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Chapter 12 - ASHES OF THE CROWN

‎Chapter 11 — The Trial Beneath Two Moons

‎The second moon hung low over the charred ruins of Halbrecht Keep, casting a sickly red hue over broken stone and scorched banners. Wind swept through the blackened corridors, whispering like voices from the past.

‎Seris stirred in the infirmary, her palm still burning from the sigil's awakening. Her dreams had been violent, drenched in fire and screams. But something more—she remembered eyes watching her. A golden eye… and one clouded in white.

‎"Kael," she murmured, and the swordsman was at her side in an instant.

‎"You've slept too long," he said gently. "And the sky's changed."

‎Seris sat up, disoriented. Her body ached, the mark still throbbing like it lived. "What happened?"

‎Kael handed her a blade. Not hers. This one was old. Ritualistic. Forged in blacksteel, its edge etched with glyphs she didn't recognize.

‎"The Blood Hounds left this," he said. "On the eastern wall. No message. Just… this."

‎Seris's throat dried.

‎Kael added, "They want a trial. Tonight."

‎---

‎Hours Later — The Ruins Stir

‎The makeshift battleground lay in the outer courtyard, where weeds had claimed the bones of the keep. Shadows lengthened, stretching like claws as the twin moons aligned.

‎And then she saw them.

‎Figures emerged from the tree line—grotesque silhouettes, stitched from flesh and bone, their eyes glowing with emberlight. Revenants. Twisted husks resurrected from ancient soldiers and war beasts, bound by blood-sorcery.

‎Kael stepped forward, but Seris held him back. "This is for me."

‎The revenants circled her in silence, some crawling, others dragging jagged weapons. Their leader—twice her size, with a shattered helmet fused to its skull—growled low, a language of pain and command.

‎The first lunged.

‎Seris moved.

‎She danced between them, her blade carving arcs of black light as the sigil pulsed, reacting not just to her will, but to her rage.

‎With every strike, a memory flashed—distant voices, foreign ruins, a man in chains beneath a mountain.

‎One revenant shattered. Another fell shrieking, ignited by blue fire from her mark.

‎Kael watched, stunned. "She's not just fighting," he murmured. "She's… remembering."

‎The last revenant reached her, a blade swinging low—until Seris caught it mid-strike, her palm glowing, and unmade the creature in a single scream of light.

‎Silence returned.

‎And then, from beyond the trees, a slow clap echoed.

‎A figure stepped into view, wreathed in wolfskins and shadow. Gold eye. White eye.

‎"Impressive," said Drennir, leader of the Blood Hounds. "But the real trial is yet to come."

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