Astra and Rowan woke with the same gnawing hollowness—a bone-deep certainty that something beyond their world's logic had cracked open.
Was it real?
But answers'd come soon—
Violently.
— ASTRA & THE CELESTIAL SANCTUARY PROPHECY —
Dawn on the Blue Moon bled in soft, the air crisp with night-blooming jasmine still clinging to the glow of the twin moons. Astra paced the Sanctuary's pearl-white halls, mind adrift, unable to shake the phantom itch under her skin since last night.
The dream had been… too real.
Wind whispering in a tongue her bones recognized.
A presence—foreign yet… familiar?
And those dark eyes—obsidian-sharp, hunting her from beyond the lake's mirror.
"Who are you?" he'd growled.
But the kicker? She'd snarled it back—like she'd been coiled to ask that question for lifetimes.
"Astra."
Priestess Lyria's voice snapped her out of the spiral. Her mentor's gaze—dagger-sharp—locked onto her.
The Grand Library loomed around them: crystal domes, pillars etched with dead-language runes. Ancient scrolls and codices drifted mid-air, magic humming through their veins. Novice priestesses hunched over desks, silent except for the scratch-scratch of quills.
Astra blinked.
Realization: She'd been death-gripping the same scroll for ten minutes.
Words? Unread.
"Your energy's… unsettled," Lyria remarked, her voice calm as ever.
Astra hesitated. How to explain without sounding like a kid spooked by nightmares? But her gut twisted—this wasn't just a dream.
"I had… a strange vision last night," she finally whispered.
Lyria's stare pierced her, like she could see the ghost of those dark eyes still haunting Astra's pupils.
Before Astra could backtrack, a flicker.
One of the floating manuscripts cracked open on its own.
Her gaze dropped. A passage blazed up at her, ice flooding her veins:
"Two souls destined to collide. Two worlds forged to divide. Under twin moons' gaze, love will blaze… and the cosmos will tremble. But defy fate's design… and ruin awaits."
The air turned syrup-thick around her.
No coincidence.
Astra's pulse spiked. The words clawed into her skull, mirroring last night's phantom whispers too perfectly.
"What's this mean?" Her whisper cracked, eyes glued to the text.
But before she could scan another word—
Lyria flicked her wrist. The scroll slammed shut.
"That… is a forbidden legend." Her tone stayed calm, but her knuckles whitened. "We don't speak of it."
Astra's jaw locked.
"Why?"
The priestess didn't answer right away. Her stare held more than disapproval—worry.
"Some stories aren't meant to be dug up, Astra," she finally said, voice dropping to a hush. "If the gods split something apart… it's for a reason."
But Astra wasn't buying it.
She'd known since she was knee-high: priestesses hoarded secrets. Stories locked away until you clawed your way to the top.
This was one of them.
And it's about me. More than Lyria's letting on.
Eyes shut. Mind racing.
The lake's reflection…
Eyes watching from nowhere…
That damn legend…
— ROWAN & THE WHISPERS OF THE PAST —
Crimson dusk hung heavy over the Crimson Moon as Rowan shouldered through the gates of the Sangreal Conclave's Great Hall. Torches clawed at the walls, their flames carving knife-edged shadows across the elders' grim faces—stone-carved titans draped in scarlet and gold robes.
He'd grown up on their words. Swallowed their lessons. Followed orders without flinching.
But tonight?
He wasn't here to kneel.
He was here to dig up answers.
Rowan stalked forward, the air thickening as he spat out the words: the reflection in the Blood River.
"I saw someone." No flinch. No filter. Gaze riveted to the elder at the head of the table. "A woman. Not from this fucking world."
Silence slammed into the chamber—stone-heavy.
The Council traded looks—quick, razor-sharp.
Then an elder rose—silver hair, eyes void-black—"NEVER SPEAK OF THAT AGAIN!" Voice quaking the walls like war-drums.
Rowan's jaw clenched. Not doubt. Fear.
"Why?" Demanded. "You know something."
The elder's face—fear and fury at war. Rowan's heart pounded—caged-animal wild against his ribs.
They were hiding something.
The elder sighed, flicking a glance at the others. A sharp gesture—clear the room. When they were alone, he closed in on Rowan, voice wire-tight:
"There's a reason some secrets stay buried. Last time a Crimson Moon son saw a Celestial…" A pause. "Everything burned."
Rowan's spine iced over.
"Meaning what?"
The elder's eyes drifted to the ancient carvings on the walls—heroic battles, gods in splendor… lies chiseled in stone.
When he spoke again, it was dust and ghosts:
"Once… there was a warrior. And a priestess."
Rowan stopped breathing.
"Met in dreams. Like you. Hunted each other. Loved. But their love tore the balance between worlds… so the gods made them pay."
The air turned to sludge.
"Pay?" Rowan felt a boulder settle on his ribs.
The elder nodded, face carved from tombstone.
"The gods ripped their souls apart. Forever."
For a heartbeat, Rowan flatlined. The story hit him like a warhammer to the gut.
He didn't believe in myths. No ghost stories. His whole life, they'd drilled one truth into his bones: War. Is. All.
But why did those words claw at him?
Why did it feel like… this was his ghost?
The elder held his gaze, voice dropping to a graveled warning:
"If you've seen a Celestial… forget her."
Rowan's fists clenched.
"What if I refuse?"
The elder sighed. His next words dripped like frostbitten venom:
"Then the gods will carve her from your mind themselves."
Rowan's gut twisted.
But instead of fear—fire.
First time in his life, he wouldn't kneel.
First time, he'd hunt the truth—even if it burned his world to embers.
— Back to Astra —
Astra closed the scroll with trembling hands. The words she'd read in the Celestial Sanctuary's Grand Library felt like echoes of something ancient and forbidden—a truth she wasn't meant to unearth.
Two souls destined to collide.
Two worlds forged to divide.
Defy fate's design… and ruin awaits.
No coincidence.
Couldn't be.
Her heart hammered as her thoughts dragged her back to Shadow Lake—to those dark eyes that weren't hers, to the ache of a presence watching from beyond the reflection.
Someone, in another world, was unearthing the same cursed truth.