CH- 43
CH- 43
Aria POV
The Arena disappears in a rush of cold air and roaring silence.
One moment Sebastian’s hand is still warm on my throat, his presence solid and consuming, the next—my body is yanked forward as if the gate itself has teeth.
It isn’t falling; it’s being swallowed whole, dragged into a void that stretches infinitely in all directions. Colors twist violently around me—silver like moonlight, red like fresh blood, black like the absence of stars—until they resolve into something solid beneath my feet.
I’m standing on a floor made of obsidian glass, smooth and impossibly reflective, showing distorted fragments of myself staring back at me from below.
The air smells like rain on scorched earth, sharp and metallic, each breath filling my lungs with an electric charge that tastes of raw power. My skin prickles, every nerve ending alive and screaming for answers I don’t yet have.
I’m not alone.
She’s there.
At first, I think it’s a mirror—an illusion born of panic or exhaustion—but then she moves before I do, her gown whispering against the floor like secrets too dangerous to keep.
Her bone-white crown gleams faintly under light that seems to come from nowhere, casting long shadows across her face.
Her hair is the same dark cascade as mine but wilder, untamed, framing eyes that burn with fire and moonlight, ancient and knowing.
“Hello, little self,” she says, her voice layered over mine like echoes in a cavern. Except hers carries weight—centuries’ worth of it—a resonance that hums deep in my bones, vibrating through me until I feel unmoored, untethered.
“Who are you?” I whisper, though the question feels hollow even as I ask it. I already know.
Her smile is slow, deliberate, edged with danger. “The first. The one who took three kings into her bed and bled them dry beneath the eclipse. The Queen that sleeps beneath.”
The title hangs heavy in the air, settling over me like a shroud. She doesn’t move like someone who belongs here; she owns this place, commanding it with every step, every word.
As she circles me, her gown shifts unnaturally, woven from shadows that cling in some places and vanish entirely in others, leaving glimpses of pale skin underneath. It’s mesmerizing—and terrifying—all at once.
My pulse pounds so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear her approach, though I feel it—the weight of her gaze, the pull of her presence.
When she reaches out, her fingers ghosting over the split sigil on my neck, the mark flares violently under her touch.
Pain and pleasure crash together in a storm I can’t escape, tangled so tightly I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
“You’ve been playing their game,” she says, her tone almost amused, disdain dripping from every syllable.
“Lorien’s restraint. Sebastian’s hunger. The third’s… inevitability.” Her lips curl slightly, mocking. “You let them think they own pieces of you.”
My knees weaken, trembling beneath me, but I force myself to stay upright. To meet her gaze. “I didn’t choose—”
“Not yet,” she interrupts sharply, tilting my chin up with a single finger. Her nails dig in just enough to remind me how fragile flesh is compared to whatever she’s become. “But you will.”
Her words land like a prophecy, sinking deep into my chest until they lodge somewhere between my ribs.
There’s no room for denial, no space for argument. Everything about her screams certainty, finality. This isn’t a negotiation—it’s a declaration.
The throne rises from the darkness—bone and flame, jagged edges glinting like teeth beneath an otherworldly glow.
Each step she takes toward it leaves trails of silver light that linger in her wake, as if the very fabric of this realm bows to her presence.
She moves with deliberate grace, every motion commanding attention, demanding reverence.
When she settles onto the throne, it feels less like sitting and more like claiming—a queen returning to her rightful place after centuries away. The air shifts, heavy with power, as though the realm itself bends toward her will.
“The Blood Moon comes in six nights,” she says, her voice layered over mine yet deeper, richer, older. It resonates through the space between us, vibrating in my chest like a warning drum.
“The day your bonds will burn you whole… or crown you.”
Her gaze sharpens, pinning me where I stand, rooting me to the obsidian floor. Those fiery, moonlit eyes bore into me, seeing past flesh and bone, stripping away every lie I’ve ever told myself about strength or control.
“Choose none…” Her lips curve faintly, almost tender, but there’s nothing soft about the words that follow. “…and you’ll be free.”
The throne ignites suddenly, flames roaring to life around her, shadows writhing within the fire like living things desperate to escape—or consume.
They twist and writhe, reaching out toward me as if they want to crawl under my skin, burrow deep into my soul. My breath catches, panic clawing at my throat, but I force myself not to look away. Not yet.
Her smile turns feral, predatory, all sharp edges and cruel amusement.
“Choose, little self…” she purrs, leaning forward slightly, her crown gleaming ominously against the inferno behind her. “…or I will choose for you.”
The realm trembles at her words, cracks splintering across the obsidian floor, spreading outward like fractures in glass.
Her voice alone seems enough to shatter reality itself. And when she speaks again, it’s quieter—but infinitely more terrifying.
“And when I choose—there will be no Lorien.” Her tone drops lower, colder, each name slicing through me like a blade.
“No Sebastian. Only me…” She pauses, tilting her head just enough to make her next words land like a death sentence. “…in your skin.”
Before I can respond—if I even could—the flames surge violently, blinding white-hot, consuming everything in their path. The heat sears my skin, the roar drowns out my thoughts, and then—
I scream.
—and wake up in my bed at Blackthorn with a bone crown digging into my scalp… and blood on my hands that isn’t mine.