They found her in the dead of night.
Two royal guards. Masks of black iron. No words.
Just a scroll sealed with wax as dark as dried blood.
Elara unrolled it beneath the flickering light of her chamber's hearth.
"The Moon Tribunal summons the Heretic Soul at dawn."
No reason. No explanation. Only a single phrase scribbled beneath the formal script:
"Come as you are, or never leave at all."
She folded the scroll slowly.
"The man who is called to dance must know the tune—or be mocked by the drum."
At dawn, the royal guards led her through the oldest wing of the palace—down, below the floors nobles ever walked, past statues worn faceless by time and whisper.
The air changed.
Heavier.
Like memory lived here, thick and uninvited.
The Moon Tribunal was not a court.
It was a test.
One only summoned those the gods themselves questioned.
Most didn't return.
The chamber was circular, carved from moonstone veined with silver.
Seven high-backed chairs encircled the platform at the center—each one filled by a hooded figure.
And behind them, silent and watching, stood Caelum.
His eyes didn't hold cruelty today. They held something worse.
Regret.
"When the witch's child begins to cry, even the ancestors turn their heads."
Elara stepped onto the platform. The doors shut behind her like a tomb sealing.
One of the hooded figures spoke, voice ancient and female.
"Child of the Heretic, soul of the cursed—do you claim to be Elara Vire?"
"I do."
"Do you acknowledge the memory of Lycaena in your blood?"
"I didn't ask for it," she said, chin high, "but it is there."
Another figure leaned forward.
"Then face it."
A pulse of moonlight.
The platform beneath her vanished.
She fell—
Not through space.
Through time.
She landed in a hall made of flame.
It took her a moment to realize the walls weren't burning—they were bleeding light. Magic. Memory.
Before her, a temple stood in ruin. Statues shattered. Moonstones cracked.
And at its center—
Lycaena.
Alive. Glorious. Terrible.
Silver armor glinted like a second moon. Her long hair whipped in a storm of magic. Her sword dripped stardust and blood.
Elara watched, unseen, as the woman who wore her face knelt before the chained form of the Moon Goddess herself.
"You asked for obedience," Lycaena whispered. "I gave you worship. But now I give you truth."
She raised her blade—
And stabbed the goddess in the heart.
The scream that followed wasn't pain.
It was prophecy.
"She who severs light from dark shall wear both forever."
Elara fell back, choking on the vision.
Memory pulled again—and now she stood before a council. The same Tribunal. Only centuries ago.
"You committed blasphemy," one judge said.
"I committed survival," Lycaena spat.
"They'll curse your soul."
Lycaena laughed. "Then I'll come back every century and remind them why they should have listened."
Elara blinked.
She was back.
On the platform.
Breathing hard.
Every hair on her body stood at attention.
The judges watched her in silence.
"You remember," one said.
"I do," she said hoarsely.
"And what do you say for your soul?"
Elara raised her head.
"I say Lycaena was right."
Gasps. A rustle of fabric.
Caelum stepped forward.
"Elara…"
"No," she said, voice clear. "She didn't betray the gods. She broke chains they placed on mortals and called it divine law. You fear her because she remembered how to be free."
Silence. Thick. Dangerous.
And then—
One judge laughed.
A low, rasping sound like wind through bone.
"Then so be it," they said.
The others nodded.
Moonlight pulsed from their seats and formed a mark above Elara's brow—a crescent flame. It burned for a second and vanished.
"You are named, child of memory."
"The curse lives in you."
"But so does the choice."
"Even the thunder cannot silence the bird that knows its own song."
Outside the Tribunal, Elara staggered into the morning light.
Caelum caught her.
"You're alive," he said, stunned.
"You sound surprised."
"No one… speaks in her defense. No one comes back with their body intact."
"I guess I'm no one, then," she murmured.
Caelum stared at her a long moment.
Then: "You're becoming dangerous, Elara."
She met his gaze.
"Then stop teaching me."