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CHAPTER 65 : " The Broken Throne "
Last Updated:
2025-04-22 12:00:52
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Nyra stumbled through the torchlit corridor, every footstep echoing like a drumbeat of dread. Her silk gown, still damp with Ryker’s blood‑tinged sweat, clung to her hips. She barely felt the fabric. Ahead, the secret birthing chamber lay hidden behind an oaken tapestry, once a place of sanctuary, now the scene of her greatest torment.Ryker guided her with gentle urgency. His hand tangled in her hair, brushing back sweat‑slick strands. “Nyra,” he murmured, voice low. “Please, sit.”She sank onto the edge of a carved stone bench, moon‑flame flickering in her veins. Her palm flew to her abdomen; a hot, bruising weight that throbbed with every heartbeat. Pain flared in her belly like molten iron.“Breathe,” he urged, releasing her hair and gathering her trembling hands in his.She drew in a ragged breath, emerald eyes rimmed with tears. “It hurts,” she whispered.A damp silence answered, broken only by Nyra’s labored breathing and the distant clang of battle still raging beyond the Cita
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Moonlight filtered through shattered battlements, casting pale shards across the ruined courtyard of the Silver Fang Citadel. The air still pulsed with distant war‑horns, a grim reminder that Selira’s forces pressed ever closer. Inside the half‑demolished great hall, Nyra stood atop the fractured dais, sword in hand, eyes burning with defiance and exhaustion. Behind her lay the bodies of allies and traitors alike; before her, the flagstones ran slick with blood and shadow.A muted gasp echoed through the hall. Nyra turned, blade lowering in sudden caution. There, in the lingering gloom, stood Myrra, her twin sister, cloaked in ebony silk, face half‑hidden by a silver‑filigreed hood. Myrra’s eyes, sharp and calculating, glowed like embers. “You summoned me,” she said softly, the words curling like smoke. “Now watch.”Nyra’s heartbeat thundered. She had expected invasion, betrayal; anything, except her sister’s arrival at her most vulnerable hour. “What do you want, Myrra?” Nyra’s voice
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Dawn’s first pale fingers slipped between the ancient oaks of the Moonlit Vale, turning drifting mist to silver smoke. Damp earth released its sweet, loamy breath, and pine needles still heavy with dew whispered beneath Nyra’s boots. She paused on a moss‑covered stone, eyes tracing the ruined pedestal where once stood the lost statue of the Lunar Queen. The brand along her lower belly throbbed as the runes pulsed once more, faint and urgent.Ryker waited at the clearing’s edge, the dim light glinting off the silver threads woven into his leather vest. His bare arms flexed, muscles corded like living stone. Ghost‑white fur sprouted along forearms and throat, a sign that his beastblood gift had awakened fully. In the cool air, his breath hissed like steam. He offered a crooked smile that carried both warmth and warning.“You’re later than the moon’s own rising,” he called, voice low and amused.Nyra slipped the hood from her hair, letting damp strands fall across her forehead. She nodde
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The torchlight trembled across Nyra’s brow as she pressed deeper into the Vault of Ancients, Ryker’s hand firm at her elbow. The air here tasted of dust and memory, of a lineage not hers. Behind them, the echo of Selene’s warning rang in Nyra’s ears: “This knowledge may free you… or bind you forever.”They emerged into the Hall of Echoing Scrolls, an arched chamber lined floor to ceiling with cracked tomes and faded parchments. At its center stood an obsidian pedestal, upon which rested the Codex Umbrae, a forbidden manuscript rumored to hold the secrets of every bloodline forged by the dark gods.Nyra’s pulse thundered as she approached. “Ryker… are you sure about this?” she whispered, her voice raw with a mixture of dread and resolve.He offered her a steadying smile. “You asked me to stand by you no matter what truth we found. I meant it.”Nyra brushed a trembling fingertip over the Codex’s cover. Runes glimmered faintly in reaction, as though recognizing her presence. She inhaled
