Chapter 98: Shattered Tides
Chapter 98: Shattered Tides
Ruth, though wounded, pressed forward beside him. Her light burned brighter with every swing of her blade, a living flame that cut through darkness. Her face was streaked with blood and sweat, but her eyes gleamed with a quiet, unbreakable fire.
On the far edge, Maeron raised his staff high. His chant boomed like thunder, binding Nireya’s hymn and Ruth’s light with his own power. The air shimmered, heavy with divine force. “The gods themselves witness this hour,” he intoned. “And they will not suffer serpents to reign!”
The Serpent Gate’s zeal faltered. Their chants weakened, their eyes darting nervously toward the collapsing lines.
It was then that Coletta surged forward, the shard in her hand glowing like a fragment of dawn. Her voice carried above the storm, filled with the weight of prophecy and power.
“This ends now.”
Her light surged, swallowing the battlefield in brilliance, dragging every gaze to her clash with Thorne. The world itself seemed to hold its breath as they collided again—Queen against traitor, prophecy against corruption—teetering on the knife’s edge of fate.
—
The silence that followed the shockwave was deafening. For a heartbeat, even the clash of steel and howl of wolves ceased, replaced by the ringing in every warrior’s ears. Dust and broken stone hung in the air, glittering like pale ash under the silver light of the moon.
Coletta rose from the fractured ground, the shard blazing in her grip. Her chest heaved, hair loose and wild, silver eyes burning with unwavering fire. Thorne staggered opposite her, his cloak shredded, his once-mighty aura flickering like a dying flame. Blood streaked down his temple, yet hatred kept him upright.
Around them, the battlefield was in ruin. Whole sections of the Crescent Ruins had collapsed, jagged walls crumbling into the sea below. Warriors stumbled to their feet amid wreckage, torn between awe and terror.
Damien, his fur silver with blood, shifted back to human form with a growl, forcing himself upright. His eyes found Coletta instantly. Relief and pride warred with the pain in his features. “She still stands,” he muttered, voice rough. “She still holds it.”
Varian planted his blade into the ground, leaning against it as he steadied himself. Even the Southern King, hardened by years of war, stared at Coletta as though seeing the prophecy etched into living flesh. “So the promised Queen… is no tale.” His tone held no mockery now, only grim acknowledgment.
But the Serpent Gate was not finished.
From the shadows of the broken temple, their masked zealots rallied. A horn blared, low and haunting, and fresh forces surged from hidden passages beneath the ruins. With them came the forgotten coven—hooded witches whose chants twisted the air with poisonous magic. Their voices rose in unison, weaving barriers of shadow to shield Thorne and Darian as they regrouped.
Melissa’s shriek pierced the night. She leapt onto the fallen stones, fire coiling in her hands, her eyes wild with fanatic devotion. “You think this is your victory? You are nothing, Coletta! The Gate will rise, and your power will be its offering!”
Ruth, staggering but unbroken, stepped forward, her blade igniting with radiant flame. “Not while I draw breath.” Her voice cut clean and bright, the sound of defiance itself.
Melissa’s fire roared to meet Ruth’s light, the two forces colliding in a blast that shook the ruins anew. Sparks rained across the battlefield as they clashed—friendship turned to bitter enmity, love twisted into venom.
Meanwhile, Darian pressed forward, his fangs bared, facing Damien with the desperation of a son trying to prove himself in blood. Their claws locked, muscle straining against muscle, both snarling, both refusing to yield.
“You’ll never match me, boy,” Damien growled, silver eyes hard. “Not in strength, not in will.”
Darian spat blood into his face, eyes blazing with madness. “Then I’ll burn trying!”
All across the battlefield, battles reignited—Kael cutting through zealots with savage precision, Hale driving Southern blades into the traitorous houses who had betrayed their oaths, Nireya and Maeron anchoring the lines with hymns and wards that shimmered like a dome of starlight.
And at the heart of it all—Coletta.
The shard pulsed in her hand, resonating with her heartbeat, with the wind, with the waves crashing below. Nature itself bent toward her call: vines slithered up from cracks, stones shifted to shield allies, water surged to quench fire and swallow shadows. She was not growing, not learning—she was commanding, as only the Moon Queen could.
Thorne watched, his sneer faltering as he felt the ground itself turn against him. His allies’ voices roared around him, but in his eyes burned a flicker of doubt.
Coletta’s silver gaze locked on him. She stepped forward, every word carrying like thunder across the chaos.
“You thought prophecy was a chain. You thought power was a crown. But I am not bound by your hunger, Thorne. I am the will of this land—and you will bow.”
The shard flared, a storm of light and tide surging outward. Warriors on both sides froze, their gazes drawn to the Queen who now stood in her full revelation.
And as the ruins shook again, the war teetered on the knife’s edge of conclusion.