The rogue kingdom had gone silent.
Not in fear.
In reverence.
Because tonight, the sky would split open.
And either Seraphina would ascend—
Or be torn apart.
Inside the Moonfire Temple, Seraphina stood at the heart of a blazing symbol carved into the stone floor—half silver, half black. Lucian's eyes never left her as witches circled in cloaks of ash, whispering spells that hadn't been spoken in centuries.
This was the final bond.
Not just the sealing of their souls, but the crowning of her rule.
He watched as her skin glowed faintly under the torchlight, and the second mark on her chest pulsed in time with the blood moon overhead. She looked like a goddess from the old world.
Untouchable.
Deadly.
His.
But even as power coiled in her, she was haunted.
Her mother.
The Council's trap.
Damien's warning.
And now… she had to choose.
The Grand Witch stepped forward.
"You are half High Blood, half Rogue Flame," the old crone rasped. "Bound by two monsters. Made for war."
Seraphina's fingers twitched.
"You wear the mark of the cursed king," the witch hissed, nodding at Lucian, "and the rejected blood of the elite."
She held out a dagger.
"You must give your blood… and choose."
The blade was obsidian. Dipped in phoenix bone. Forged in death.
"Choose what?" Seraphina asked.
The witch bared her teeth.
"Your mate… or your mother."
Lucian stepped forward. "No."
But Seraphina reached for the blade.
"Wait!" he shouted, voice shaking.
Her eyes locked with his. "You said you'd stand with me. Even when I burn the world."
He flinched. "I didn't think I'd be the one burning."
The sky darkened.
The eclipse began.
Black moon swallowing the red sun.
Seraphina raised the blade.
Witches began to chant louder.
Lucian's voice was raw now. "You don't have to do this. We'll find another way."
"No," she whispered. "This is the only way they'll listen."
And with one swift movement—
She cut her palm.
Blood poured into the center of the crowning circle.
The fire erupted.
But that wasn't all.
She turned the blade to her chest.
The witches gasped.
Lucian lunged.
"Seraphina!"
Too late.
She sliced over the second mark—cutting into Lucian's bond.
The fire howled.
Magic screamed.
And the circle exploded.
She collapsed.
Lucian caught her, dragging her into his arms as flames danced around them.
Her breath was shallow. Her body convulsing.
But her eyes opened, and they were glowing silver and black. Balanced. Broken.
And then—
She rose.
Not just standing. Floating.
Hair whipping in the storm. Her skin shining like the goddess of war.
"I choose both," she said.
Her voice echoed like thunder.
"My mother. And my monster."
The witches fell to their knees.
Lucian stepped back, stunned.
She turned to him, lips curling. "You said I was born for this."
He whispered, "I didn't know how right I was."
Then she pressed her palm to his chest.
Marked him again.
And this time… the fire was holy.
Dark and divine.
Outside the temple…
The Council watched from the mountains.
"She survived the eclipse," one growled. "The girl should've died."
"No," Damien whispered, eyes wide. "She's not just alive…"
"She's ascending."
And as the final eclipse flame exploded into the sky—
Seraphina screamed.
And somewhere far below, in a hidden prison…
A woman with silver eyes opened hers.
"My daughter."