CHAPTER THIRTY

T he Daughter of the Moon had awoken, and with her came the promise of vengeance.

Still bound to the pillar, her head snapped up sharply. Her eyes, once clouded with tears, now blazed with an ethereal white light, her desolation giving way to a prophecy fulfilled.

Azhar couldn’t suppress a twisted laugh. “At last,” he crowed. “I was beginning to suspect I had the wrong princess.” He spat out a mouthful of blood and grinned darkly, his teeth stained a grisly red.

With a roar that was a battle cry, the Daughter fought fiercely against the bonds of light that constrained her. Her scream sent a pulse of energy that vibrated through the air and pushed Azhar backward.

His smile vanished as he scrambled to stay grounded, reaching within his cloak to draw forth the orb. Discarding the black cloth, he held the orb aloft as if it were both his shield and sword.

The Daughter writhed violently against the glowing shackles. The light, forged from the orb’s power, flickered and strained under the weight of her fury.

She pulled harder, face contorting with exertion. Azhar’s expression shifted from confidence to shock, then fear, as the bonds of light cracked. The seemingly unbreakable luminescent chains began to crumble, disintegrating into nothingness as if they were mere illusions.

Finally free, the Daughter rose up into the air, a goddess among men. Her eyes were completely white, crackling with bright energy, and her long hair billowed around her.

Azhar’s bravado slipped. He pointed the orb at her, desperate to regain control. A ray of pure light shot forth. The radiant beam split into three serpentine tendrils, coiling tightly around her neck, arms, and ankles.

Bound again, the Daughter pulled against the new bonds with a terrifying cry.

Azhar motioned downward with the orb, the foretold earthly moon, which pulsed brightly with energy. Straining with effort, he managed to pull the Daughter to the ground. The bright bonds tightened further around her, painfully digging into her skin.

The stone floor beneath her feet felt cold, so different from the warmth of the blistering energy coursing through her veins.

Azhar stood before the subdued Daughter, his voice carrying on the wind. “Daughter of the Moon! I command you: kneel before your king and master.” His words, laced with a force not his own, echoed around them.

The Daughter’s face, a mask of pure rage, twisted as she fought his command. Her spirit clashed against the earthly moon’s imposing will.

But the orb’s power proved too strong.

Slowly, agonizingly, her body responded to Azhar’s command. She prostrated before him, her forehead pressed against the cold, unforgiving stone.

The Daughter remained kneeling for what felt like hours as Azhar towered above her.

“ There . Is that not better?” Azhar’s voice was a caress, a smooth, dark velvet, designed to tempt and persuade. “Do you not feel the difference? Such fury resides within you—cast it aside,” he murmured in a honeyed whisper, his voice somehow strangely, devastatingly familiar to her ears. It sent an unwelcome shiver down her back. “We need not be enemies. I will be your protector. Your ally. Whatever you wish me to be. Together, we will reshape the world.”

He observed her hungrily, a conqueror surveying his prize.

The Daughter remained motionless, her silence a heavy shroud in the charged air.

Content with her submission, smug satisfaction curled the edges of Azhar’s mouth. “We can rule together as king and queen,” he assured, words coated in practiced seduction, poison disguised as promise.

He watched as her body went slack, tension slowly easing out of her. “First, we’ll return to Zephyria. Together, we’ll learn to master your powers. Then, we’ll take kingdom by kingdom and unite the entire continent under our reign.”

The Daughter remained kneeling, her body relaxed and pliant, her breathing slow and deep. Pleased with her obedience, Azhar eased some of the oppressive force from the orb. The light binding her flickered in response.

Her rage simmered beneath an illusion of obedience. The Daughter listened to Azhar’s grand delusions, each word stoking the fire of defiance within her.

Azhar eased more of the orb’s force. With a sudden surge of energy, she bolted upright with a loud cry. She stood proud and defiant.

Undefeated and untamed.

Azhar recoiled, his expression twisting into fury.

