FROST
Chapter 95: The Moonfallen

Chapter 95: The Moonfallen

The entire kingdom stirred with frantic motion, as though a great storm had descended from the heavens and swept through the palace halls.

The air was heavy with dread and urgency. Every corridor echoed with the pounding of footsteps—healers clutching satchels of enchanted herbs, sorcerers weaving protective wards mid-stride, and royal guards shouting to clear the way as they escorted mages and physicians alike.

It was rare—unheard of, even—to see such a fusion of ranks running shoulder to shoulder. The sight of decorated nobles sprinting alongside common court healers, all driven by the same fear, spoke volumes of the dire state within the palace.

At the very top of the palace, in the ancient High Chamber crowned with moonlight crystals and sealed runes, a heavy silence clung like mist. The chamber had not been used in centuries—reserved only for the gravest of royal emergencies.

Now, it was the heart of chaos and hope. Its sacred floor, once unmarred, was stained with sweat, blood, and fragments of glowing mana symbols etched in desperation.

The Queen lay on a ceremonial bed in the center of the chamber, pale and unconscious, her body trembling violently as if the remnants of an infernal force still pulsed within her.

Her once-vibrant skin now bore the fading traces of an otherworldly mark, and her lips whispered the fragments of a dream—or a nightmare—none could understand.

Around her, the healers had formed a wide circle, each reciting incantations in unison while others pressed crystals, ointments, and sigils to her skin in careful succession.

The tension in the room was suffocating. Beads of sweat dripped from brows, hands trembled as ancient spells were called upon, and more than once, a healer stumbled backward as dark energy recoiled against their efforts.

Above all this, sorcerers lined the walls, reinforcing the chamber’s protective barrier with layer upon layer of woven spells. They dared not speak aloud the truth, but they all knew: this was no ordinary affliction. The Queen had been touched by a force that defied natural law—a force that had left with the child she bore.

And yet, despite their fear, none left her side.

Because if the Queen, the heart of the realm, were to fall—so too would the King. While the chamber pulsed with frantic energy and desperate healing rituals, the Lunar King was elsewhere—summoned, not by mortals, but by those whose existence resided beyond the veils of mortal comprehension—individuals older than the Guardian Realm.

He stood alone, barefoot, at the center of a vast, obsidian court. A single column of ethereal light illuminated him, casting a long shadow that stretched across the polished black floor like a tether to guilt itself. All around him was darkness—dense, heavy, and oppressive—but he was not truly alone.

They were watching.

He felt their presence before he heard their voices. The gods, the goddesses, perhaps even long-forgotten titans, were gathered in judgment. They concealed their forms within the gloom, their identities veiled by silence and shadow. But their eyes—divine and cold—burned into him from every direction.

The weight of their scrutiny was suffocating.

The Lunar King still wore his white ceremonial robe, now soaked and stained in the Queen’s blood, a silent testament to the horror he had witnessed.

A voice, female, echoed through the void like wind over a frozen lake—sharp, distant, and commanding.

"You are saying, a demon infiltrated a cavern sealed by the Twelve?"

It came from nowhere and everywhere. He couldn’t pinpoint the speaker, and that was by design.

Caspian’s gaze lowered, his jaw clenched. He gave a solemn nod, the flicker of emotion in his eyes betraying grief, fear, and something far deeper—shame.

Another voice followed—this time male, rough like stone grinding against steel.

"And this demon... killed all the Twelve arcane sorcerers without being detected?"

Caspian’s silence was his answer.

A third voice, calm yet biting, joined the chorus.

"And yet no trace of the demon remains. No mana thread. No proof. Only your word."

Then, a fourth voice—deep, ancient, and accusing—rolled through the chamber like thunderclouds approaching.

"Or perhaps," it rumbled, "this was no infiltration at all—but a rebellion."

Caspian’s breath caught, but he did not move.

"You knew the Queen had been touched by a demon—assaulted. Defiled. And yet, you hid it. Not just from us, but from your own kingdom."

The voice was merciless now, each word a hammer striking bone.

"To protect her honor—or perhaps your own throne—you concealed the truth. The child was no prince, but a cursed heir. A half-blood. A threat. You concealed the birth... because you intended to hide it forever."

