Page 54 of Moonlit Desires
Chapter nineteen
The Queen Strikes
____________
As sleep drapes itself over her, the protective wards cast a warm, silver glow across the chamber, a quiet sentinel holding at bay the world beyond.
Lyra drifts into dreams familiar yet elusive, visions unfurling like silver vines in moonlight, wrapping around broken marble and whispering echoes of shadowed eyes longing for connection.
But this comfort does not last; the dreamscape twists, revealing darker paths as the shadowed eyes morph into something far more sinister.
The initial warmth fades as the landscape shifts abruptly, silver turning to greys and blacks, a palpable sense of foreboding creeping into the periphery of her consciousness.
The familiar imagery—a silver forest glimmering under the light of three moons—morphs into something grotesque, where thorns replace trunks and vines tangle like gnarled fingers reaching for her.
The ground beneath her feet pulses, a living floor woven from writhing roots that seem to twist and coil, eager to ensnare her.
Before Lyra can process the change, she finds herself standing in a throne room that exudes dread, every surface adorned with the grotesque blossoms of the Thorn Queen's twisted magic.
The walls, ensconced in sharp thorns, appear to throb with malice, their shadows looming ominously as if mocking her intrusion.
Above, the air feels thick, heavy with a suffocating tension that grates at her resolve.
"You dare enter my domain, little Marked One?
" A voice slices through the stillness, cold and mocking, echoing off the walls and reverberating through her bones.
The Queen of Thorns materializes before her, regal and menacing, draped in robes made of shadow and adorned with jewels that glitter like malicious stars.
With each step she takes, the ground trembles in response, vibrating with an energy that speaks of unfathomable power and the intent to terrify.
Lyra takes a hesitant step back, fear washing over her as the memory of her Mark's purpose unfurls in her mind.
The Queen's laughter bubbles forth, an icy, crystalline sound that seems to freeze the very air.
"Ah, yes," she sneers, her jeweled crown fracturing into dark petals that flutter around her like ravenous moths.
"You believed the mark was meant to save the Court, didn’t you? Such an adorable delusion."
With a flick of her wrist, the Queen conjures visions that flash before Lyra's eyes—twisted images of her Mark as a weapon, strands of silver entwined with dark ivy unraveling the Court's very essence.
She sees herself standing amidst chaos, surrounded by shadows swallowing the light, vibrant magic consumed and extinguished as her own energy feeds the dark roots entwined in her very being.
Panic surges, an icy grip around her heart. "No! This can't be true!"
But the Queen's laughter rings louder, melding with the visions, whispering of her true legacy, a destiny that twists like the thorns around her throne.
"It was designed to destroy it," she taunts, her voice dripping with cruel delight as roots snarl and lunge toward Lyra, closing in with feral hunger.
Lyra turns, trying to flee, but the dreamscape shifts, shadows tangling around her limbs like a physical weight.
She can feel the cold tendrils wrap around her, creeping toward her heart, choking her cries of desperation.
Her thoughts become a maelstrom—*I need to wake up!
This can’t be real!*—but the more she fights, the tighter the shadows grip.
With each pulse of her heart, a symphony of chaos rises, and the Queen's laughter echoes, twisted and triumphant, a dirge that sounds all too familiar.
The vision of her Mark transforms, reimagined as a blazing sun, a source of chaos that could collapse everything she loved about the Court.
Shadows close in around her, clamoring for her surrender as she grapples against their hold.
Yet Lyra, despite her panic, still embodies the fierce spirit that has thrived in a world of shadows.
As the darkness presses closer, she gathers her will, drawing strength from the threads of silver that connect her to the guardians awaiting in the waking world.
"I am not yours to control!" she screams, echoing her defiance into the void, yet the shadows tighten further, tugging her toward a yawning portal of dark promises and nightmares unfurling beyond her reach.
The realm shifts and swells, a tide of creeping despair rising to swallow her, the Queen's triumphant laughter a stark reminder that she is at risk of losing everything.
Time stretches in this twilight limbo, the distance to wakefulness unreachable as the tendrils tug and pull, dragging her further into the depths of a fate foretold.
Just before the darkness envelops her entirely, the light from her Mark flares with undeniable force, illuminating the thorned throne room in silver, seeking to push back against the shadows encroaching on her.
This pulse is met with the Queen's wrath—a fanged smile, ferocious and cruel, challenging her rebellion.
"You cannot escape the darkness," she hisses, her crown erupting into thorned blossoms that rain down like daggers.
Lyra cries out one last time, her panic surging anew as the shadows pull her toward the portal.
"Help me! Someone—please!" But her voice is lost in the Queen's chilling laughter, fading away as the darkness closes in, dragging her under until she can scarcely remember the warmth of the silver glow that once surrounded her.
