Chapter 167 Hundred and seventy

Chapter 167 Hundred and seventy

“I heard him again,” Sienna whispered into the dim chamber, her voice barely carrying beyond the archway where moonlight pooled like liquid silver. “You can tell me I’m imagining it, but I know his voice. I know when the world bends.”

The High Seer, ancient and thin as parchment, didn’t lift her eyes from the scroll she was unrolling. Her fingers trembled not from age, but from fear she didn’t dare name out loud. “Your Majesty,” she murmured, “the dead do not call to the living. Not after this many years. Not after what happened at the gate.”

Sienna stepped closer, the hem of her gown whispering over marble as if the floor recognized her and shifted to meet her steps. Her expression held no anger, only a quiet certainty that unnerved even those who served her most loyally. “Ryder has never been dead,” she said softly. “He was taken, not lost.”

The Seer finally looked up, and the flickering torches reflected in her milky eyes. “You rule with grace, but your heart clings to a spirit that belongs to shadows now. The kingdom thrives. Let the past rest.”

“I can’t,” Sienna breathed. “Every night I feel him. Every night something tears at me as if trying to come home.” She reached for the rolled parchment the Seer had brought, her fingers brushing the wax seal shaped like a crescent moon. “And now you arrive with a prophecy sealed in Lunaris’s own mark. Open it.”

The Seer hesitated, but one does not refuse a queen who carries divinity beneath her skin.

She broke the seal.

The moment the wax cracked, a cold wind surged through the chamber , though every window was closed. The torches bowed, almost extinguished. Somewhere deep in the Citadel, bells rang without hands touching them.

Words glowed across the parchment like wounds burning open.

Sienna felt her breath catch before she even read the first line.

“Tell me,” she said sharply.

The Seer swallowed. “It reads: Only the heart given freely can summon the lost from the Shadow Gate.”

Sienna felt something inside her still, as though her ribs closed around a truth she had always known but never allowed herself to name. “My heart,” she murmured. “My essence.”

“It means,” the Seer whispered carefully, “that to bring Ryder back, your heart-essence must be surrendered. Not your life, worse. Your soul. Your memory. Your emotions. Your humanity.”

Sienna didn’t flinch. “Good.”

The Seer blinked. “Your Majesty, ”

“I said good.” Sienna tightened her grip on the parchment, the prophetic words burning into her palm. “It means there is a way. A path.”

“A path that requires the end of everything that makes you who you are,” the Seer replied, her voice breaking. “You would return him only to leave yourself a hollow shell. A queen without a heart. A ruler who cannot feel love, grief, mercy, or hope.”

“Hope hasn’t served me well,” Sienna answered quietly. “But he did.”

The Seer moved forward, almost reaching for her arm like a mother desperate to tether her child. “Sienna, listen to me. You survived the curse. You survived the wars. You rebuilt this kingdom from ash. If you give yourself up, everything you restored will fall apart. Your people will lose their queen.”

“The kingdom does not need a queen,” Sienna said. “It needs peace. I gave that to them. Now I need what was taken from me.”

The Seer trembled. “And what of your generals? The Council? Do you think they will allow you to throw yourself into a prophecy that could doom us all?”

“They won’t know,” Sienna replied. “Not until it’s already done.”

The Seer’s breath shuddered. “So you plan to leave. Alone.”

“Of course,” Sienna said. “This is not a burden I will share.”

“You can’t walk into the celestial path without guidance,” the Seer argued. “The moonlight road appears only for those chosen.”

Sienna gave a small, haunting smile. “I was chosen the moment Lunaris marked me.”

The Seer closed her eyes. “Then at least let me accompany you part of the way.”

“No,” Sienna said softly, but with a steel that made the chamber feel colder. “If you come, the Council will know. They will hunt me. They will try to stop me.”

“They fear what will happen if you open the gate again,” the Seer whispered.

“They fear losing control,” Sienna corrected. “But I am done living a life carved by fear.”

The Seer bowed her head, defeated. “Then allow me one comfort. Let me at least speak the prophecy to its end.”

Sienna nodded.

The Seer lifted the parchment. Her voice trembled as she read the final lines:

When the moon bleeds silver
And the heart walks willingly into darkness
The lost will rise
But the giver shall not return.

The words echoed through the chamber like a verdict.

Sienna closed her eyes. For a moment, she felt the faintest tremor of fear , not for herself, but for Ryder. For what she hoped to save him from. For the possibility she might fail him again.

Then she opened her eyes, and they held the stillness of a storm about to break.

“I understand,” she said.

The Seer reached out one last time. “Child… this path will unmake you.”

“Yes,” Sienna whispered. “But living without him has done the same.”

The Seer swallowed a sob. “If you do this, the realm will never see you again as you are now.”

“They will see peace,” Sienna answered. “Is that not enough?”

The Seer stepped back, her shoulders sagging. “Then go. Before the Council senses what the moon has shown you. Destiny is shifting. I can feel the world turning on its axis.”

Sienna turned toward the balcony doors. Wind pushed them open before she touched them, moonlight spilling in like a summons. Her silhouette cut through the silver glow, and for a moment the Seer saw not the queen she had served for years , but a woman carved from grief and love so fierce it could defy gods.

She moved to leave.

“My Queen,” the Seer called softly.

Sienna paused.

“Tell me,” the Seer whispered, “why now? After so long, why answer him now?”

Sienna didn’t turn, didn’t breathe for a moment. Then she said, in a voice raw and certain:

“Because this time, he isn’t calling for help. He’s calling for me.”

The Seer watched her disappear into the moonlit corridor, the prophecy clutched to her chest, her steps silent as if even the stones dared not betray her path.

Hours later, the Citadel guards would swear they saw the queen walk through a door that led to no hallway, only light.

And in the deepest part of the night, when every flame rested in its wick and every shadow leaned long over stone, the moon itself shivered , bending the world to the will of the woman who refused to let destiny decide her heart.