throat.On it were four lines: “You had your chance. You chose fire instead of order. Now burn inside

The First Quill hovered in the air like a blade waiting for judgment, It was massive now towering, shimmering with threads of gold ink and raw fate. Its tip moved constantly, drawing lines through space itself, scripting new realities with every stroke.And at its center, Liora. A single name, floating midair, Trembling, Ready to be crossed out, She took one step forward.The Inkblade in her hand shivered, not in fear, but in tension like it recognized its parent, like it wanted to be used, Her breath came hard, The tower around her cracked under the weight of too many unwritten choices.And then the voice returned. “You are not real.”“You were a deviation. A contradiction.”“An accident.”She raised her blade. “I am what came after the accident.”The Quill lunged, Its massive tip dragged through the air like a comet of deletion, slicing toward her, screaming with wind and will.Liora dove rolled and slashed, Her blade collided with the Quill, And the world shuddered, The impact crea