The air in Luthadel had shifted. Where once it was thick with rebellion and despair, now it carried the eerie calm of anticipation. The palace, though battered, stood resolute a silent witness to the tides of fate that continued to ripple through the kingdom.
Na-na sat by the high arched window, her fingers tracing the faint patterns of the crescent moon etched in the glass. The light of the moon bathed her face, illuminating her eyes that seemed lost in distant thoughts. She hadn't spoken much since the final blow that shattered the city's walls, but her silence was not born of fear. It was contemplation a reckoning of all that had transpired.
"Alden will want you in the council chambers," said Althaea, stepping into the room. Her voice was steady but carried an edge of urgency. "The alliances we've forged won't hold without you."
Na-na didn't turn to face her. "Do you ever wonder, Thaea? If the cost of our rebellion was worth it?"
Althaea paused, her hand resting on the frame of the door. "I wonder every day," she admitted. "But wondering doesn't undo the past. What matters now is what we build from the ashes."
Na-na turned her gaze to the moon outside. "Ashes scatter. They don't bind."
Before Althaea could respond, a messenger burst into the room, breathless and pale. "My Lady, there's word from the outer villages. The Crescent Legion approaches."
Na-na stood, her movements graceful but deliberate. "The Crescent Legion?" Her voice was calm, but there was a sharpness in her tone that made the messenger shrink slightly. "They march under the banner of the moon."
"Yes, my Lady," the messenger confirmed, bowing deeply. "Their leader claims to have a message for the Crescent Princess."
Na-na exchanged a glance with Althaea. There was no doubt that the title was meant for her. The weight of the rebellion had crowned her in ways she never sought but could no longer deny.
Meanwhile, Alden stood at the gates, his armor shining dimly in the torchlight. The arrival of the Crescent Legion posed more questions than answers. Who led them? What did they want? And most importantly, would they stand as allies or enemies to the fragile new order?
"Alden," came a familiar voice. It was Na-na, her steps light but purposeful. Behind her, Althaea followed, her sword sheathed but her hand resting on the hilt a silent warning to anyone who dared cross them.
"They're here for me," Na-na said simply.
Alden nodded. "We don't know their intent."
Na-na's gaze was unwavering. "Then let's find out."
As the gates creaked open, the Crescent Legion revealed itself a disciplined force of soldiers clad in silver and black, their crescent banners fluttering in the cold night breeze. At their helm stood a figure cloaked in shadows, their features obscured but their presence undeniable.
"I am Lysandor," the figure announced, their voice echoing with authority. "I come bearing tidings of the moon."
The crowd whispered, tension thick in the air. Alden stepped forward, his hand resting on his sword. "Speak your piece, Lysandor."
Lysandor removed their hood, revealing striking features marked by scars and eyes that gleamed with an intensity that seemed otherworldly. "The Crescent Moon has chosen its heir," they declared, their gaze fixed on Na-na. "And it is time for her to claim her throne."