«CHAPTER– 21&22»
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Lady Evelyne's lips curved into a faint, wistful smile, the tension in her shoulders softening just slightly at the sight of her sister.
"Indeed," Evelyne murmured, her voice low and measured.
"Too long."
Iskaria's eyes flickered toward King Leonthius, whose gaze remained stormy, simmering beneath a thin veil of controlled breathing.
She gave a subtle nod, acknowledging the precariousness of their current audience.
"Your Highness," Iskaria began, her tone calm yet commanding, "we are here to help you extract the Silver Stone from the beast and make Morazana the most feared and untouchable town. Your son will return safely—he went to Ashkaroth to claim his Moon, which is now bound to another. We will help him reclaim her, but that can only be done with the aid of the Silver Stone."
King Leonthuis's eyes widened in fury, his voice thundering across the throne room.
"And how exactly do you plan to extract the Stone from the beast, Duncan Tharagon? My son, Prince Kealric, has traveled to Ashkaroth—a town filled with ancient powers, a place where even our Nine Crescent Powers are no match for their Six Eclipse of Souls!"
King Leonthuis's fists clenched tighter upon the arms of his throne, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths.
Rage, fear, and disbelief warred in his gaze.
"Do you truly expect me to trust that a mere relic—an object that has caused wars, destruction, and death—can safeguard my son in a place where even the strongest witches fall?" he demanded, his voice cracking with intensity.
Iskaria's gaze shifted briefly toward Evelyne, then returned to the king.
"Your Highness," she said, her voice steady, "you forget that this is no ordinary relic. The Silver Stone does not merely protect—it chooses, it binds, and it amplifies the power of those it deems worthy"
"Ashkaroth is a land steeped in ancient powers, but Thailra—the Moon of Crown Prince Duncan Tharagon—is the very same late princess of this kingdom. The one who was lost to us. Azreal Regathor did indeed destroy the Silver Stone a hundred years ago, yet Thailra Alvarez of Tulsan comes from the lineage that founded the Six Eclipse of Souls and the original Silver Stone"
"Once Prince Kealric succeeds in restoring her memories, the Silver Stone within Duncan Tharagon will return to her soul. Only then can we obtain it—and only then will Morazana become truly untouchable"
"Prince Kealric will be guided every step of the way. He remains the powerful prince of Morazana. When we finally acquire the Stone, we will perform the Nine Oracles of the Earth ritual upon his head. Only then will the Silver Stone transfer into his body, granting him immortality and allowing him to wield its power. That is our plan, Your Highness."
King Leonthius leaned back in his throne, his fingers drumming nervously against the carved arms.
The words settled in the hall like molten fire—heavy, dangerous, impossible to ignore.
"You speak of guiding my son into Ashkaroth… and of using a power older than the kingdom itself to make him immortal?" His voice trembled, equal parts awe and fear.
"Do you truly believe that even with the Silver Stone, he can confront Duncan Tharagon and claim what is bound to him? That he will survive where all others would perish?"
"Thailra Alvarez was once bound to Prince Kealric," Alaric said, gripping his staff firmly.
"She was once his Moon, Your Highness. The only difference is that she died by a poisoned arrow from this very kingdom. Her body perished here, within our borders." He stepped forward slightly, his voice steady but resolute.
"However, because of her ancestry—because of the spirits and power tied to her lineage—her soul did not remain. Her ancestors reclaimed her spirit and carried it back to Ashkaroth, where she was restored and her body remolded. There, she was made the Moon of the demon prince, Duncan Tharagon."
A heavy silence settled in the chamber.
"This kingdom did not treat her well," Alaric continued. "That is the primary reason her memories of Morazana were erased. But once Prince Kealric succeeds in restoring those memories—once she remembers who she was and what was taken from her—we will guide her."
His eyes darkened.
"She is the only one capable of extracting the Silver Stone from Duncan's body. No one else can remove it from him. And once she does, we will perform the Nine Oracles of the Earth ritual upon Prince Kealric. She will then transfer the Silver Stone into his body."
His grip tightened around the staff.
