Semua Bab REBORN UNDER INK AND MOONLIGHT: Bab 11 - Bab 18

The moonlight fractured like glass as the figure descended, her wings glimmering with threads of starlit ink. Ayla’s lungs seized. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. It was like staring into the reflection of a dream she’d tried to forget. The woman—no, the Luna—landed softly on the broken stones, her gaze locked on Ayla’s. Every movement was fluid, deliberate, and impossibly familiar. Her eyes were the same shade of silver as Ayla’s mark, only colder—like moonlight without warmth. Kian moved in front of Ayla, sword raised though his hand trembled. “You’re not real,” he said through clenched teeth. “You’re a projection.” The Luna’s lips curved in a knowing smile. “If only it were that simple.” Her voice dripped through the chamber like honey stirred with sorrow. “You should have stayed asleep, Ayla.” Ayla stepped forward despite the tremor in her knees. “If you’re what I think you are… then why are you here?” “To remind you,” the Luna said. “Of who you were. Of what you ow

The air quivered as Ayla’s reflection stepped into the world of flesh and breath. She looked identical — every freckle, every scar mirrored perfectly — yet something in her eyes glowed wrong. Too bright. Too ancient. The Luna reborn. Ayla’s chest tightened as her reflection’s fingers traced the edge of Kian’s broken blade. “Funny,” the Luna said, her voice like a whisper wrapped in silk. “In every life, he still tries to protect you… and still fails.” “Put it down,” Kian said coldly, though his eyes were fixed on the weapon — his weapon — glowing now with veins of silver and ink. The Luna twirled the blade effortlessly. “You forged this once, remember? When you were still bound to her light.” Her gaze flicked to Ayla. “Do you ever tell him what he was before the fall?” Ayla frowned, her pulse racing. “Don’t listen to her, Kian. She’s trying to divide us.” The Luna laughed softly — a sound that made the air itself tremble. “Divide you? Oh, Ayla, I am you. There’s nothing to

The world hung in red silence. The crimson moon poured its light over the ruined chamber, washing every stone, every shadow, every heartbeat in the color of blood and ink. Ayla stood frozen, staring upward as the figure descended — a silhouette wrapped in luminescent shadow. Each flutter of its robes sent ripples of starlight through the air, and when the figure’s feet touched the cracked floor, the ground sighed as if in recognition. It was her. Or rather, it was everything she’d tried not to be — her reflection stripped of warmth, humanity, or doubt. Her hair was a darker black than night, her skin carved with moving runes, her eyes twin mirrors of the crimson moon above. Kian’s hand found Ayla’s shoulder. “Tell me that’s not—” “It’s me,” Ayla breathed. “It’s what the moon made from what I forgot.” The doppelgänger smiled — a cruel, knowing twist of her own lips. “The ink remembers all things, Ayla Cross. Even the things you swore to bury.” The dragon stirred behind

Falling felt like becoming. Ayla tumbled through light that wasn’t light, through shadows that whispered in forgotten tongues. Her heartbeat became thunder, her breath became wind, and somewhere in the roaring dark, a thousand versions of herself screamed and dissolved into mist. Then—stillness. Her body hit the ground, but there was no pain. Only the soft, cold kiss of earth. She opened her eyes to find herself lying beneath a silver sky that held no stars, only swirling ink clouds that pulsed like veins. She wasn’t in her world anymore. She was in the place before worlds. The First Realm. The air hummed with creation, each note vibrating through her bones. Every inhale tasted of salt and moonlight, every exhale stirred patterns of glowing script into the air—words that vanished as soon as she saw them. Ayla rose slowly. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the ink beneath her feet, but it wasn’t quite her—her hair floated weightlessly, her eyes glowed faintly white, and