The room seemed to close in around Aria as the King's words lingered in the air like poison. Every inch of her skin burned with the weight of the decision that loomed before her. The throne. Power. Darkness.
The Moonblood.
Ronan's steady presence at her side was the only thing that kept her grounded. His hand, warm and unyielding in hers, was the tether that kept her from falling into the abyss.
> "You don't have to do this," Ronan said, his voice low but full of urgency. "There's always another way, Aria. We'll find it. We'll—"
But the King's laughter interrupted him, rich and full of disdain. "You are so naive, Ronan," he sneered. "Do you really think you can protect her from what she is? From what she's meant to be?"
The shadows around them twisted and writhed, as though reacting to the King's words. The rift in the air pulsed, opening wider as if beckoning them into the dark unknown.
> "You don't understand, do you?" the King continued, his voice growing darker. "She was born to rule, born to unite the realms. The Moonblood bloodline is the key to the power that controls this world—and every other. You have no choice but to embrace your destiny, Aria. The throne is yours."
Aria felt the pull of his words, a deep, magnetic force that seemed to settle into her chest, heavy and consuming. Every fiber of her being screamed at her to resist, but the temptation—the sheer force of the power that had always been inside her—was undeniable.
Ronan's grip on her hand tightened, pulling her back from the edge. "No. Don't listen to him. You are not a weapon, Aria. You are not some pawn in a game you don't understand. We decide who we are. Not him. Not anyone."
Aria's head spun as the magic swirled around them, whispering of ancient truths and lost futures. The King's power radiated, dark and ancient, seeping into her soul, but Ronan's love—his devotion—was the one thing that had always kept her from falling too far.
> "Ronan, I don't know what to believe anymore," Aria confessed, her voice shaking. "What if he's right? What if I'm meant to do this? What if I'm the one who can end the war, unite the realms?"
The King's eyes gleamed with victory. "Yes," he whispered, his voice like a caress. "Embrace your power, Aria. You are the one who will save them all. Or destroy them. The choice is yours."
But just as Aria's resolve began to crack, a sudden, piercing pain shot through her chest. Her body froze as she gasped for breath, her knees buckling beneath her.
> "No!" Ronan cried out, reaching for her. "Aria!"
The rift in the air pulsed with a malevolent energy, and the King's smile only grew wider. "She's weakening. The Moonblood cannot resist its true nature for long."
But as Aria's vision blurred, a strange, foreign voice echoed in her mind. It was not the King's voice. It was soft, ancient, and full of sorrow.
> "Aria..."
Her heart stuttered.
The voice was familiar.
> "You are not alone."
A surge of warmth filled her chest, and the pain that had been choking her lifted. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Aria felt a presence within her—something old, something wise, and something gentle.
She gasped, the clarity flooding her mind like a rushing river.
> "You are the heart of the Moonblood," the voice whispered. "The power does not control you. You control it."
Aria's eyes widened as the magic around her surged in response to the voice. The King's face twisted with confusion, his brow furrowing as if he could feel the shift in the atmosphere.
> "What… what is this?" he demanded.
Aria stood tall, her gaze locking with his. "This isn't your power to control anymore. This is mine."
With one final surge of strength, she broke free from the rift's pull, her hands raised high, her energy crackling around her like a storm. The air hummed with a primal force, and the King stumbled backward, his eyes widening with fear.
The power that had always been inside her—the magic of her bloodline—wasn't meant to destroy. It was meant to heal. And she could feel it now, the pulse of the ancient magic vibrating through her veins, a heartbeat that belonged to the world itself.
> "You cannot control me," she said, her voice steady. "And I will never be yours."
The King's sneer faltered as he realized the truth. Aria wasn't a pawn. She wasn't a weapon. She was the power—the power to unite, to restore, to bring peace.
And she was not afraid to use it.
Ronan stepped beside her, his hand on her shoulder, a silent promise that they would face whatever came next together.
> "We're with you," he said, his voice unwavering.
Aria's gaze softened as she turned to him. "And I'm with you."
But the King was not done yet. His eyes turned dark with rage. "You think you've won?" he spat. "This is only the beginning. The realms are on the brink of war, and you will never be able to control them."
Aria's magic flared, her voice echoing with power. "We will control our own fate."
With that, she released a wave of energy that shattered the King's power and sent him crashing into the ground. The rift in the air collapsed, and the room fell silent.
The battle for the Shadowlands had only just begun.