Chronicles Of Moonblood 1. The Wounded Heart のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 81 - チャプター 90

AedanSilence Does Not Always Mean PeaceThere is a kind of silence that comes before something. Before a storm, when the forest still holds its breath. Before a battle, when soldiers are strung tight as bristling bows. And there is a silence that is the consequence of something already happened. Of death. Of the end.This silence now is that latter kind.The mages form a circle around me. On each of their foreheads the blood-seal glows. They lift their hands high; the spell they summon is ancient and dangerous. We have not dared use it until now. It demands too much. But now we have no choice.The earth begins to tremble. Stones crack, shadows shiver, as if the cliff itself were writhing like a sentient, living thing. Then the chief-mage, Rhaell, speaks slowly:– He knows.His voice is not loud, yet it cuts into the air. The soldiers freeze for a heartbeat. Then they all turn to me at once.I nod.– Then hurry. Because if he knows what we will find when we reach him… it will already

AedanDawn arrives almost unnoticed.The fog still sits thick between the trees, clinging to the branches and the cracks in the castle walls like a deadly grip that can’t let go. The first rays of the sun do not yet break through — they bring only a faint, grayish glow that doesn’t illuminate, only reminds you that the night should be over. In theory.Because in my eyes the night has not ended.It hasn’t ended since the last time I saw her. Since the light of a portal swept her away. Since her fingers reached mine — and then slid out of them. Since then every day has been only a prolonged version of that final instant.The soldiers say the whole thing took only a single minute.I feel as if a hundred years have passed.Now I stand on the west tower balcony, clutching the cold stone as though the world’s only sure point is what I can still feel. My skin is chilled, the gusts of wind cutting at my face. I barely feel the weight of my cloak — I can’t tell if I’m cold or simply don’t care

The light in the healers’ chamber glowed like a dim, cautious thing, as if even time itself had drawn a slow breath and held it so as not to disturb the fragile moments that trembled here, on the thin edge between the living and the unknown. Glass lanterns hung from the ceiling, their flames low and molten, and the stone walls drank that glow so thoroughly that even the warmest pool of light seemed chilled at the edges. Every small sound — the soft chime of metal on ceramic, the whisper of enchanted tools being adjusted, the measured breathing of those who watched — carried with an uncanny clarity, as if sound traveled not only through air but through bone.I am lying down. Thickly padded, the healer’s couch cradles me; deep burgundy blankets are piled to my chest. Beneath my back warm therapy pads cradle the hollows of my spine, their heat ebbing and swelling in time with the faint waves that run through my body. Beside my head a woven basket holds sachets of herbs and oils; their sc

The sun slides behind the battlements like a sigh drawn out too long—slow, reluctant—the red-gold of light that clings to the edges of the stones still kisses the castle’s cold gray for minutes before yielding completely to the lamps’ gentle, human glow. In that soft transition, in the trembling calm that hangs in the air, I take Nyra’s hand to lead her back to our room, to the place where at last there are no councils, no guards, no orders—only silence, warmth, and two hearts that have weathered so many storms in recent days that now every slow step feels like redemption.The castle breathes with its corridors; the runes trace the floor edges with tiny, almost bashful motes of light, glitter that has dried between the flagstones arranging itself into patterns in the half-dark. As Nyra’s arm loops through mine I feel the tension drain from her shoulders, the cramps of the past days slowly ease, and the motion with which she lays her palm on her belly is at once gentle and sure—as if s

Night fell, and everyone in the castle felt that the darkness was different than it had ever been before. It was not merely the clouds drawn in front of the moon that made it ominous, but some deep, lurking tension that trembled in the cracks of the stones, in the trunks of the trees, in the soldiers’ fingers as they gripped the hafts of their weapons. The air was full of electricity, as if the world itself knew that what we had been preparing for days was drawing near.Silence reigned in the corridors, but this silence was not peace — rather, disciplined expectation. The soldiers stood at their posts, the mages walked the runes, and the healers bustled around the Moon Hall, where our future could be born at any moment. The heart of the castle beat slowly and evenly, as if breathing in time with Nyra, whose every sigh and every movement found an echo in these walls.I step out from the council chamber and stand on the balcony, looking out over the courtyard. Below, Cassian stands with