The first time I saw the Eclipse Crown, it wasn’t on my head.
It was in the fire.
Not burning. Not melting. Not even glowing.
Just waiting.
I found it in the ritual chamber beneath the eastern spire—where the old witches had once bound the seasons, where the ley lines converged like veins beneath skin. The chamber was forgotten, its sigils cracked, its torches long dead. But the air still hummed with magic, thick and old, like the breath of something sleeping. I hadn’t come to find it. I hadn’t even been looking.
I came to remember.
To stand where the Eclipse had once been whole. To feel the pulse of power that had been silenced for centuries. To press my palm to the dais and whisper the incantation—“Veritas sanguis. Veritas vinculum. Veritas cor.”—and let the truth burn through me.
And then—
The fire lit itself.
Not from a torch. Not from a spark.
From the stone.
A ring of flame erupted around the dais, not red, not gold, but indigo—deep and pulsing, like a heartbeat. The sigils flared, their lines repairing themselves, their power surging back to life. And in the center—
The crown.
It rose from the flames like a serpent uncoiling—crafted from black stone, veined with indigo, its edges etched with Eclipse runes that shifted as I watched. It didn’t hover. Didn’t float. It burned—not with fire, but with presence. With memory. With claim.
And I—
I didn’t flinch.
Just stepped forward, my boots clicking once on the stone, my cloak bending light around me. The ring on my finger—black stone veined with indigo—glowed faintly, its weight both familiar and sacred. The mating mark pulsed beneath my collar, warm and alive, feeding on the bond, on the truth, on the sheer need that had been building since the moment our hands touched.
And then—
I reached for it.
Not with hesitation. Not with fear.
But with recognition.
My fingers brushed the crown—cold at first, then warm, then alive. A pulse of indigo surged through my veins, and for one breathless second, I saw it.
A woman—tall, dark, with eyes like storm clouds—standing beneath a blood moon, her hand outstretched, her voice low. *“You cannot chain the Eclipse. You cannot bind what is free.”*
And then—
She looked up.
Not at me.
But through me.
And she said—
“The crown is not yours to wear. It is yours to awaken.”
And then—
The vision snapped.
I gasped, stumbling back, my hand flying to my chest, the Black Sigil pulsing beneath my ribs. The crown hovered in the air, still burning with indigo flame, its runes shifting, whispering. And then—
It settled.
Not on the dais.
Not in the fire.
But in my hand.
And I—
I wasn’t just Indigo.
I was hers.
And she was mine.
—
I didn’t go to Kaelen.
Not yet.
He was in the war room—maps spread across the table, his molten gold eyes scanning the ley lines, his fangs bared in concentration. The wound at his side had healed, but the venom’s shadow still lingered in his blood, a whisper of weakness he refused to admit. He had stood between me and the Prince’s blade. Again. Without hesitation. Without sound. Just a flicker of pain in his eyes before he’d pulled me closer, his fangs grazing my throat, just a whisper of pressure, a promise.
And I’d said, “Always.”
But now—
Now something else was coming.
Something darker.
Something older.
And far more sacred.
So I kept it to myself.
Just me.
And the magic.
—
The Council had passed the fourth law—the Seal of Blood now rested beside the Seal of Winter and the Seal of Summer at the center of the dais, pulsing with carmine light, a silent witness to balance. The northern gate remained open—no longer a wound, but a bridge. The Blood Moon had risen. The seals had been placed. And in their truth, they had changed everything.
But the crown—
It didn’t believe in balance.
It believed in awakening.
And it wasn’t here to witness.
It was here to rule.
—
The pulse returned that night.
Not in the war room. Not in the throne chamber. But in my blood.
I was lying in bed, the sheets tangled around my legs, the mating mark glowing faintly against my skin. Kaelen was beside me, his body a wall of cool strength, his breath steady, his fangs just visible in the moonlight. I should have been asleep. Should have been safe. Should have been still.
But then—
It came.
A surge—deep in my core, in my bones, in my soul. The Black Sigil flared beneath my ribs, not with indigo, not with silver, not even with carmine, but with void—the color of eclipse, of shadow, of the space between stars. The chain around my wrist coiled tighter, warm and alive, a serpent made of memory. The ring on my finger burned—just a whisper, just a spark—but it was there.
And then—
I saw it.
The woman—tall, dark, with eyes like storm clouds—standing beneath a blood moon, her hand outstretched, her voice low. *“You cannot chain the Eclipse. You cannot bind what is free.”*
And then—
She stepped forward.
“The crown is not yours to wear,” she said, voice smooth, deep, dripping with ancient power. “It is yours to awaken.”
“And if I don’t?” I asked, voice steady.
She didn’t flinch. Just raised her hand—and the moon burned.
Not with fire. Not with light.
But with truth.
The dream snapped.
I woke gasping, my hand flying to my chest—no mark, no chain, but the heat remained. Deep. Rooted. Real.
And I—
I wasn’t just dreaming.
I was claimed.
—
I didn’t go to the seers.
Not again.
They had already warned me. Already told me what was coming. And I couldn’t keep asking for answers I wasn’t ready to hear.
So I went to the archives.
Not to search. Not to hide.
But to fight.
I pulled down every grimoire bound in bone, unrolled every scroll sealed in silver, pried open every case of black iron. The scent of old paper, of ink and magic, clung to my skin. My fingers trembled as I turned pages, my breath shallow, my heart pounding. I wasn’t looking for a spell. Not for a weapon. Not for a way to break the chain.
I was looking for her.
And then—
I found it.
Not in a book. Not in a scroll.
But in a mirror.
