The camp was silent. Not the silence of peace, but the kind that follows a storm — stunned, breathless, waiting for the next strike.
I sat alone in the healer's tent, the canvas walls flickering with torchlight. My hands were still trembling by what happened earlier.
Bloodmoon Lance.
I hadn't meant to cast it. I hadn't even known it existed. But the words had left my mouth like they'd been waiting there all along.
And the sky had listened.
The moon had turned crimson. Spears of light had rained down like judgment. The demons hadn't stood a chance.
I stared at my hands. They didn't feel like mine.
Then the memories came.
Not mine. Not entirely.
A battlefield. A different one. The sky was darker, the air thicker. A woman stood alone with confidence. She raised her hand — my hand — and her voice rang out, cold and clear:
"Bloodmoon Lance."
The sky bled. The earth split. The world screamed.
I gasped, clutching my chest. The vision shattered, but the ache remained — not in my body, but somewhere deeper.
She had been angry. Not at the demons. At them. At the ones who wished for her to die.
Even after everything she'd done — the battles she'd fought, the blood she'd spilled for them — they had still seen her as a worthless being.
And now, through me, she had spoken.
Outside, the camp stirred. I could hear the soldiers whispering. Not about the demons. About me.
"She didn't even chant." "That wasn't any spell I've ever seen." "She's cursed." "She saved us." "She was not even good at magic."
I stood, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. The tent flap rustled, and a figure stepped inside.
It was the young knight from before — the one who had shouted to protect me. He looked pale, but he didn't flinch.
"Your Highness," he said, voice low. "The men… they're waiting."
"For what?" I asked.
He hesitated. "They want to know what happens next."
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Kael, Princess."
I nodded. "Then tell them I'm alive. That's all they need to know."
He blinked, then bowed. "Yes, Princess."
I stepped out into the night. The blood-red hue had faded from the moon, but its memory lingered in the air. Soldiers turned as I passed, parting without a word. Some bowed. Others just stared.
(I didn't speak cause... what would I say that I was possessed or something. I could barely think about anything right now.
Sigh...
Let them wonder.
Let them decide what they saw.
At the edge of the camp, the battlefield still smoldered. The cursed spears had vanished, but the ground bore their scars — blackened craters, strange symbols burned into the soil. The demons' bodies were used as a nourishment for the battlefield to recover.
The words of victory travelled across the Kingdom faster wildfire. Selinaa had no idea what was happening. The Ten High Lords had gathered in the Sky Tower, discussing about the unpredicted event happened in the battlefield.
Inside the Sky Tower,
The chamber was carved from obsidian and moonstone, its walls etched with the names of every High Lord since the founding of the kingdom. Ten seats circled a central flame, each one occupied by a figure cloaked in power.
They were young — but the air around them shimmered with the weight of their presence. These were not nobles. These were warriors, scholars, tacticians, mages. Chosen not by blood, but by brilliance.
And they were angry.
"She summoned what?" asked Lord Ren, the 5th Lord known as the Heaven's Blade. His voice sharp as steel. "A forbidden spell? Without a chant?"
"Not just any spell," said Lady Aila Virelle, the 9th Lord known as the Spirit Witch. Her fingers tapping on the table. "Bloodmoon Lance. That's not even in the royal archives. That's pre-Ascension magic."
"She's not supposed to have that kind of power," muttered Lord Kaien Leo, the 7th Lord known as the Ice Lord. "She didn't even stood out among her siblings in the past. She wasn't even strong to begin with. That's what we were told."
"And we believed it," said Lord Dareth Leo, the 6th Lord known as Hell's General. His jaw clenched. "We let them send her alone."
A heavy silence fell.
Then Lord Ren stood. "We were ordered to stand down. The prince said it was a formality. That she needed to prove herself or be removed from succession. We had to obey his orders, the Royal family had always been a pain in the a**."
"And we obeyed," Virelle said bitterly.
They all turned to the central flame, where a magical projection flickered — an image of the battlefield, captured by a scrying lens. The moon, blood-red. Spears of light raining from the sky. Demons screaming. Soldiers staring.
And at the center of it all — Miya Monel, standing alone.
The 10th Lord, Lyla Elvan known as the Crimson Lord, stated in a cold manner, "What's done is done. Let Princess Selinaa comeback. As soon as she does, we'll have a long talk."
No one argued and the rest of the Lords agreed silently.
In the capital, the palace halls were no longer filled with idle laughter and wine-sweetened whispers.
In the throne chamber, Vaelen stood before the high dais, his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the marble table. Mireya sat beside him, her expression unreadable.
"She survived," he said flatly.
"She did more than that," Mireya replied. "She even showed her powers."
"All she had to do was to go in the battlefield and disappear for good," Vaelen snapped.
Mireya's eyes narrowed. "Ohh... brother Vaelen, you should see your face in the mirror. If people saw that face, you will no longer be a Prince... not to mention a King." Chuckle...
"Shut that damn mouth of yours, Mireya." You are talking like she did no damage to you. The words have already spread. What if she gets summoned by the Ten Higher Lords? What if she gets recruited by them? The title which you have always been wanting for gets taken from you? What will you do then...?
Mireya's smile dropped in an instant. "That is non of your business."
Back at the war camp, Miya stood at the edge of the battlefield, watching the ash swirl in the wind. The cursed marks fading slowly.
Kael approached quietly, holding a folded scrap of parchment. "Message from the capital," he said.
She took it, unfolded it, and read the seal. Not the royal crest. The mark of the Higher Lords — a circle of ten stars, each one etched in a different hand.
She read the message once. Then again.
Kael watched her carefully. "Bad news?"
"No," she said, folding the parchment. "They want to meet."
"The Higher Lords?"
Kael looked stunned. "They've never summoned a royal before. Not even the King."
Selinaa barely moved. (Why— why... just when I thought everything was settling down and now this...)
Her eyes went blank and so did her soul.