As her vision slips into obsidian depths, the dream ends, leaving behind only the laughter of the Queen echoing in her mind, a sound that becomes a haunting refrain: the recognition that her true battle has only just begun.
____________
A sudden jolt of energy courses through the protective wards, a warning that rattles the guardians in their quiet moments.
Kael’s blue eyes snap open, instinct honed by centuries of vigilance flaring to life.
He senses it first—the fracture in the delicate balance that should protect the Moon Court, a rippling thread of danger drawing the breath from his lungs.
He rises instantly from his chair, muscles coiling into action, his hand finding the hilt of his sword without conscious thought.
The protective barrier—once a bastion of safety—now quakes beneath the weight of an unseen force, an ominous herald of invasion.
Heart pounding, he races toward Lyra's chambers, the cool stone floor feeling unstable beneath his feet.
Behind him, Riven stirs, shadows flickering at his feet like restless spirits sensing the threat.
"What is it?" he asks, voice sharp, eyes narrowing as the growing unease settles in his gut.
A flick of his fingers causes shadows to twist, searching the perimeter for the source of disturbance. "Something feels amiss."
"Lyra," Kael growls, urgency coursing through his veins like wildfire. "I fear the wards are failing." The words bring a tremor to his steady voice, an admission that alarms even him.
A pulse of magic surrounds the hall as Thorne’s beastly instincts sharpen, alert to the corrupted energy invading the sanctum of the Court.
He bursts into the chamber behind them, golden eyes keen and piercing, scanning for signs of threat.
"What’s happening?" he growls, shifting in preparation for the fight.
The scents of corrupted magic claw at his senses like an invasive chill that settles deep in his bones, instinctively alerting him to a danger encroaching on those he holds dear.
“It’s Lyra’s spirit,” Ashen states, joining the others, his ethereal presence underscored by a quiet urgency that runs counter to his usually measured demeanor.
“She’s being drawn away.” His starlit eyes narrow, probing the shifting shadows that hover at the edges of their vision.
“We cannot linger here. The Queen has taken her.”
Riven’s expression darkens with realization, shadows swirling in reflection of his intense emotions. “We cannot let her be claimed by the Queen,” he hisses, voice smooth yet laced with a deadly seriousness that sends shivers through the air.
In an instant, the three guardians converge, focus sharpening to a singular point: Lyra, and the darkness threatening to swallow her whole.
Kael clenches his fists, gathering the energies pulsing through the ward’s fracture, and his resolve strengthens in unity with the others.
They all feel it—Lyra, suspended in limbo between two worlds, her spirit stolen away.
“Let’s go,” Kael commands, leading the way. His boots pound down the corridor with determined fervor, his heart steady despite the danger that looms. "We need to follow her before it's too late."
As they reach Lyra’s chamber, the sight before them pulls all breath from their lungs.
She lies still, her breathing shallow, draped against a sea of cushions yet disconnected from their warmth.
The silver glow of her mark dims beneath the shimmering veil of protective wards now strained and flickering.
“Every moment we delay puts her at greater risk,” Kael murmurs, his voice nearly cracking with urgency. “The Queen will not hesitate to exploit the distance between realms.”
The guardians exchange glances—Thorne’s fierce determination, Ashen’s ethereal insight, Riven’s enigmatic confidence, and Kael’s fierce resolve. Together, they form an unbroken circle around her, a bulwark against the encroaching dark.
“We must begin the ritual,” Ashen insists, his eyes widening as he sees the flickering wards begin to pulse erratically. “We can anchor her spirit, follow her through the threshold.”
Kael nods, already shifting into position. “Then we prepare together. Riven, focus your shadows on the edges of the wards—bring them back to the light. Thorne, harness your instincts and connect with her spirit. Ashen, you must guide us through her dreams. Let us not falter in this.”
With determined purpose, they begin, the guardians standing shoulder to shoulder as the air thickens with potent magic.
Each contributes their essence—the clarity of Ashen's foresight intertwining with the shadows summoned by Riven, Thorne’s primal energy merging with Kael's unwavering strength.
The symbols they draw in the air pulse with glowing radiance, sparkling with potential and determination.
The ritual grows, energy rippling outward as they entwine their spirits, fabricating a bridge to follow Lyra into the depths of her dreamscape.
As they prepare to breach the veil, Lyra’s name echoes through their hearts, a binding chant that harmonizes with the pulse of magic, igniting the very foundation of their bond.
“The Queen of Thorns will meet her match,” Kael vows, raising his voice above the crackle of energy forming around them. “We will fight for her now, and we will not lose her again.”
With resolute faces set against the encroaching darkness, the guardians close their eyes and delve into the ritual, stepping toward the threshold where dreams and shadows intertwine, their hearts aflame with determination to rescue Lyra from the depths of the Queen's cruel domain.