Chapter 254: Episode 254.

Aire did not move.

She stood where she was, arms folded tightly across her chest, every muscle in her body locked with suspicion.

King Asterion walked toward the far end of the chamber without looking back.

He did not ask again.

He simply trusted that if there was even the smallest part of her that still wanted answers, she would follow.

For several long seconds, she remained rooted to the floor.

Then, with an irritated sigh that sounded more like surrender than agreement, she pushed herself away to the doorway.

“I’m only coming because you mentioned my father,” she muttered. “Not because I believe you.”

“Thank you.” His answer was quiet, almost relieved.

They walked through corridors unlike any Aire had seen since arriving. The palace gradually became quieter.

The laughter drifting through the gardens faded behind thick walls of glowing stone. Eventually they reached an enormous pair of doors carved from pale silver wood.

The carvings were strange.

Intertwined together beneath a single tree whose roots spread across both doors.

Asterion placed his palm against the center, and the tree began glowing. The roots slowly shifted, then the doors opened.

Cold air rushed past Aire.

Inside was darkness.

Not frightening darkness, but ancient darkness. The kind found inside forgotten libraries and abandoned temples.

The room stretched farther than she could see. Rows upon rows of floating crystals filled the space.

Some were no larger than her hand. Others were the size of entire buildings, suspended silently in midair.

Each glowed with different colours of gold, blue, silver, and green. Some pulsed like beating hearts, and others remained completely still.

Aire looked around despite herself. “What is this?”

“Our Hall of Memory.” His voice echoed gently. “We preserve truth.”

She gave a dry chuckle. “For people who keep changing it.”

Asterion accepted the insult without complaint. He simply continued walking until he stopped before one crystal unlike the others.

It was enormous, nearly twenty feet tall.

Its surface wasn’t solid. It looked like frozen water and inside it, tiny lights drifted slowly almost like stars trapped beneath glass.

“This memory,” Asterion said quietly, “has never been altered. It cannot be.”

Aire remained several feet away. “How do I know?”

“You don’t.” He looked at her. “That is why I asked you to come.”

“So you could decide for yourself.” She studied him.

He looked like he would let this go, and doesn’t want her to even believe him. Like someone who had repeated the same truth for thousands of years and long ago stopped expecting anyone to believe him.

Asterion slowly raised one hand.

The crystal answered, and light spread across its surface. Tiny ripples appeared. Then, the room disappeared. It simply melted away.

Aire gasped softly.

Suddenly she wasn’t standing inside the Hall of Memory anymore.

She now stood inside a forest. She was not truly there, and it now felt like watching from somewhere invisible.

Everything shimmered slightly around the edges. She looked down instinctively.

Her feet touched nothing. “What is this?”

“A memory.” Asterion’s voice came from somewhere beside her. “You cannot change it, or interfere. You may only witness.”

Before them stood an enormous gathering of wolves, fae, and witches. Thousands of them. They stood together beneath a sky far brighter than any Aire had ever seen.

There were no weapons drawn, or hatred. Only celebration. Children ran between wolves and fae alike.

Witches laughed openly beside warriors wearing wolf insignias.

Aire frowned. “This doesn’t make sense.”

Asterion watched the memory silently. “Keep watching.”

A woman stepped forward. She was so beautiful, radiant, with power practically bent around her.

Silver moonlight flowed beneath her bare feet. Every single person present immediately bowed.

Aire’s stomach tightened. “The Moon Goddess?”

Asterion nodded once. “Before history broke and she had to stop being among humans.”

The Moon Goddess smiled. Her voice carried effortlessly across the gathering.

“My beloved children…” she began. “You have fought bravely. You have sacrificed greatly.” She smiled gracefully. “The Wolf Realm shall remain yours.”

Cheers erupted, and the wolves embraced one another.

The Moon Goddess lifted one graceful hand. “But…”

Silence returned instantly.

“The realms must remain balanced.”

She turned toward the fae. “The Light Fae… shall forever guard the gateways between worlds.”

She turned toward the witches. “The Witches shall preserve life’s oldest magic.” Her smile widened. “And together, peace shall endure.”

The crowd erupted again.

Even Aire felt something warm stirring inside her chest.

It looked so real, hopeful, and united. Nothing like the history she had been taught.

Then, the memory shifted, and the celebration ended. Night fell and now the Moon Goddess stood alone.

She was no longer smiling.

Her face had become impossibly cold.

Another figure emerged from the darkness.

It was that of a fae.

He bowed respectfully. “My Lady.”

She never looked at him.

Instead, she stared toward the distant lands where wolves celebrated.

“They have become stronger than expected.”

The fae frowned.

“Is that not what you desired?”

“No.” Her answer came instantly. “I desired gratitude, and not independence. When gods become unnecessary, the world falls into chaos.” She let out a soft exhale. “Mortals cannot be trusted to govern themselves.”

Aire felt something inside her twist.

The Moon Goddess continued quietly. “The wolves now possess land. The witches possess knowledge. The fae possess the gateways.”

She slowly closed her hand into a fist.

“They no longer need gods. They no longer need me.”

Aire stopped breathing. Why would someone get mad for not being needed?

The fae looked uncertain.

“My Lady, what do you intend?”

The Moon Goddess smiled again. “They trust me. They will do whatever I ask, and that is enough.”