Silence followed—an unbearable void that roared louder than any accusation. The air around Caspian grew colder, heavier.

He raised his head at last, eyes shadowed but unflinching, his voice low, hoarse, yet steady:

"I swore to protect her. I swore to protect our people. What I did... I did for both."

But the dark around him did not respond. It only watched. The stillness following the Lunar King’s final words was absolute. The silence did not feel like peace—it felt like the intake of breath before an executioner’s swing.

Whispers, hundreds of them, like dry leaves rustling across a crypt floor, began to rise from the void. Voices overlapped, murmuring in ancient tongues and forgotten dialects.

He could not tell if they were debating, remembering, or reliving his actions through the fabric of time itself. The air thickened, pulsing with raw judgment and something colder—disappointment.

Suddenly, the light above him dimmed to a pale silver. From the darkness ahead, a figure stepped forward—not fully visible, yet bearing a crown of spectral fire and a staff carved from starlight and bone.

"The verdict of the High Circle has been reached," the figure proclaimed. Their voice was neither male nor female, young nor old—it simply was, echoing with the weight of millennia.

"Caspian of the Lunar Kingdom, bearer of the Moon’s voice and sworn guardian of the Queen and realm..." The title rang through the chamber like a dirge.

"You have committed grave acts, not of malice—but of concealment. You have withheld truth from your people. You have dared to shroud divine matters in mortal secrecy."

Caspian lifted his gaze, expression grim but composed. He would not cower.

"You have allowed a demon to plant its seed upon sacred soil. You did not inform the Circle when the Queen was first afflicted. You chose to protect her image above the natural order. Even as the Queen bore an unnatural heir, you said nothing until it was too late."

The specter raised its staff. A ripple of blue light spread across the void, revealing for a heartbeat the forms of those watching—massive, shadow-wreathed beings with crowns, wings, scales, celestial flame for eyes. One had roots for legs. Another had a body shaped like an hourglass filled with falling stars. A third—tall and cloaked—held a lantern filled with black water.

They were not mortals.

They were the world’s architects.

"And yet..." the voice softened, though the weight did not lift, "...your love was real. Your loyalty, though misdirected, was unwavering. You sacrificed truth for protection. And while that cannot absolve you, it tempers your punishment."

The King’s fingers twitched at his sides, his body rigid. He braced himself.

"You are hereby stripped of your divine right to reign—not in shame, but in penance. The throne of Lunareth shall remain under protection until the child’s fate is sealed."

Gasps echoed faintly from unseen corners, though no voice rose to protest. The air thickened, heavy with divine judgment and ancient law.

"The Queen shall live, but her spirit bears wounds beyond healing. She will remember the pain, the betrayal, and the child born not of her will. Whether she forgives you for letting a demon claim her child... is no longer for us to decide."

Above Caspian, the ethereal crown of light shimmered once more—then extinguished, leaving only the cold press of silence.

"You will return to your realm not as king, but as a Guardian. No longer divine. No longer sovereign. Until the gods themselves deem you worthy of redemption, you shall wear the mark of the Moonfallen."

Pain lanced through him. A silver crescent flared and burned into his left shoulder—cold as death, yet deeper than flame. The sigil pulsed beneath his bloodstained ceremonial robe, an eternal reminder of judgment passed.

"You may yet reclaim your place," came the final decree, slow and deliberate. "But only if you fulfill the burden set before you. Retrieve the child born of shadow. Expose the demon that defied our seals and violated sacred ground. Bring truth—not rumor, not sorrow—but proof, and only then may your name rise once more."

A beat of stillness passed, and then:

"Until that day, the name of King shall be transferred to your firstborn son. Cloud shall be crowned heir in your absence. The light must endure, even when its bearer has fallen."

Caspian’s breath caught—his heart torn between pride and agony.

"Fail, and your legacy shall be scattered to ash. Succeed, and the heavens themselves may restore what was once yours."

The Circle began to dissolve, fading into shadows and starlight.

And so, Caspian stood alone, his robes stained with the blood of his queen, his shoulder branded by divine flame, and his crown already passed to the child he had once raised in peace.

Only now, the weight of his fall was no longer just his own—but the burden of all his people.

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