"Only then will Morazana become untouchable. Only then will every kingdom bow its knees before us."
Queen Seraphina swallowed hard.
The weight of those words lingered heavily in the throne room. The king's breathing slowed. His mind moved not as a father now—but as a ruler.
"At what stage does Kealric restore her memories?" he asked.
Alaric answered immediately. "Not within Ashkaroth. That would be too dangerous. He must first gain her trust. Win her loyalty. Separate her from Duncan—emotionally, if not physically. Only when doubt has been planted will the memories return."
Queen Seraphina tightened her fists, her composure strained though her expression remained controlled.
Iskaria and Evelyne exchanged dark, knowing glances—silent acknowledgment that the king's thoughts were unfolding exactly as they had anticipated.
King Leonthius tapped his fingers against the armrest of his throne, his mind racing.
If the Silver Stone were to enter this land, his reign would be immortalized in the history of Morazana. He would be remembered as the first and most powerful ruler this nation had ever known.
The thought drew a slow, deliberate smirk across his lips.
He nodded to himself repeatedly, his gaze sweeping around the throne room as though already envisioning the legacy that would bear his name.
Alaric watched the shift with quiet satisfaction.
It had not been difficult to stir the king's ambition.
A subtle smile curved his lips, deepening into something far more calculating.
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«ALVARO, MOONSPIRE PALACE»
"Chain him in the deepest pit of the ocean. Lock him away until further notice!" King Aldren roared, his voice trembling with fury.
He stood frozen at the entrance of his son's chamber, staring at the lifeless bodies of maids and guards strewn across the floor.
Blood stained the marble tiles, and the once-grand room reeked of death.
The icy air in the chamber grew heavier with each passing second.
King Aldren's silver eyes slowly lifted.
At the center of the carnage stood his son.
Prince Dracula's white robes were splattered with crimson, the color stark against the purity of the fabric. His long hair—half white, half black—fell loosely around his shoulders. A thin trail of blood traced the corner of his mouth.
He did not look triumphant.
He looked empty.
The guards at the doorway hesitated, their hands trembling on the hilts of their blades. Frost crept across the walls, spreading outward from the prince's bare feet, sealing the blood into the marble beneath a thin sheet of ice.
"Father," Dracula said quietly.
His voice was hoarse. Cold. Detached.
King Aldren's jaw tightened. For a fleeting moment, grief flickered behind his fury—but it vanished just as quickly.
"Do not address me," he snapped. "Look at what you've done."
Dracula's silver eyes shifted, scanning the bodies without expression. Yet beneath that calm exterior, something stirred—a flicker of exhaustion… or perhaps shame.
"I tried," the prince whispered. "I held it back for as long as I could."
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Frost spread rapidly across the ceiling, delicate and deadly as a spider's web.
"You have tried for a hundred lives," Aldren replied, his voice now dangerously quiet. "And a hundred families mourn because of your weakness."
At that word, Dracula's expression hardened.
"Weakness?" A bitter smile curved his bloodstained lips. "If I do not feed, I rot from within. If I resist, I lose my mind. Tell me, Father… which death would you prefer?"
Silence fell.
The torches along the walls flickered, their flames shrinking beneath the oppressive cold radiating from the prince.
King Aldren stepped forward at last, the ice beneath his boots cracking sharply.
"I would prefer," he said, each word deliberate and heavy, "that my son did not slaughter his own people."
For a moment, neither moved.
Then Dracula's gaze faltered.
Something unreadable passed through his silver eyes—pain, perhaps. Or longing.
"The ocean is quiet," he murmured. "It does not scream when I am there."
The king's heart clenched.
But he did not allow it to show.
Guards flooded into the chamber at his command, chains forged from enchanted silver clinking in their shaking hands. The metal hissed as it neared the prince, reacting to the unnatural cold emanating from his body.
Dracula did not resist.
As the chains wrapped around his wrists, frost crawled over them instantly, sealing metal to skin.
"Father," he said softly, lifting his eyes one final time.
For the briefest second, Aldren saw not a monster… but the boy he had once carried through sleepless nights.
Then the vision shattered.
"Take him," the king ordered.
