Silence slammed into the chamber after my refusal.
Maeron didn't blink.
Didn't frown.
Didn't lose his composure.
He simply folded his hands behind his back.
"A shame," he said softly. "Refusal complicates things."
Kael stepped forward immediately, like a sword drawn without thought.
"Try to take her," he said, "and YOU will complicate things."
Lysander's shadows flared in agreement, dark and razor-thin.
Maeron didn't so much as flinch.
"It was not a threat, Prince Kael," the High Priest replied. "It was… an observation."
Ren scoffed from his seat. "The girl is unstable. She must be taken somewhere she cannot endanger the kingdom."
I shot him a look that would've melted stone.
Maeron continued, unbothered.
"Your daughter's presence destabilizes the land," he told my father gently. "The Primordial calls to her. Each hour she remains in the palace, the god awakens more."
"That is not Aura's fault," Kael snapped.
"Fault is irrelevant," Maeron said. "Consequence is not."
Lysander's voice was low and cold.
"Your Sanctum has always been obsessed with the Moon-Born. Do not dress your hunger as wisdom."
Maeron finally turned to him.
"The Sanctum studies what it must," he said. "We preserve knowledge. We protect the people."
"You cage children," Lysander replied.
Maeron's gaze hardened just slightly.
"And you," he said, "are a creature who knows nothing of mercy."
I stepped between them.
"Enough," I said. "What exactly does your Sanctum intend to do with me?"
Maeron did not hesitate.
"We will train you," he said evenly. "Control your magic. Teach you the rites. Prepare you to withstand the Primordial's influence."
"And then what?" Lysander murmured. "Use her as bait? Or sacrifice?"
Whispers erupted around the table.
Maeron's jaw tensed. "Those claims are ancient superstition."
"Those claims," Lysander said, "are why your predecessors chased us through these halls centuries ago."
Father slammed his hand on the table. "Both of you will stop!"
Everyone fell silent.
He looked at me—tired, terrified, trying to be king and father at once.
"Aura," he said softly, "I do not trust the Sanctum. But I do not trust the Primordial either. I need to know—can you control what is happening to you?"
I opened my mouth—
—and the mark on my chest pulsed beneath my skin, sending a flicker of pain down my ribs.
A reminder.
A warning.
My voice shook.
"No. Not completely."
Father closed his eyes.
Kael's hand clenched around the back of my chair.
Ren smirked like a vulture detecting fresh death.
"A danger," he said triumphantly.
Kael snapped, "SHUT YOUR MOUTH."
Maeron raised a calming hand.
"Your Majesty," he said, "the Sanctum has waited centuries for the Moon-Born. You know our history. The old texts predicted this moment. We are the ONLY ones who can help her."
"That's the problem," Lysander murmured.
I frowned at him.
"What?"
Lysander didn't take his eyes off Maeron.
"Ask him," he said softly. "Ask the High Priest what happened to the last moon-child."
Maeron's expression tightened—barely.
But I saw it.
Everyone saw it.
My breath stopped.
Father's voice trembled. "What… last moon-child?"
Maeron answered slowly.
"There… was one. Long ago. In another kingdom."
"Alive?" I whispered.
He hesitated.
"No."
My stomach dropped.
Kael muttered a curse.
Lysander's voice was ice.
"Tell her how she died."
Maeron straightened, robes flowing like liquid silver.
"She lost control," he said. "The Primordial claimed her. To save the kingdom, the Sanctum intervened."
"You killed her," Lysander translated. "Say the words."
"No," Maeron said sharply. "We freed her."
"By killing her," Lysander repeated.
Maeron didn't deny it.
My heart pounded painfully in my chest.
Kael stepped between me and the priest.
"If you think I'm letting you lay a hand on her, you're insane."
"Prince Kael," Maeron said, "this is bigger than your feelings."
"It's bigger than your ego," Kael spat.
The tension crackled like lightning.
Father pinched the bridge of his nose. "Enough. Everyone leave. Aura stays."
Lysander's eyes flicked to me.
Kael hesitated.
"I'll wait outside," he murmured. "I'm not leaving the hallway."
My heart ached for him—for how hard he was trying, how much he feared losing me again.
Lysander lingered one moment longer, shadows curling protectively around my chair.
"Aura," he said quietly, "do not trust anything the Sanctum offers."
Maeron smiled politely.
Lysander's shadows hissed.
Then both he and Kael left.
Alone with Father
The chamber felt enormous without the shouting.
Father rubbed his temples, shoulders slumped.
"Aura… why did your mother never tell me?"
The pain in his voice sliced me open.
I swallowed hard. "She was trying to protect me."
"From me?"
"No," I whispered. "From them."
He stared at the door Maeron exited through.
"I knew the Sanctum was… zealous," he said. "But I never imagined…"
"That they'd kill a child," I finished softly.
His face turned pale.
"We won't let them," he said. "No matter what."
But the fear in his eyes told me the truth:
He wasn't sure he could stop them.
The Hallway
Kael was pacing like a caged lion when I stepped out.
He ran to me instantly.
"Are you okay? What did he say? Did he threaten you? Did he—?"
"Kael," I said gently, "breathe."
He stopped. Barely.
"I'm not letting them take you," he said. "Not for training. Not for safety. Not for anything. I swear it."
His sincerity burned.
Dangerously.
"Kael," I whispered, "if you defy the council and the Sanctum—"
"I don't care."
"Your father—"
"I don't care."
"You're the heir—"
"I don't care!"
He grabbed my hands, voice cracking.
"Aura, I lost you once. I'm not doing it again."
The world slowed.
My breath caught.
And before I could answer—
Someone grabbed my wrist.
Pulled me back.
Into darkness.
Kael shouted my name as the shadows swallowed me.
The Shadows Beneath the Palace
We didn't reappear in a hallway.
We reappeared in a cavern.
Cold.
Silent.
Ancient.
Lysander let go of me slowly.
"You shouldn't grab me without warning," I gasped. "I nearly—"
"You are in danger," he said.
"I KNOW. The Sanctum—"
"It's not just the Sanctum."
His voice dropped lower.
Darker.
There was ritual magic etched into the cavern floor.
Old.
Illicit.
Forbidden.
And all of it pointed to one symbol carved into the wall:
A crescent moon
wrapped in chains.
I stepped closer, pulse racing.
"What… what is this place?"
Lysander's voice was quiet.
"This is what the Sanctum truly is."
I stared at him.
He looked tired. And furious.
"They don't worship the moon," he said.
My skin chilled.
"They don't protect the Moon-Born."
A cold realization crept up my spine.
"Then what," I whispered, "do they worship?"
Lysander's eyes glowed faintly.
"The Primordial."
My stomach dropped.
"No."
"Yes."
"But they said—"
"They lied."
He stepped closer.
"They always lie."
The cavern seemed to hum around us—
dark magic pulsing faintly.
"All this time," Lysander said softly,
"the Sanctum hasn't been preparing to protect you."
He looked into my eyes.
"They've been preparing to claim you."
My breath shook.
My hands trembled.
And Lysander reached out—
touching my cheek lightly,
cold fingers gentle against burning skin.
"Aura," he whispered,
"you must choose your allies carefully."
I shivered under his touch.
"Then who," I whispered,
"do I have left?"
Shadows swirled around us, pulling closer.
Lysander's voice was barely a breath.
"Me."
And for the first time…
I realized he wasn't making a promise.
He was making a vow.