I stood beneath the vaulted ceiling of the High Court, its obsidian walls lined with banners I once embroidered by moonlight. The stench of polished stone and power still clung to the air like old perfume. Nothing had changed. Not the glimmer of gold filigree catching the candlelight, nor the sharp, suspicious eyes watching me from every tier.
They whispered.
"She's a ghost."
"A trick."
"Another of Lucien's games."
Let them. I'd been called worse.
The round marble dais at the center of the hall was where I had once stood in judgment—of enemies, of traitors, of fate. Now I stood there again, not as the accused or the dead, but as something more dangerous.
A survivor.
Lucien was a quiet shadow at my back. He hadn't spoken since we entered. No guiding hand, no whispered reassurance. I didn't need it. His silence was respect. A promise.
He believed in me.
The council, however, did not.
Chancellor Dorian, with his long beard like a coiled rope and his voice like dry parchment, was the first to speak.
"This display," he said, sweeping an arm toward me like I was an illusion to be dispelled by daylight, "is nothing more than a well-timed ploy. A distraction."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the court.
"She died," muttered a lord from the southern isles. "We buried her."
"Wards confirmed her soul's departure," said another.
"The queen has no heir," snapped a woman I didn't recognize, silver hair braided like a crown. "This is an insult to her memory—"
"I am her memory."
My voice cut through the noise like lightning through silence.
They quieted.
I stepped forward, past the circle of light that bathed the dais, and let them look at me properly.
At the scar along my collarbone that Alaric had carved with a ceremonial blade. At the glint of fire still burning in my eyes.
"You want proof? You want answers?" I lifted my chin. "Then stop pretending you don't see what's already in front of you."
"You claim to be Queen Selene," Dorian said tightly. "Reincarnated? As if that kind of magic isn't forbidden—"
"It's older than your laws," I said. "Older than this court, and far older than the lies Alaric built his throne upon."
Lucien stepped forward, finally. "We all felt it. When the wards cracked. When the forest screamed. When the altar at Veremire turned to ash." He looked each of them in the eye. "You felt it too, even if you're too afraid to say it out loud."
Vespera appeared then, sweeping through the chamber like a gust of winter wind. She bowed her head only slightly before turning to the crowd.
"She bears the Mark of the Moon Flame," she said, and the room stilled. "The magic that bound her was never broken. Only buried. And now, it stirs again."
"And how do we know you're not part of the deception?" Magnus asked. He looked older than I remembered, but no less wary.
Vespera tilted her head. "Because I warned you ten years ago that this would happen. You chose to forget."
A low hum began beneath my feet.
Soft. Subtle.
Then rising.
I looked down.
The floor was glowing—runic lines carved into the ancient stone began to illuminate, burning with a blue fire that danced and twisted like smoke. A tremor passed through the air, a ripple that made every torch flicker and flare.
Gasps erupted around us.
"The seal—"
"It's awakening—"
"Only one soul can do that—"
I didn't move.
The magic pulsed again. A slow heartbeat of power answering mine. It recognized me. Not the vessel. Not the flesh.
Me.
The Queen.
The ground beneath my feet cracked with light, a sigil long-forgotten revealing itself: a silver crescent, wrapped in flame. My sigil. My birthright. The one they'd tried to erase from history.
The banners lining the walls shuddered, threads unraveling, and when the dust cleared—my colors hung again. Midnight blue and silver flame.
I met Magnus's wide eyes and said calmly, "Do you believe me now?"
The old wolf dropped to one knee.
"I do, my Queen."
One by one, they followed. Hesitant at first. Then resolute. Even those who had spoken against me bowed their heads—not out of submission, but awe. The kind that only truth can command.
All but Dorian.
He stood frozen, lips thin, eyes darting like a cornered animal.
"She will bring war," he hissed.
"She will bring justice," Lucien said beside me.
I raised a hand. The hall went still again.
"I don't come to reclaim a crown for vanity," I said. "I come for the truth buried in blood and fire. I come for those who died while the court cowered in comfort. And I come for him."
The silence deepened.
They knew who I meant.
Alaric.
The usurper.
The mate who killed me.
Vespera's voice was soft but clear. "She is not the same Selene who fell. She is the one who rose."
I let the moment stretch until it sang like a bowstring. Then I turned from the council, cloak whispering across the floor, and strode toward the stairs.
Lucien followed, silent as ever.
At the threshold, I paused and spoke without turning.
"Summon every allied house. Every loyal pack. Send word to the siren courts beneath the lake, to the sky hunters of the frost peaks. Let them know…"
I looked back, my eyes burning like twin moons.
"…the rightful Queen has returned."
And the war for the realm had just begun.
