Chronicles Of Moonblood 1. The Wounded Heart のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 61 - チャプター 70

AedanThe door to our chambers closed softly behind us.I didn’t speak. With my back to Nyra, fists clenched, I walked to the hearth. The coals were still alive, but I didn’t put on wood. I didn’t need warmth. I needed silence.I heard her bare feet approach over the stone. Since the dull thud of the door, neither of us had said a word, yet the air weighed on us as if it were made of words.At last I spoke, eyes on the embers.“I didn’t think he’d affect you like that.”“It didn’t just affect me,” she said quietly. “It felt familiar.”I turned.For the first time I really saw her face: not frightened, not confused—alert. As if some memory rising from deep within danced behind her eyes.“I’ve never seen you look like that,” I said. “The way you looked at him… just a heartbeat, but it was like something cut into you.”She nodded, walked to the sofa, and sat. Her palms came to rest on her belly, protective, instinctive.“I can’t explain it,” she said. “It wasn’t an image. I don’t know ho

Rowan The edge of the world is not sharp. Not even visible. Whoever crosses it cannot say where the living ends and the other begins. Neither could I. I only felt something shift beneath me, like ice cracking underfoot but not yet breaking. The air ceased. My body did not feel cold, yet my bones trembled. I knew where I had come. I dropped to my knees. Not only out of respect—here, there was no other way to endure. Shadow enfolded me, but it did not dim the light, nor swallow it; it had never let it in. Before me, the throne. Not built, not brought—it was the one wound of the world that had never closed. Its blackness was not color but intent: merciless, cold. Its form shifted—tower, arch, wolf’s claw—yet its presence was the same: here, there was no mercy. Only purpose. When the voice came, it was not the first time it called me. “On your knees. As always.” It asked nothing. Stated nothing. It reminded. I closed my eyes. My wrist burned with the seal; the mark under my skin

Nyra The noise of the council had died long ago, yet it still hummed behind my ears as we walked the palace corridors. Every step, every whisper echoed inside me. The carved stone walls that usually meant safety now felt like cautious, watchful eyes. Our apartment door clicked shut. Cassian slipped in last and drew it closed behind him. The room’s soft light and the hearth’s orange glow promised warmth—but none of us let ourselves fall for the illusion of home. Slowly I took off my cloak and laid it carefully over the armchair by the window. My hand settled on my belly. The twins were still, and yet I felt it: they were listening. They always listened. Aedan moved to the fire without a word and set another log on the coals. The flames crackled to life, warmer light washed over the room, but the tension didn’t melt. Cassian kept to the wall—as always: neither center stage nor fully in the background, but watching. “I feel,” I said quietly, “as if time has turned around us. With ea

NyraDawn had barely crested the mountains, yet the palace was already waking. Soft footfalls slid between the stones, servants whispered, doors creaked—each sound purposeful, held in check. Night was behind us. The dream, the darkness, the terror—behind me. But morning brought me no peace.Only movement.I sat on the low bench before the window, wrapped in a cloak, legs tucked beneath me. Light skimmed the stone, the tapestries, the silk sheets. My face was pale but calm; my eyes red, yet alert. The warmth of Galena’s draught still pulsed in me—enough to keep the nightmare at bay, not the thoughts. Nothing could dam those. I could still feel my fingers on my belly: two separate rhythms. Certainty that they were there. Alive. Waiting for me. And that someone else was watching.A figure moved in the mirror: Aedan. He came quietly, barefoot, as always. He didn’t ask—set a cup of tea beside me and sat.“Did you sleep?” he asked softly.I shook my head.“I’m not tired. Just… heavy.”He la

AedanThe night’s darkness had seeped deep into the walls of the Moon Garden, and I knew: there would be no peace until dawn. Cassian and I walked the northern courtyard, overseeing the preparations. Horses pawed nervously, wolves paced the enclosures. Nyra stood silent in the shadow of the inner gate, fingers resting on the moon-blessed pendant at her throat. Beyond the gate the host gathered. Torchlight flickered on armor, restless shadows danced. No chatter, no laughter. Everyone knew: this was no parade. This was the unknown.“Nyra!” I called, stepping out of the stable’s dim light, the dark mantle of battle heavy on my shoulders. “All are ready. Only you remain.”She nodded, her steps swift, steady. My fingers brushed her arm—no display, only reminder: we go together.Cassian was already in the saddle at the front, the commander’s mark gleaming at his shoulder. One sharp blast of the horn split the night. The gates opened. Nyra swung onto her horse, her cloak flowing like a shado