“I would have been gentle with you, but it seems you need a firm hand!” he shouted angrily. The orb pulsed ominously in his hand, mirroring his wrath. “If it is force you desire, then so be it! One way or another, you will bend to my will!”

The Daughter’s gaze was a silent scream of revulsion. Her white, crackling eyes narrowed into thin slits, and her lip curled in disgust as a shiver of abhorrence rippled through her.

With a piercing cry, she unleashed a force so strong that the very air around her trembled. The ethereal shackles binding her erupted into fragments of light, scattering into oblivion.

Panicking, Azhar raised the orb once more. A vibrant beam burst forth, attempting to bind her again.

But this time, the Daughter was ready.

She lifted her hand, and a powerful ray of light shot out from her palm to meet the orb’s assault.

Azhar grimaced, the veins on his forehead pulsing as he unleashed more power from the orb. Its light flared into a blinding brilliance.

The Daughter stumbled back, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the beam. She tried to summon more of her own light, but the orb’s power outmatched hers.

Azhar pushed forward, and the light from the earthly moon blazed brighter still.

The Daughter staggered back, her light wavering against the earthly moon’s assault. Her legs buckled and she collapsed, her trembling hand barely managing to intercept the orb’s searing beam. Light engulfed her, pinning her in place, sapping her strength.

It grew hotter and brighter, brighter and hotter, until it blazed so fiercely, it blinded her.

As she shielded her eyes, her gaze landed on Zarian’s lifeless, bloodied body.

A spark of recognition flickered deep within her.

She knew him.

Fragments of time crashed through her mind—memories that weren’t hers, but felt devastatingly familiar.

He offered her a pastry from his plate, his lips curving into a soft smile.

He held her, his hands steady as she sobbed into his chest, her burdens too heavy to bear alone.

He kissed her as if he’d die without her, right here, on this very terrace.

She stared at his broken body, Azhar’s light bearing down, and something shattered inside her.

She knew him. He had been hers .

She rose quickly and regained her balance, the fury in her eyes burning brighter than the orb’s light. Her hands shot forward, palms open against the onslaught. The light pouring from her doubled, surging brighter than the orb’s brilliance.

Their energies collided, a swirling maelstrom of light where neither side yielded. The Daughter’s beam fought against the orb’s rays in a dance of power that lit up the terrace.

Slowly, thin streams of blood trickled from the Daughter’s nostrils and eyes, painting her face with the brutal toll of her struggle.

Azhar, straining under the orb’s weight, staggered backward as the beam from her hands surged in brilliance.

With an inhuman bellow, the Daughter amplified her assault. The light around her flickered wildly and enveloped her in a bright, brilliant aura.

A loud crack vibrated through the air.

Sharp fragments scattered to the floor. The Daughter’s light had shattered the orb, and it crumbled, along with Azhar’s hold over her.

Azhar stumbled back, his confidence dissolving into fear. “Impossible! That’s impossible!” he screamed, his face a mask of pure terror as she advanced.

She raised her hand, directing a piercing beam of light into his chest. Azhar’s anguished wail tore through the air, a sound vibrating with pure agony as energy engulfed him, his body stiffening under the electric flow. She intensified the beam, her anger and sorrow fueling its power. He began to convulse, light exploding from his eyes and mouth in a horrific spectacle.

Blood seeped from the empty cavities that once held his eyes, while his lips burned away, erased by the Daughter’s all-consuming fury.

As she channeled more power, Azhar’s form blurred, engulfed by the blinding light, until he was no longer visible, his very essence devoured by her might.

The light receded as suddenly as it had exploded, leaving behind nothing but a heap of charred bones on the stone floor.

Breathing heavily, the Daughter stood over the remnants of her foe. As the battle subsided and her light dimmed, the sky began to normalize. The moon, having bestowed its powers upon its Daughter, continued its slow descent toward the horizon.