The memory froze, and the entire world around Aire became still.

Even the wind stopped moving.

She stared at the unmoving face of the Moon Goddess.

Asterion looked at her. “We have not reached the worst part.”

The crystal rippled again, and the memory continued.

The Moon Goddess did not summon wolves first.

She summoned the Light Fae.

The forest dissolved into a marble sanctuary suspended above the clouds. Hundreds of Light Fae knelt beneath silver pillars while the Moon Goddess stood before them, her expression once again gentle.

“So beautiful,” Aire whispered.

The Moon Goddess stepped among them. “You have served me faithfully.”

The Light fae Queen of that era bowed. “It is our greatest honour.”

She smiled. “And because I love you…” Her voice softened until it sounded almost maternal. “I must ask something difficult.”

No one questioned her.

“The balance I promised…” She sighed, as though burdened. “It cannot last.”

Confusion spread across the gathered fae.

“The wolves grow stronger each season.”

No one answered.

“The witches…” She looked away. “…have begun teaching them magic that should never belong to beasts.”

A murmur rippled through the hall. “They speak of equality.” Her smile vanished. “But equality becomes ambition.”

The ancient Light fae Queen finally raised his head.

“My Lady…”

“Yes?”

“You asked us to protect the gateways.”

“I did.”

“You asked the witches to preserve magic.”

“I did.”

“You asked the wolves to defend the realms.”

“I did.”

She looked genuinely confused. “Then why should we fear what you yourself created?”

For the first time, the Moon Goddess’s smile faltered. Only for a heartbeat. Then it returned.

“I fear nothing.” She stepped closer. “I simply see farther than you.”

……..

The memory shifted again.

This time, a circle of witches stood beneath a great willow. Unlike the fae, they did not kneel. They bowed in respect, and not worship.

The Moon Goddess regarded them for a long while before speaking.

“The Light Fae have begun gathering armies.”

The oldest witch frowned. “Why? What are you saying, My Lady?”

“They hide it from you.” The moon goddess said softly. “They believe witches have become… unnecessary.”

One young witch gasped.

“They intend to seize your libraries.”

Another exchanged uneasy glances.

The oldest witch, however, did not react. Instead she asked quietly. “Did they tell you that?”

“No.” The Moon Goddess responded confidently.

“Then who did?” The witch lowered her staff. “My Lady…” She smiled kindly. “We know the Light Fae. They would sooner burn their own wings than betray us.”

The Moon Goddess’s eyes darkened almost invisibly.

….

The memory rippled again.

This time, Aire saw wolves. Thousands of them. King Elijah’s ancestor stood before her.

The Moon Goddess wore grief upon her face. “They’re plotting against you.” She began softly, not caring about pleasantries.

The Wolf King frowned. “Who?”

“The Fae.” Her eyes grew sad as she stared across all the wolves. “They’ve grown jealous. They envy your strength. They wish to reclaim the lands I gave you.”

Behind him, some wolves shifted uneasily. However, one old general stepped forward.

“My Queen…”

She smiled. “Speak.”

“The Light Fae Queen saved my life.”

Another wolf nodded. “And mine.”

“The witches healed our children.”

“We fought together.”

The Moon Goddess’s smile became thinner the more the wolves spoke. “War changes people.”

The old general answered. “So does peace.”

A long silence followed.

“I pray your trust is rewarded.” The Moon Goddess said softly.

…

The memories began arriving faster like shattered glass. The Moon Goddess whispered different truths to different kingdoms, and never the same story twice.

Years passed, and decades. Aire watched as small arguments became suspicion, and suspicion became distance, and distance became borders.

Borders became hatred. And every single time, the Moon Goddess appeared only to comfort whoever had just been wounded.

Never once admitting she had caused it.

Then, one final memory hit Aire in a chamber unlike any she had seen. The Moon Goddess was alone.

She stood before an enormous silver tree.

Its roots stretched into every realm, and its branches carried countless glowing threads. Each thread represented a fate.

She reached toward one. It was a bright silver thread. The moment her fingers touched it, the thread changed. It split, and became many.

Then, one branch erupted with silver blossoms.

The Moon Goddess froze. Her face lost all colour. She whispered. “This should not exist.”

She stepped closer.

Her breathing became uneven.

A single blossom opened, and nside it was a child’s silhouette with silver hair, and blue eyes.

There was no face in the visio..

The tree itself trembled, and the Moon Goddess staggered backwards.

“I destroyed this possibility. No child would be born from all three bloodlines.” She grabbed the blossom, and it refused to wilt. “I erased every future.”

The blossom continued glowing, brighter, and brighter until the tree itself answered it. Every root beneath the realms pulsed.

The Moon Goddess stared with dear. Real fear. The fear of someone witnessing the one future she could neither rewrite nor control.

Her voice cracked. “If she is born, the realms will no longer need me.”

The memory shattered, and everything disappeared. The Hall of Memory returned.

Aire couldn’t breathe.

It hadn’t begun with wolves, or with fae.

It had begun with a god. The room spun violently. Aire stumbled backwards. Her ears rang so loudly she could no longer hear Asterion calling her name.

The floor lurched beneath her feet.

Her vision blurred, and the last thing she saw was the silver crystal still glowing.

Then darkness claimed her before she ever hit the floor.