The moon turned red the night the betrayal came to light.
Not the soft crimson of eclipses or twilight haze—but a burning, angry hue, as if the heavens themselves had been wounded.
Elara stood on the ramparts of Stormwake, watching it rise through the clouds. A hum ran through her bones, subtle but constant—like the mirror-blade's pulse was syncing with something far more ancient.
"They call it the Betrayer's Moon," said Cassian, approaching quietly. "Legend says it appears when the Pact is broken."
She turned to him. "We rewrote it. Didn't we?"
He didn't answer.
Because at that moment, a scream shattered the wind.
They found the body in the Accord Hall.
House Varran's envoy, Lord Erias, throat slit, eyes wide with stardust bleeding from his veins—a mark of a celestial wound, not a mortal one. A trail of glass-dust led away from the body and up the spiral stairs of the Hall's spire.
Elara knelt beside the corpse. "He knew something."
Kaelen arrived last.
And when he saw the body—he paled.
But Elara was watching. She saw the twitch in his jaw, the flash of recognition.
"Who gave you your seal, Kaelen?" she asked suddenly.
His eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"
Cassian stepped forward, arms crossed. "Someone used your seal to enter the Archive's sanctum. To watch Elara's reflection. And steal a sliver of the rewritten Pact."
Kaelen's voice sharpened. "You're accusing me?"
"No," Elara said softly. "I'm asking you."
Kaelen met her gaze—and for the first time, she saw fear in his. Not of death. Not of the Unraveler.
Of truth.
Later, she confronted him alone in the storm-vault beneath Stormwake.
"I trusted you," she said.
Kaelen paced, not looking at her. "You shouldn't have."
"Then why follow me this far?"
He finally turned.
"I'm trying to save you."
His voice cracked. "You rewrote the Pact. You made yourself changeable. That means the Unraveler doesn't just want your power now—he wants your choices. Every one you make shifts the future. And the closer you get to binding your fate to someone—" He faltered. "—the more he can undo you."
Elara stared. "Cassian."
Kaelen nodded. "The mirror didn't just show you two futures. It showed you two threads. The more you love him, the more vulnerable you become."
Thunder cracked above them, shaking the vault walls.
And in the shadows behind Kaelen, a sigil flared.
Not of House Duskmoor.
Of House Umbriel—the long-banished bloodline who once summoned the skyfire that nearly destroyed the first world.
Elara's hand went to her blade. "You lied."
Kaelen didn't flinch. "My mother was Duskmoor. My father was Umbriel. I've lived my life hiding the truth, because no one forgives that blood."
"And now?"
"I thought… maybe you could survive what's coming. Maybe you could carry it better than the rest of us."
Elara's breath hitched.
"Were you the one who used your seal?" she asked.
"No."
He stepped forward.
"But I know who did."
The scene cut to a distant cliffside.
A figure cloaked in ash and night knelt before a throne made of broken stars.
Cyrathe.
He held a piece of the mirror—the sliver stolen from the Archive—and set it into a crown of jagged glass.
"The Fulcrum is rewriting the world," he said softly. "So let's give her a new story."
A voice answered from the dark.
Female.
Sharp.
Familiar.
"She already has one."
A woman stepped into the half-light. Her cloak shimmered with constellations, her smile sharp as ice.
It was Elara.
But not Elara.
A perfect reflection.
Twisted.
Unbound.
Back in Stormwake, Elara jolted awake.
She'd been dreaming—but it hadn't felt like a dream.
It had felt like a mirror.
Cassian rushed in, breathless. "The storm's accelerating. Something's wrong with the sky."
Elara stood.
"Something's wrong with me."
And overhead, the Betrayer's Moon pulsed like a heartbeat—calling not just to the stars…
…but to its sister.
Still hidden.
Still watching.