And as the guards dragged the Crown Prince of Alvaro away, the frozen palace trembled—not from the cold— but from a storm that had only just begun.
The palace gates groaned as they were forced open.
A violent wind swept through Moonspire, scattering frost like shattered glass across the courtyard. The ocean beyond roared in unrest, as though it sensed the approach of its prince.
Dracula walked between the guards in silence, silver chains binding his wrists and ankles. Each step he took left a thin sheet of ice across the stone beneath his feet.
No one dared meet his eyes.
At the edge of the palace cliffs, the sea churned violently below, waves crashing against jagged ice formations that rose like spears from the depths.
The Deep Pit.
A prison carved centuries ago for creatures too dangerous to kill.
King Aldren stood at the cliff's edge, his white robes whipping around him in the wind.
"Once he is sealed," the king commanded coldly, "no one approaches the pit without my order."
The guards forced Dracula to his knees at the edge of the cliff.
The wind howled around them, yet none of it touched him. Frost spiraled outward from his chained wrists, creeping over the cliffside like living veins of ice.
Below, the ocean raged.
Then—it stilled.
The waves calmed as though commanded by an unseen force. The surface of the sea grew smooth, dark, and endless, reflecting the pale sky like polished obsidian.
A murmur rippled through the guards.
King Aldren narrowed his silver eyes.
"Open it." He thrust his hand forward.
The sea obeyed.
Water split apart with a thunderous roar, towering walls rising high on either side. A spiraling chasm formed beneath them, descending into blackness.
The Deep Pit of Moonspire, Ancient. Merciless. Inescapable.
Cold mist coiled upward from its depths.
Dracula slowly lifted his head, his expression had changed.
Not fear. Not defiance. Recognition, the silver chains around his wrists began to tremble.
Far below, something shimmered. A faint glow pulsed through the darkness.
Dracula inhaled sharply.
"She's calling me," he whispered.
King Aldren's gaze hardened. "She's there…" Dracula whispered, King Aldren's brows furrowed.
"What did you say?"
Dracula's silver eyes softened for the first time since leaving his chamber.
"She calls me when I sleep."
The king's breath hitched—but pride hardened him.
"This madness ends today."
With a sharp motion, he signaled the guards.
They shoved the prince forward.
Dracula fell.
Down through the parted ocean.
His white robes billowed around him as he descended into the abyss. The chains dragged him deeper, their weight pulling him toward the pit's black heart.
Above, the walls of water crashed shut. Silence swallowed the sky. Below—the darkness welcomed him.
Dracula's body sank slowly, silver eyes open, unblinking. Blue flames flickered weakly in his palms, dim beneath the crushing depths.
The chains tightened.
The cold inside him surged violently.
For a moment, pain ripped through his veins like splintering ice. Then—warmth. Impossible.
A soft silver light bloomed in the darkness ahead. It pulsed once. Twice. The water around him grew calmer, almost gentle.
The chains began to crack.
A voice echoed through the depths. Not heard with ears—but felt within his bones.
"You are not meant to be here, Ice Prince Dracula. Your destiny lies in Ashkaroth. You must journey there, dwell there, and never again set foot in Alvaro, for your true place is within the great city of Ashkaroth, Ice Prince."
Dracula's flames flared brighter.
Before him, through the dark water, a figure emerged. A woman clothed in flowing white. Her long black hair drifted like shadows in moonlight.
And at her throat—the Silver Stone burned with radiant light. She reached toward him.
The ocean trembled.
Prince Dracula's eyes shone brighter than ever as she cupped his face in her hands. Slowly, deliberately, she leaned closer and pressed her lips to his—a soft, fleeting kiss, identical to the one that had haunted his dreams.
"You have been wondering who I am. I am your guide and your protector. I dwell within your soul, and once you find my body, you will understand. But for now… farewell. Prepare yourself for the journey to the great land of Ashkaroth," she murmured, her voice echoing endlessly through the water.
Then she vanished.
The chains binding his wrists shattered instantly, dissolving into the depths.
Blue flames erupted along his arms, intertwining with the glow of his silver eyes, which now shone brighter than ever before.