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Dawn’s pale light spilled through the shattered windows of the Silver Fang Citadel, but the crimson eclipse that draped the sky lent every surface a sickly red sheen. Nyra stood on the threshold of the throne room, her breath ragged, heart pounding like the drums of war. Selene, Ryker, and Kaelan flanked her, war‑torn and bruised... yet unbowed.Before them, something impossible gleamed: an obsidian mirror, freestanding in the marble antechamber. Its surface drank the red light, swallowing it into depths that seemed to shift and ripple. It had not been there yesterday."This mirror was never here before," Nyra breathed, stepping forward on unsteady feet.Selene’s hand closed around her arm. "It reflects… something else."Ryker chuckled, but it was hollow. "Looks like trouble."Kaelan’s amber eyes narrowed. "It pulses with void magic."At her command, guards formed a cautious circle, yet none dared touch the frame. The mirror’s surface shimmered, and Nyra’s reflection blurred. For a he
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Moonlight poured through the fractured sanctum windows as Nyra stumbled back onto the cold stone floor. Her chest heaved, still echoing with the chorus of her own ragged heartbeat. Selene knelt beside her, one hand pressed over the glowing void‑shadow mark on Nyra’s wrist, the other hovering as if to shield her daughter from the world’s pain.Ryker hovered at the entrance, sword drawn but unused, eyes flicking between Nyra’s trembling form and the gaping archway that had spat her out. Kaelan stood silently in the shadows, arms crossed, watching the blood‑stained rune burn slow beneath Nyra’s skin.Nyra drew a shuddering breath. “I… I made her bleed,” she whispered, staring at her own palm as though it belonged to someone else. “She marked me.”Selene’s voice was soft but urgent. “You survived the mirror realm because you embraced your power. But this mark…” She bent closer, concern creasing her brow. “It’s a challenge, Nyra. A lethal one.”Ryker sheathed his sword and knelt, pressing
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Morning light crept through the shattered panes of the vault’s east window, painting the smoke‐scarred walls with soft gold. Nyra stirred on a makeshift pallet of furs, the acrid tang of brimstone still clinging to her skin. Her hand moved to her midriff, where the faintest flutter of warmth pulsed beneath the surface, an echo of the ritual’s corruption.She rose to her feet, unsteady, and staggered toward the small basin of cold water. As she cupped it to her lips, a wave of nausea rolled through her. Nyra bolted upright, fisting the sides of the basin. “No,” she whispered. “Not now.”Before her reflection in the cracked glass, her eyes; once bright amber, danced with silver specks, an unsteady shimmer. She pressed trembling fingers to her abdomen, feeling the faint, insistent thrum of life.Selene’s voice, hoarse with worry, drifted in from the corridor. “Nyra, we need to move. Selira’s forces breach the outer walls.”Nyra steadied herself. She mustn’t betray weakness now. She nodde
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The air in the Drunken Moon was thick with smoke and suspicion. Flickering lanterns hung from crooked beams, casting dancing shadows across rough-hewn tables. Nyra stood at the tavern’s threshold, her heart pounding with a mix of dread and determination. Behind her, Selene’s eyes glowed faintly in the half-light; Ryker flanked her, ever the guardian; Kaelan hovered near the back, blades sheathed but ready.“Welcome back,” rasped Garrick the Scarred, one of the first exiles Nyra had ever welcomed into her fledgling circle. He slid from the bench, the scar across his cheek twisting into a grin. “Heard you’ve been busy.”Nyra swallowed. “You all know why I called you here.” Her voice sounded small in the cavernous room. “The Council has turned on us. Corruption runs through every marble pillar and gilded throne. It’s time we made them answer.”A murmur ran through the assembled faces: thieves, rogues, fallen nobles, and freed slaves. Each had been betrayed by the very Council sworn to up
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Moonlight washed over the battlefield like cold mercury; cratered earth and shattered weapons glistened. The armies of Ironwood, the demon-hunters, and the Silver Fang stood victorious, but at a cost that bent the sky with sorrow. Countless bodies lay strewn in frozen agony, wolves, golems, Banefire Legionnaires, and royal soldiers alike.Nyra Duskbane dismounted her steed at the summit of the ash-covered hill. She gazed down upon the sea of fallen enemies and allies, the stench of blood and magic hanging heavy in the air. Her hair, once gleaming silver, was matted with soot and sweat; her layered armor was scorched and dented. Yet her chest swelled with unvanquished pride.Behind her, Ryker approached in wolf form, his silver fur bristling with both weariness and triumph. Urhan, the Beast King, followed, massive wolf’s head still crowned on human shoulders, eyes smoldering with feral gratitude. Kaelia carried the two living daughters across her arms: the Immortal Child whose divine v
