Luna Eclipse : Forbidden Alchemy

Name: Luna Eclipse : Forbidden Alchemy
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Kamkali

Werewolf | Ongoing

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In the shadowy depths of the Underworld, Queen Zalara, a being of immense power, dies giving birth to her heiress. Her demise triggers a cosmic eclipse, a testament to her inherent might. In a desperate act to evade eternal damnation, Zalara performs the forbidden Alchemy of Souls, seeking a new vessel. She awakens in the human realm, disoriented and horrified to find herself inhabiting Lyra, a blind, feeble orphan girl, rescued and cared for by her kind grandmother, Elara, in the quiet village of Noldor. Zalara, trapped within Lyra's weak form, grapples with the indignity of a mundane human life. Her frustration boils until the night of a Full Moon, when her true power surges, transforming her into a primal, hungry werewolf. This terrifying freedom allows her to roam and hunt, causing mysterious "mishaps" in Noldor. The village's unrest reaches Emperor Fëanor III and his formidable wife, Queen Isolde. The Emperor seeks the wisdom of Master Alderon, the spirit guide, to cleanse the village, but Isolde, a master of forbidden magic and alchemy, harbors a dark secret and actively obstructs Alderon's efforts. She knows precisely what Zalara is, fearing exposure. Lyra's unassuming presence catches the eye of Crown Prince Aerion, who, charmed by her, invites her and Elara to the Royal Palace. This grants Zalara unprecedented access to the court, fueling her suspicion of Queen Isolde. Lyra, now pregnant with Aerion's child and falling deeply in love, discovers a shocking truth: Isolde bears the mark of the Alchemy of Souls. Zalara's investigation uncovers Isolde's true identity-Shaman Choi, who usurped the real queen's body years ago. As Isolde's borrowed form begins to decay, she frantically seeks a new vessel, leading to a climactic confrontation during another soul-transfer ritual. The powerful Ice Stone, reacting to Zalara's presence, isolates them all, revealing Zalara's full form and the suppressed soul of Lyra. The ultimate twist: Lyra is the original, rightful Queen Isolde. Zalara must now choose between reclaiming her throne in the Underworld or embracing her new life, love, and child in the human realm, knowing her own vessel's decay is inevitable.

Mystery Love triangle Scheming Rebirth/Reborn Prince Royalty Magical Noble Mediaeval

Chapter 5 A Glimmer in the Dark

06-13 17:39

Chapter 1 The Great Eclipse

The unusually black sky was heavy and still, pregnant with an unnatural silence that preceded total darkness as an eclipse began. In the human realm, the sun, a fiery eye in the sky, began to succumb to the encroaching darkness. A shiver, not of cold but of primal dread, rippled through the world as the moon, a vast, hungry shadow, devoured the light. This was no ordinary twilight; this was the Great Eclipse, a rare and potent alignment that tore at the very fabric between worlds, weakening the veils that separated life from what lay beyond.

Below, in the abyssal heart of the Underworld, where shadows stretched like ancient regrets and the rivers flowed with forgotten sorrow, Queen Zalara gasped her last. The birthing chamber, hushed with the weight of her regal presence, now echoed with the fading cries of a new life and the desperate, shallow breaths of its mother. Agony had wracked her, not merely the physical torment of creation, but the searing betrayal of her own formidable body. She, Zalara, consort to Azazel, sovereign of the damned, had been brought low by the very act that should have affirmed her reign. A daughter. A fragile, screaming girl child, swaddled by frantic hands, while Zalara herself bled into the cold, stone floor.

But Zalara was not one to yield to fate, not even the ultimate decree of death. Her mind, even as her life force ebbed, was a tempest of unyielding will. "No," she rasped, a sound barely audible above the newborn's wails. Her eyes, usually pools of obsidian power, flickered with a dangerous, desperate light. With the last, searing spark of her underworldly essence, she lunged a trembling hand towards a hidden alcove. There, nestled amongst forgotten relics, lay a forbidden stone, a shard of compressed cosmic energy that hummed with a malignant, unspeakable power. Around it, four ornate clay pots, filled with the murky, stagnant water of the River Styx, shimmered faintly. This was the Alchemy of Souls, a forbidden ritual whispered only in the deepest, most shadowed corners of their realm, an affront to the very laws of existence. To force a transfer of essence, to steal another's vessel, required a sacrifice of unimaginable proportion, and the sheer audacity to defy the natural order.

Her fingers closed around the cold, smooth stone. Pain flared, a blinding white-hot blaze that threatened to consume her entirely. But Zalara pushed through it, her will an unbreakable tether to the world of the living, to any world. The waters in the pots began to boil and churn, though no heat touched them. Spirals of dark energy, drawn from the depths of her dying soul, erupted from her fingertips, swirling and merging with the churning waters. The ice stone pulsed, radiating a corrupting light that momentarily eclipsed the chamber's oppressive gloom. Her final breath was a guttural command, a name whispered into the void: "Mary."

Zalara's POV:

Darkness. Not the comforting, familiar gloom of my own domain, but a suffocating, impenetrable void. Then, a slow, agonizing resurgence, like a drowning woman clawing her way back to the surface. My lungs burned, demanding air I didn't know I needed. My senses, accustomed to the subtle hum of a thousand tormented souls and the crisp chill of the Underworld, were assaulted by a bewildering array of sensations. The stench of decay, the metallic tang of something foul, the distant, muffled echoes of... human sounds? This was not the familiar, opulent expanse of my palace, nor the cold embrace of the true void.

A gasp, thin and reedy, escaped my lips. My lips? The sound was alien, weak, utterly devoid of the commanding resonance I had wielded for millennia. Panic, a sensation I had long considered beneath me, began to prickle at the edges of my burgeoning consciousness. I tried to open my eyes, but there was only more darkness. A persistent, crushing darkness.

"What is this... weakness?" I tried to roar, to demand answers, but the sound that emerged was a pitiful whimper, a tremor that barely stirred the stale air. My limbs felt leaden, unfamiliar, unresponsive. I tried to move my hands, but they felt small, delicate, utterly without strength. My own hands had been instruments of power, capable of tearing souls asunder or raising armies of the dead. These... these were the hands of a child, or worse, a fragile human child.

Then, a cold, wet sensation on my face, followed by a faint, distant chill. Water. It was raining. Or perhaps... tears? Tears? I, Zalara, had not wept since before the stars were forged. This was an abomination.

A realization, horrifying in its clarity, struck me. The Alchemy. The ice stone. The desperate, final gamble. I had performed the ritual. I had found a vessel. But this... this was not a vessel fit for a queen.