Chapter 23
Jul 18, 2025
The ancient ceremonial grounds stretched before us like a battlefield. Stone amphitheater seats carved from living rock held thousands of spectators—Alphas, nobles, and common folk drawn by whispers of the final trial. At the center, the sacred flame towered thirty feet high, its core burning white-hot with supernatural intensity.
Only two Luna Bride candidates remained.
Cressa stood at the flame’s edge, her ceremonial gown pristine white silk that caught the firelight. Her face bore the serene confidence of someone who believed herself protected. Marcus lounged in the Alpha gallery, his smile sharp with anticipated victory.
I watched her fingers tremble slightly as she lifted a small vial to her lips—some potion meant to suppress fear, no doubt. The liquid disappeared down her throat, and her shoulders straightened with artificial courage.
“I claim the Luna crown,” she declared, her voice carrying across the silent amphitheater. “Let the fire judge my worthiness.”
She stepped into the flames.
The screaming began immediately.
The fire didn’t embrace her—it attacked. Orange flames turned hungry red, licking at her skin with vicious intensity. Her hair ignited like dry kindling. The ceremonial gown caught fire and peeled away in burning strips.
“Get her out!” Marcus roared from the gallery.
Guards rushed forward with enchanted poles, dragging her smoking form from the flames. Her screams echoed off stone walls as healers surrounded her, their magic fighting to repair flesh that had been seared to the bone.
The crowd erupted into chaos. Nobles fled their seats. Matrons shouted contradictory orders.
“Cancel the trial!” High Matron Ivera commanded. “The flame has gone mad—”
“No.” The Oracle’s voice cut through the pandemonium like a blade. “The flame judges truly. It rejects the false and embraces the worthy.”
All eyes turned to me.
I stood at the edge of the sacred circle, my borrowed gown simple compared to Cressa’s ruined finery. The heat washed over me in waves, but I felt no fear. Only certainty.
Hector appeared at my side, his grip closing around my wrist with desperate strength.
“If you go in there, I can’t follow,” he said, his voice barely audible above the crowd’s noise.
I turned to face him, drinking in every detail—the sharp line of his jaw, the gold flecks in his dark eyes, the way his hair fell across his forehead. This might be the last time I saw him whole and human.
I cupped his cheek with my free hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against my palm.
“You’ve already followed me through everything that mattered,” I whispered.
He leaned into my touch for one precious heartbeat. Then I pulled away and walked toward the flames.
The fire parted like water before my approach. I stepped across the threshold, and the world transformed.
The flames turned silver—liquid moonlight that danced around me without burning. I felt no pain, only power flowing through my veins like molten starlight. The fire sang to me in voices I recognized.
Visions flickered in the silver light. My mother, Alira, standing in this same circle twenty years ago. Her voice echoed through time: “The bloodline remembers, even when we forget.”
Other faces materialized—Luna Matriarchs stretching back through centuries, all bearing the same sigils that marked my skin. Their voices joined in ancient harmony:
“You are the reckoning. You are the fire that burns away the old. You are the moon that rises from ashes.”
The visions faded, but their words remained carved into my soul.
I walked deeper into the flames, letting them wash over me until I stood at the very heart of the sacred fire. The power there was older than kingdoms, deeper than bloodlines. It recognized me as I recognized it.
When I emerged, the flame died.
Not flickered or dimmed—died completely. For the first time in a thousand years, the sacred fire went dark.
At my feet lay a crown unlike any other. Not gold or silver, but lunar glass—crystallized moonlight that pulsed with inner radiance. The moment my fingers touched it, every sigil on my body blazed to life.
Crescent moons, ancient runes, markings I’d never seen before—all burning with silver fire that painted the darkened amphitheater in supernatural light.
The Oracle stepped forward, her ancient voice carrying absolute authority.
“Behold the High Luna Matriarch,” she declared. “Chosen by fire, crowned by moon, marked by power itself.”
The crowd fell silent. Even the fleeing nobles turned back to stare.
I lifted the crown of lunar glass, feeling its weight—not heavy, but significant. The power to reshape kingdoms rested in my hands.
I could wear it. Rule as they expected. Accept the title and work within their system to create change.
Instead, I looked out at the thousands of faces staring up at me—young women who’d been taught their only value lay in submission, men who’d been raised to see us as property, children who would inherit this broken world unless someone changed it.
I didn’t smile. Didn’t celebrate. Didn’t acknowledge the cheers beginning to rise from some quarters.
“There will be no more Virgin Games,” I announced, my voice carrying across the stone seats without effort.
The words fell like hammer blows. Gasps echoed from every corner of the amphitheater. Several Matrons swayed as if they might faint.
“The crown rejects your system,” I continued, power flowing through my voice. “The Luna bloodline rejects your Games. From this moment forward, there will be no more rituals of submission. No more trials of sacrifice. No more breaking young women to serve your fears.”