His hair fanned out around him, drifting like ink and snow entwined in the shimmering depths.
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«ASHKAROTH—SALTARIAN JUNGLE»
Thailra found herself in the forest, surrounded by thick foliage that she had to push aside as she walked.
It was breathtaking.
She wore a spotless white queen's gown, a crown resting upon her head, and she smiled softly as she touched the hanging flowers.
"Do you think you can lift the curse in him?" a soft voice asked from behind.
Slowly, she turned her eyes to meet the late Queen Ilyra—Duncan's mother—dressed in the blood-stained white gown she had died in, arms folded, blood sliding from the corner of her lips.
"And who are you?" Thailra asked. Queen Ilyra smiled faintly.
"Thailra, daughter of Gulvan of Tulsan, the New Moon of Ashkaroth and my son's moon… I am Queen Ilyra, mother of the renowned demon prince of Ashkaroth, Duncan Tharagon," Queen Ilyra murmured, bowing slightly.
Thailra's eyes widened—she recognized her as the late queen who had died from a poisonous snake bite.
"And how did you know I was planning to lift that curse from him?" Thailra asked, her voice firm and resolute.
"I am his New Moon, and if we are to rule Ashkaroth together, the curse of him being a bloodthirsty demon must be lifted. No kingdom can be truly perfect with a demon as its ruler"
"Once I extract the Silver Stone from him, I will use the power bestowed upon me by my ancestors to trace where the Serpenthis Goddess resides. If I can gain her favor, she may reconsider—and perhaps lift the curse from him."
Queen Ilyra smiled at her, a mixture of pride and approval in her gaze.
"Your mind is far too naïve to think it will be that simple," Queen Ilyra said, her tone sharp and measured.
"Do you truly believe that, with enemies lurking on all sides, plotting to claim the Silver Stone, you can act without consequence? The moment you extract the Stone from him, Ashkaroth itself could teeter on the brink of ruin"
"Countless eyes are upon you both. Duncan Tharagon wields not only the Silver Stone but also the dominion of souls. Do you imagine that, knowing this, your enemies will remain idle? Have you ever wondered how I was bitten by a serpent? It was no accident. Enemies conspired against me, sending a poisonous snake into my chamber with the intent to kill—and succeeded."
Thailra swallowed hard, rendered speechless by the weight of the words.
Queen Ilyra allowed herself a faint, knowing smile, one that carried both warning and wisdom.
"You both carry the weight of a cruel fate," Queen Ilyra murmured, her voice low but sharp.
"His curse cannot simply be lifted. Attempting to do so may make everything far worse. You may not survive. You are his Moon—and the New Moon of Ashkaroth. That is the burden you must bear"
"The fate of Ashkaroth lie in your hands. One mistake… and it will multiply into a thousand ruins. It is up to you to discover how the curse can be lifted without bringing ruin upon yourselves. If your enemies succeed, Ashkaroth's walls will crumble to ashes"
"You are bound to him. Any wound you suffer, he suffers as well. You are his protection. Protect yourself, for only when you are safe can he be safe. If you die… his soul will die with yours. The only thread holding you together is the Silver Stone."
Thailra swallowed hard, her chest tightening as the weight of those words sank in. She could hardly believe what she had just heard.
"Protect my son… and protect Ashkaroth. I beg you, Your Highness," Queen Ilyra added, tears slipping down her cheeks.
She bowed her head slowly—and then began to dissolve into ashes, drifting upward like smoke in the wind.
"No—wait! I have so many questions!" Thailra shouted, racing forward. She reached out, trying to grab her, but her palm met only swirling ashes.
Breathing heavily, Thailra looked around the forest, the wind rustling through the trees, her mind echoing with the queen's final words.
The weight of her destiny pressed down harder than ever.
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Thailra's eyes fluttered open, and she immediately sat up, her hair disheveled and her heartbeat pounding in her chest.
"You're finally awake," a familiar voice said beside her.
She turned her gaze to see Isobel, smiling widely, squatting in front of her. She was dressed in her usual animal-skin attire.
