The eastern wing of Silver Moon Palace vibrated with tension. Serina's footsteps clattered against the marble floors, her anger almost tangible. Every whisper, every glance in the corridors seemed to mock her failure.
"This is impossible!" she hissed to herself. "I followed her teachings… and yet he does not bend. He does not see me as Luna. And that… that girl—Lyria—grows stronger by the day!"
Serina's hands trembled as she approached the summoning circle etched into the floor of her private chamber. Her voice rose, sharp and commanding. "Mother! I summon you! I need your guidance!"
The air thickened as a chill swept through the room. In a swirl of dark light and an almost imperceptible hum, the witch appeared. She was taller than Serina remembered, aura coiling around her like smoke, eyes sharp and unyielding.
"You called, Serina?" The witch's voice was calm, composed, yet there was a subtle edge of restrained fury.
Serina's chest heaved. "You promised me! You said I would be Luna! And yet… Kael Draven ignores me! This… girl—Lyria—she rises in power, while I am left with nothing!"
The witch's gaze remained steady, unblinking. "And you think that your summons changes the truth? You misunderstand the currents of power, child. You cannot force destiny—only align with it."
Serina's hands clenched into fists. "Then why teach me the magic, the schemes, the whispers? Why promise me victory if I am to fail?"
The witch's composure never wavered. "I did not promise what you sought. I taught you the path, but the Alpha is not yours to claim. Kael Draven yields only to what is earned, not taken. Your failure is not my fault; it is the result of your impatience."
Serina's face flushed with fury and frustration. "So… I am to do nothing? I am to watch Lyria rise, while I remain… nothing?"
"You will act when the time is right," the witch replied, voice sharp as ice. "For now, observe. Learn restraint. Understand that hubris blinds even the most cunning."
Serina exhaled sharply, anger mingling with reluctant comprehension. "I trusted you!"
"And you will learn," the witch said, her voice calm, unwavering, yet carrying a weight that made Serina shiver. "Trust wisely, child. Overreach, and the consequences are yours alone."
Serina's fury remained, simmering just beneath her skin. The witch's presence faded with the faint echo of a whispered incantation, leaving only the lingering chill and the weight of unspoken warnings.
Meanwhile, Isolde basked in the corridors, every glance, every nod, every whisper feeding her sense of triumph. She smiled at concubines, acknowledged the guards, and felt the palace bend—even if only slightly—to her perceived authority. She did not notice Lyria in the gardens below.
But Maris, her loyal maid, followed discreetly. Her sharp eyes caught the smallest things: Lyria's calm yet growing influence, the subtle attention the guards and some concubines began giving her. Maris knew something monumental was taking root, but she remained silent, unwilling to reveal the truth for fear of harm coming to Lyria.
Outside, the palace subtly shifted. Guards, concubines, and servants felt the faint ripple of change, though they mistakenly attributed it to Isolde's rising influence. Only Kael, Lyria, Riven, and the most loyal servants understood the truth.
In the gardens, Lyria moved among the herbs, unaware of the storm building in the palace. A strange warmth tugged at her senses, a premonition she could not yet name. High above, Kael Draven watched from the balcony, amber eyes alert, wolf shifting restlessly beneath his skin.
Something was stirring. And this time, the currents of power were moving faster than anyone—not even Serina—had anticipated.
If you want, I can move on to Chapter 22, focusing on the witch reminiscing about Rathen Draven and Elara Veyra, tying it to the rising tension with Lyria and Kael, and keeping the palace intrigue flowing.