It stood in the corner of the chamber—tall, framed in black stone, its surface cracked, its reflection distorted. I hadn’t noticed it before. But now—
Now it called to me.
I stepped closer, my boots soft on the stone, my breath shallow. The mirror didn’t show me. Not my face. Not my body. But a woman—tall, dark, with eyes like storm clouds—standing beneath a blood moon, her hand outstretched, her voice low. *“You cannot chain the Eclipse. You cannot bind what is free.”*
And then—
She looked up.
Not at me.
But through me.
And she said—
“The crown is not yours to wear.”
I didn’t flinch. Just pressed my palm to the glass.
And the world burned.
Not with fire. Not with pain.
But with memory.
Not mine.
But hers.
A woman—standing beneath a blood moon, her hand outstretched, her voice low. *“You cannot chain the Eclipse. You cannot bind what is free.”* A man—tall, dark, with eyes like storm clouds—raising his hand. And then—
She stepped forward.
“The crown is not yours to wear,” she said. “It is yours to awaken.”
The vision snapped.
I collapsed to my knees, gasping, my hand pressed to my chest, the Black Sigil pulsing like a second heartbeat. The mirror cracked further, a web of frost spreading across its surface. And then—
It shattered.
Not with sound. Not with force.
But with silence.
And I—
I wasn’t just Indigo.
I was awake.
—
I didn’t go to Kaelen.
Not yet.
But I didn’t have to.
He came to me.
Standing in the corridor outside the archives, his tunic open at the throat, his fangs just visible when he turned his head. His molten gold eyes locked onto mine, not with suspicion, not with anger, but with something deeper.
Recognition.
“You’ve seen her,” he said, voice low.
I didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “The Eclipse Queen. She’s coming.”
He didn’t question. Just studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, *testing*—then reached for my hand. Not to take it. But to press his palm to mine, his fingers brushing the mating mark.
“She was a ruler,” he said. “Not a warrior. Not a king. But a woman who tried to awaken what had been silenced. She tried to break the Eclipse. She tried to silence the truth.” He looked up, those golden eyes locking onto mine. “And now she’s back.”
“And if she breaks the bond?” I asked.
“Then we fight,” he said. “Not just for the throne. Not just for the balance. But for us.”
My breath caught.
And then—
He stepped closer.
Pressed his forehead to mine.
And whispered—
“You’re not alone.”
—
The next day, I went to the ritual chamber.
Not to hide. Not to flee.
But to challenge.
I laid my palm on the stone, the Black Sigil flaring beneath my ribs, and whispered the incantation Mira had taught me—words in a language older than the coven, older than the Dominion.
“Veritas sanguis. Veritas vinculum. Veritas cor.”
Truth in blood. Truth in bond. Truth in heart.
The sigils flared—indigo and silver, pulsing faster, brighter. The air thickened. The scent of old magic, of iron and storm, curled around me. And then—
A whisper.
Not loud. Not commanding.
But everywhere.
“You dare?” it said, smooth, deep, dripping with ancient power. “You dare awaken what was sealed? You dare defy the eclipse?”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, my boots clicking once on the stone. “The truth isn’t yours to silence,” I said. “It’s mine to awaken.”
The whisper grew louder. The sigils trembled. And then—
A shape.
Not solid. Not real.
But there.
The Eclipse Queen.
She stood before me, tall, dark, with eyes like storm clouds—her face half-hidden in shadow, her fingers brushing a sigil carved into black stone. She looked at me, really looked at me, and for one breathless second, I saw it.
Recognition.
“You are not ready,” she said, voice deep, sharp, hers.
“Then make me ready,” I said, stepping forward. “Or break me. But know this—I will not kneel.”
She didn’t speak. Just raised her hand.
And the chamber burned.
Not with fire.
Not with frost.
But with void.
The sigils dimmed. The torchlight flickered. The ley lines beneath the city stilled.
And then—
She vanished.
Not in smoke. Not in fire.
But in indigo.
A single drop of shadow drifted down, landing on my wrist—cold, sharp, laced with something older than war.
And then—
The chamber cooled.
The sigils flared. The torchlight burned. The ley lines pulsed.
And the bond—
It was still there.
Warm. Alive. Mine.
—
I didn’t go to Kaelen.
Not yet.
But I didn’t have to.
He found me.
Standing in the corridor outside the ritual chamber, my breath shallow, my eyes wide, my hand pressed to the mating mark. He didn’t speak. Just stepped forward, his boots soft on the stone, his cloak bending light around him. His molten gold eyes locked onto mine, not with suspicion, not with anger, but with something deeper.
Recognition.
“You’ve seen her,” he said, voice low.
I didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “The Eclipse Queen. She’s coming.”
He didn’t question. Just studied me—those sharp, observant eyes searching, *testing*—then reached for my hand. Not to take it. But to press his palm to mine, his fingers brushing the mating mark.
“Then we prepare,” he said. “Not just for war. But for truth.”
My breath caught.
And then—
He stepped closer.
Pressed his forehead to mine.
And whispered—
“You’re not alone.”
—
Later, in the quiet of our chambers, I found the letter.
Not on the desk. Not in the drawer.
But tucked beneath the pillow, the paper thin, the ink smudged. No name. No seal. Just a single line:
The Eclipse is rising.
I didn’t speak. Just handed it to Kaelen.
He read it once. Then again. Then set it down on the nightstand.
“Then let it rise,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “We’ve faced worse.”
And as I fell asleep in his embrace, the mating mark glowing like a brand, the Black Sigil pulsing beneath my ribs, the chain warm around my wrist, the key heavy in my hand, the new sigil warm against my chest, the crown heavy in my grip, I knew—
This wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.
And I would not be silenced.
Not again.
Not ever.