It was then that Thailra realized where she was—deep within the Saltarian Jungle.
Thailra's gaze swept around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. Her breath came in shallow bursts as the remnants of her dream clung to her mind.
Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and her heart pounded with a mix of fear and anticipation.
She traveled back to Ashkaroth—thousands of years into the past—to rewrite the very history of the kingdom.
The necklace she had worn all her life—it was the very Silver Stone that all the kingdoms were fighting to possess.
In her dream, she had been clad in regal queenly attire, and it had been made unmistakably clear: she alone was capable of extracting the Stone from Duncan's body.
She had met with his mother—the late queen who had perished from a snake bite—who revealed how their enemies had conspired against her and succeeded in ending her life.
Was it a true vision, or merely a fleeting dream? Could she really possess the power to extract the Silver Stone from him—and perhaps lift his curse?
"He carried you here in his arms and told us that if even a scratch appeared on your skin, he would burn down this jungle. Could it be… that the Crown Prince of Ashkaroth has fallen in love with his Moon?"
Isobel's voice pulled Thailra back to reality, making her flinch as she instinctively drew her head back—Isobel's face was only inches from hers.
Thailra placed a single finger on Isobel's forehead, gently pushing her back and creating space between them.
Her eyes searched Isobel's, trying to gauge whether the teasing tone masked truth—or warning.
"Love doesn't exist in him," Thailra muttered, her voice low and firm. "With a heart as cold as ice, he will never open it to any woman. He's cursed—a demon cannot love; they only bring ruin."
Isobel blinked several times, then slowly, a small smile curved her lips.
"Perhaps," she said softly, "but sometimes even the coldest hearts can be stirred… not by love alone, but by someone who refuses to bow, someone who challenges fate itself."
Before Thailra could utter a word, soft footsteps echoed through the room. Isobel smiled, rising gracefully and bowing deeply.
"I suppose I'll take my leave now, Your Highness," she said, placing a palm over her chest, her smile wide and confident.
The door swung open, and a tall figure stepped inside, his black robes pooling around his feet. Thailra's breath caught as her eyes traveled slowly from his legs up to his face.
Carlos… no—Duncan Tharagon.
Their eyes met, and a hollow emptiness gripped her chest as memories of her dream surged back.
Isobel gave a final glance at him, then at Thailra, before slipping away, closing the door gently behind her. A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she left the two alone.
Duncan stepped fully into the room, his hands folded behind him, his gaze locked on hers.
Thailra swallowed hard, her fists tightening in her palms as memories of how she had torn those men apart surged through her.
He sat tall, staring down at her. Slowly, he unlocked one of his hands and jangled the bangles she had bought in the air. Thailra's eyes widened.
She searched herself, but the bangles were gone.
How had he gotten hold of them?
She was certain she had hidden them carefully within her robe. Swallowing hard, she watched as he knelt gracefully before her, jingling the bangles in the air, his eyes locked on hers.
"You bought this for us. Perhaps you're afraid of losing your Eclipse?" Duncan raised an eyebrow, a dark, teasing smirk curling his lips, sending a shiver down her spine.
"Do you really think mere objects can protect us—or even let us know when one of us is in danger? And what happens if I am truly in danger? Will your power stop me from getting hurt? What will you do then? Can you even move an object, let alone perform the first power of the Eclipse of Souls, Little Moon?"
Duncan asked, raising an eyebrow as he jangled the bangles in the air, his smirk deepening and sending maddening chills down her spine.
"I don't know what you're talking about. Just give it back. And I didn't buy it for us—I bought it for myself, to protect myself, okay? So kindly hand it over," she muttered, reaching out to snatch it from him.
But Duncan swiftly hid it behind his back. Her eyes widened.
He rose to his feet, and Thailra immediately stood as well, staggering slightly as she gathered her clothes to keep them from slipping.
"Lies do not suit you, Little Moon," Duncan murmured darkly. "And where did you find the courage to speak to me without flinching? Remember, I am still the Demon Prince of Ashkaroth. You should be running… not trying to reclaim bangles that have already returned to their rightful owner."
