The throne room of Aeloria was supposed to be a sanctuary of light. Its marble pillars gleamed under moonlight, and the air once smelled of lavender and burning myrrh. But tonight, everything reeked of smoke, ash… and blood.
Seraphina Valenhart — Queen of Aeloria, beloved of the moon, the woman who once ruled with both grace and fire — now knelt before her throne as flames devoured the banners of her house. The crimson sigil of the Moon Serpent, the symbol of her dynasty, melted in the inferno.
Her trembling hands clutched the cold marble floor, slick with blood — her blood. The echo of boots drew closer.
"Don't do this…" she whispered, voice hoarse, barely a breath.
The boots stopped right before her. Gleaming armor, black and silver. A sword lowered until its cold edge kissed her chin, forcing her to look up.
And there he was.
Prince Aldric Thorne. The man she had once loved more than life itself. His dark hair was matted with soot, his eyes gleaming with something that wasn't hate — no, something worse. Pity.
"You should not have trusted me," he said, voice low and heavy.
Seraphina's heart clenched, the way it had the night he first kissed her in the moonlit gardens. Back then, his words were a promise. Now they were a sentence.
Behind him, her soldiers lay dead, scattered like broken dolls. The last of her loyalists were dragged away by armored men, their cries drowned by the roar of fire.
Her world — her kingdom — was ending.
"You promised me forever…" she breathed, her lips trembling. "You swore upon the Moon that—"
"The Moon is dead," Aldric cut her off. He raised his sword, the flames dancing in his eyes. "And so are you."
He plunged the blade into her chest.
For a moment, there was no pain — just warmth. Then came the realization: it was her blood, spilling freely, soaking into the cracks of the marble.
As her vision blurred, Seraphina smiled faintly. It wasn't madness — it was clarity.
If the Moon was dead, then she would be its ghost.
"You'll regret this, Aldric…" she whispered. "Even if I must crawl from the abyss itself…"
Her voice faded with the flames.
---
The world around her trembled.
As her heart stopped, something ancient stirred within her veins. The blood dripping from her chest began to shimmer, glowing faintly crimson — like liquid moonlight. The flames that had consumed her throne bent backward, swirling toward her body.
Somewhere in the heavens, the Moon cracked.
And then… it bled.
A river of light poured down from the night sky, striking the burning palace. The storm howled, wind and flame twisting together into a vortex of red and white. The soldiers who witnessed it fled in terror — legends would later call it The Moon's Curse.
But Seraphina saw only darkness.
And within that darkness… a voice.
> "You are not done, my child."
"The cycle of blood has not ended."
Her pulse — one that had stopped moments ago — throbbed again, faint but steady. The last thing she felt before the world disappeared was coldness… and a hand, invisible but divine, pulling her through time itself.
---
Ten years earlier.
A sharp breath tore through her lips. Seraphina's eyes flew open — and she gasped.
Gone were the flames, the stench of smoke, the bleeding sky. Instead, sunlight streamed through silk curtains embroidered with gold threads. The room smelled of lilac and honey — her favorite perfume, the one she hadn't smelled in years.
Her trembling fingers touched the sheets. Velvet. The same ones from her youth — before her coronation, before the betrayals.
Her gaze darted to the mirror across the room.
The reflection staring back wasn't the Queen of Aeloria… but a young noblewoman with soft, unscarred skin and wide crimson eyes, glowing faintly with the reflection of dawn.
"No…" she whispered, standing on shaky legs. She ran to the mirror, gripping its sides. "This can't be…"
But it was.
The face staring back was her own — ten years younger.
Her lips trembled as memories flooded in: the day she was crowned, the first kiss with Aldric, the war, the betrayal, the fire. Each memory cut deeper than any blade.
Her hand pressed against her chest where Aldric's sword had pierced her… but there was no wound. Just the faint pulse of her heart — and the lingering heat of power beneath her skin.
It was real.
She had been reborn.
"Why me?" she whispered. "Why again?"
Then, faintly, the same voice from the void whispered through her mind:
> "To finish what was undone."
The words sent a shiver through her soul. Her breath steadied.
The Moon had given her a second chance.
And this time… she would not die screaming.
---
Seraphina paced the room, mind racing. Every memory from her previous life was intact. The conspiracies. The lies whispered in the royal halls. The night Ilyra — her closest friend — betrayed her.
Ilyra… that serpent.
Seraphina's jaw clenched. "You smiled as they burned me," she muttered, voice trembling with fury. "Let's see if you smile when it's your blood that burns."
Her eyes drifted toward the balcony. Outside, the palace shimmered in the sunlight — young, untouched by ruin. Down in the courtyards, servants moved gracefully, unaware of the doom that awaited them in the future she once lived.
She had time now. Time to change everything.
But first… she needed to play the role she once played so well.
The perfect lady. The obedient noble. The harmless beauty.
The mask.
She looked back at the mirror and smiled, slow and dangerous. "If the world wants its Queen dead," she whispered, "then I will become its monster first."
---
Hours later, the palace was alive with laughter and music. The House Valenhart's annual banquet — a celebration of peace between the royal families of Aeloria and Thorne.
The night it all began.
Seraphina stood by the staircase, every inch of her appearance sculpted perfection. A gown of midnight silk flowed around her like water, jeweled chains glimmering against her pale skin. Courtiers watched her, some with envy, others with desire.
She smiled sweetly, the way a predator might before a kill.
And then, the crowd shifted — whispers spreading like wildfire.
He had arrived.
Prince Aldric Thorne.
The man who would one day murder her.
He walked into the ballroom with effortless grace, his silver-trimmed coat reflecting the chandeliers above. His eyes — deep, sharp, and cruelly beautiful — scanned the crowd… until they found her.
Their gazes locked.
For a heartbeat, everything else disappeared.
Seraphina's breath caught. The memories of fire and betrayal clawed at her mind. She saw again his blade, his pity, his lie — "You should not have trusted me."
Her lips curved into a faint smile. "No," she whispered under her breath. "Never again."
Aldric crossed the room, each step deliberate. When he stopped before her, he bowed slightly, the picture of royal decorum.
"My lady," he greeted, voice rich and smooth. "I don't believe we've met before."
Seraphina lowered her eyes, hiding the storm behind them. "No, Your Highness," she said softly, her tone dipped in honey. "But I've been… looking forward to it."
If Aldric noticed the faint tremor in her voice, he mistook it for admiration. He smiled — the same charming smile that had once melted her defenses.
But this time, she smiled back with venom disguised as grace.
---
That night, as the music swelled and nobles danced under crystal lights, Seraphina watched from the edge of the crowd, eyes sharp and calculating.
Every laugh. Every whisper. Every move. She remembered them all — who would betray whom, who would rise, who would fall.
This time, she would write the ending.
And as the moonlight streamed through the windows, silver and pure, a faint mark pulsed on her wrist — the shape of a serpent coiled around a bleeding crescent.
The mark of the Moonblood.
Her rebirth had begun....