The silence that followed her declaration was not empty—it was full. Full of memory, full of dread, full of something ancient stirring awake in the marrow of every being present. The room felt like it was holding its breath.
Magnus swallowed hard. Others bowed their heads—some out of loyalty, others out of fear.
Only Vespera moved, stepping forward until she was close enough to truly look at Selene.
"I warned them," she murmured. "I told them the past was not dead."
Selene tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You didn't stop them either."
"No," Vespera said. "But I kept the flame alive when the world forgot you."
Lucien watched the exchange in stillness, a quiet pressure behind his eyes. He'd waited years for this moment—hoped for it, prayed for it, feared it. But nothing could've prepared him for seeing her like this. Like this.
Not the broken girl he'd once helped to her feet. Not the haunted soul who had wandered through the woods. She stood now like a living prophecy—terrible and beautiful.
Selene turned her gaze to him, and though she said nothing, he could feel her thoughts like thunder pressing behind the veil of her eyes.
We're not finished.
No, they weren't.
Lucien cleared his throat and stepped forward.
"We'll need scouts," he said. "Alaric will know something's changed. He won't move tonight, but he'll be watching."
Selene nodded. "Double the watch on the northern wall. Send falcons to the ash coast. I want updates every six hours."
Someone scoffed softly—a younger noble in pale blue robes. "And who put you in command?"
Selene didn't blink. "The gods."
The noble laughed, but it was thin. "The gods are long dead, my lady."
She smiled. "Then let the dead bear witness."
A low hum of unease spread through the chamber.
Vespera stepped between them. "We will honor the rightful soul," she said. "The court will follow her. I will see to it."
Lucien looked at her, surprised.
Selene didn't even flinch.
"It's not faith I want," she said quietly. "It's results."
Then she turned on her heel and strode from the war chamber, her cloak a trailing storm of midnight fabric. Lucien followed, quick to match her pace.
They walked together down the stone corridors, and for a while, said nothing.
At last, he asked, "Do you remember everything?"
She paused at a window overlooking the forest where moonlight laced the trees.
"No," she said. "Not everything. Not yet."
"But enough?"
She turned to him then, her voice a whisper laced with iron. "Enough to know who betrayed me. Enough to know who watched. Enough to know who stood by and did nothing."
Lucien stiffened, the words hitting sharper than they should have. "I didn't know what he was planning—"
"You knew," she snapped. "Not all of it. But you knew enough. And you let it happen."
The air between them trembled.
"I was young," he said, voice raw. "And I was scared."
"So was I," Selene whispered. "And I died for it."
The words hung between them like blades.
But then… she looked away, the fire dimming behind her eyes. "I don't need an apology, Lucien. I need your sword."
"You have it," he said instantly.
She glanced at him again, not with warmth—but with the cool calculation of someone weighing what pieces she could afford to move.
"Good. Then ride with me at dawn. There's something buried in the frost valley. A key. A name. And I intend to dig it up."
Lucien blinked. "What is it?"
Selene touched her scar absentmindedly.
"A secret that Alaric spent half a kingdom to bury."
---
Later that night, Vespera found Selene alone in the moon tower. The wind howled outside, slamming against the stone like it carried ghosts.
"You're pushing them hard," Vespera said.
Selene stood facing the window, not turning. "They've had years to rest. I've had none."
Vespera hesitated. "You'll break if you don't pace yourself."
"Then I'll break him first."
There was silence again, and Vespera stepped closer. "You said you didn't remember everything… but I wonder, Selene—do you remember what lies beneath the silver room?"
Selene froze.
A beat passed. Then another.
"Yes," she said. "But I haven't gone there yet."
"You should," Vespera said. "There's something locked behind the iron spell. Something he feared more than your power."
Selene finally turned. "And you know what it is?"
"I know what it was," Vespera said. "But only you can see what it's become."
---
Midnight.
Selene walked the old corridor alone, torches flickering as she passed the vaults beneath the court. She paused in front of the sealed door—ancient runes etched in silver and iron, pulsing faintly.
She laid her palm on the center.
At her touch, the metal flared, then melted away into shadow.
Inside… dust. Silence. A single chest covered in a velvet shroud.
Selene approached slowly, heart pounding. She opened it.
Inside: a child's shoe. A lock of silver hair. A sealed letter with her name in old handwriting.
Her hands shook.
And then her memory flooded—
A crib. A lullaby. A scream. Blood. His hands wrenching the child from her. Alaric's voice—cold, triumphant: "You'll forget. And so will she."
Selene staggered back.
But now she remembered. All of it.
Not just the war.
Not just the fire.
But the child.
Her child.
Tears slid down her cheeks as she stood in the dark, the weight of it all crushing her.
"I'm coming for you," she whispered into the silence.