Thailra rushed toward him, attempting to reach behind his back to seize the bangles, but she only ended up swaying around him in frustration.
All the while, his dark smirk remained firmly etched upon his lips.
Thailra's breath quickened as she circled him, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his dark robes but never quite reaching the bangles.
"Give them back," she demanded, though the command wavered at the edges.
Duncan tilted his head slightly, watching her with infuriating amusement. The bangles glinted between his fingers as he lifted his arm higher, just out of her reach.
"You bought them to protect yourself?" he repeated softly, almost mockingly. "From whom, Little Moon?"
She stopped moving for a fraction of a second.
"From you," she replied, lifting her chin despite the tremor in her voice. The smirk on his lips deepened—not angered, not offended, but entertained.
"If you truly believed they could protect you from me," he said, stepping closer, "you would not be standing this close."
Her back struck the edge of the table before she realized he had closed the distance between them. He raised an eyebrow slightly, watching her reaction.
She swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on her forehead and trickling down her temples. Her heart hammered against her chest as they stood there, locked in a charged silence.
Her gaze betrayed her first—dropping briefly to his lips before lifting again to meet his eyes.
For a fleeting second, neither of them moved.
Duncan noticed the shift in her gaze. A slow, knowing smile curved at the corner of his mouth.
He lowered his hand at last.
Taking one of the bangles, he reached for her wrist. His fingers closed around it—firm, steady—and he slipped the bangle onto her arm with deliberate care. Then he took the second and fastened it around his own wrist, his gaze never once leaving hers as he finished.
The faint metallic sound echoed between them.
"You bought it for us, didn't you, Little Moon?" he asked softly.
Before she could respond, his arm curved around her waist, drawing her closer until there was barely any space left between them.
Thailra instinctively placed her palm against her chest.
Her heart was racing—but not from fear. It was something else. Something unfamiliar. Something far more dangerous.
Why did she suddenly feel the urge to kiss him?
She swallowed hard.
Duncan leaned closer, his face inches from hers now, his breath warm against her skin.
"You feel it," he murmured, his voice no longer teasing, but certain. "The bond." Her fingers tightened slightly against his chest, though she did not push him away.
"I didn't feel anything, and I am not in love with you—understand that clearly. Yes, I bought the bangles for us, but there were no emotions attached to them. Do not be so full of yourself, Mr. Eclipse,"
Thailra muttered as she pulled away from him, brushing her hair back with quiet indignation.
Duncan did not move, for a long moment, he simply watched her.
"Mr. Eclipse?" he repeated slowly, one dark brow lifting. The faintest curve touched his lips—not quite a smile, not quite mockery.
Thailra rolled her eyes checking out the bangle on her wrist, Duncan eyes shifted towards his own bangle then to hers and finally to her face.
"Are you perhaps in love with me?" he asked smoothly.
"You claim there are no emotions attached, and yet you chose a pair. Doesn't that prove you think in twos? Tell me, Little Moon… do you find me that irresistible? Are you hopelessly in love with me?"
He raised an eyebrow, folding his hands behind his back once more.
She opened her mouth to argue—but no words came at first. Instead, she brushed her hair back and let out a deep sigh before jabbing a finger toward him.
"Listen to me, Mr. Eclipse," she said sharply.
"I am not in love with you. How could I possibly fall in love with someone like you? It would wound my pride. I do not find you attractive in the slightest, so dismiss whatever delusions are forming in that mind of yours—because my heart already belongs to another."
She shot him a glare and rolled her eyes dismissively.
"Another?" he repeated quietly, a faint smile touched his lips—but it did not reach his eyes.
"And who," he asked softly, "is this fortunate soul?"
"That is none of your concern."
Her hands were trembling—only slightly, but enough. She clenched them tightly at her sides.
"It becomes my concern," he said calmly, "when the woman bound to my soul claims to belong to someone else."
He strode toward her until he stood directly before her, a maddening fury burning in his eyes—so intense she felt it to her core.
She swallowed hard as he lifted her chin with a single finger.
Then his voice lowered—not cruel, but dangerously calm.
"If there truly is another… pray he never stands before me."
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