Her eyes, still aglow with the fierce, white light, dimmed slightly. The Daughter turned her gaze again toward Zarian’s lifeless body. With slow, deliberate steps, she moved toward him. The crackling energy that surrounded her faded into a solemn hush.

Kneeling beside him, she laid a gentle hand on his chest, where his heart lay silent, his skin deathly cold to her touch. From her glowing eyes, a single tear fell, mingling with the blood trailing down her cheeks. With her other hand, she tenderly cupped the deep wound in his neck. A soft light slowly emanated from her palms.

Closing her eyes, she channeled a serene, healing energy, so different from the destructive force she wielded moments before. The energy flowed from her, like glowing tendrils of mist, wrapping Zarian in a cocoon of light. Under the soft radiance, the marks of battle slowly began to mend, the fabric of his being knit back together.

Minutes stretched on, the air filled with the silent prayer of her light.

The shallow gash across his abdomen closed first, followed by the gaping wound in his neck. Her light grew brighter, healing, mending, cleansing, until even the blood coating his skin evaporated into thin air.

The Daughter waited, patient and sure, her hand clenching and unclenching on his chest.

There was only silence. She took a shaky breath, her fingertips digging into his chest.

A second tear rolled down her cheek.

She waited.

And then, miraculously, a heartbeat—faint but undeniable—pulsed under her touch.

One beat, two beats, a stutter and a long pause.

And then, blessedly, a third beat.

Zarian’s eyes snapped open, a sharp, desperate intake of breath fracturing the silence. His body convulsed, arching violently off the ground as life forcefully reclaimed him. Gasping for air, he blinked at the figure above him haloed by light.

“Layna?” His voice was a rasp, disbelief and fear mingling in his gaze.

A gentle smile broke across the Daughter’s face, softening her divine fury into a moment of pure, human joy.

Before she could speak, a distant noise caught her attention. Her head jerked toward the horizon. As she stood, the light from her fingertips crackled loudly once more. Without a backward glance, she dashed across the terrace and leaped into the air.

Instead of plummeting, she soared up— higher and higher until she was a mere speck in the sky silhouetted against the sun. Aloft, her hair billowed around her, a halo fit for a goddess.

From the skies, she beheld the entirety of Alzahra City and the vast desert stretching beyond. Her enhanced vision, surpassing any mere human’s, allowed her to see miles away, where the Zephyrian horde approached from the southeast.

There was no obstacle between the enemy and her beloved city.

With a swift motion, she raised her hands skyward, then sharply brought them down. Miles away, the desert floor heeded her command. Beneath the army, the sands erupted in a vicious dance, swirling into a chaotic whirlwind that veiled the sky.

The ground tore open, revealing a gaping chasm that plunged into darkness. The earth itself split apart, exposing an abyss so terrifying, so dark, it whispered of a passage to the underworld itself.

The Zephyrian forces panicked, confusion turning to terror as the ground crumbled beneath them. Horses neighed in fright, soldiers shouted in shock, all before being consumed by the desert’s gaping maw.

The chasm stretched across the desert, a sight of awe and horror. Its edges were sharp and sudden, plunging everything into its shadowy depths.

For a moment, the world held its breath, the vast emptiness swallowing all life that had existed moments before.

Then, as swiftly as it had opened, the earth closed over the abyss. The sands shifted back with a rumble, sealing away the Zephyrian horde as if it had never existed. The desert became a seamless expanse once more.

As the Daughter lowered her hands, her body trembled with the sheer magnitude of energy she had commanded. Blood streamed anew from her nostrils, thick crimson torrents against her skin, yet there was a new mastery in her bearing.

The Daughter slowly descended back to the terrace, landing gently on the stone floor. She walked toward Zarian, who stood frozen in silent awe, his eyes wide.

As she closed the distance between them, her white eyes flickered—once, twice, thrice—before returning to their normal state.

“Zarian?” Layna whispered, dazed, before her strength gave way, and she collapsed into unconsciousness.