The cold was a living thing, seeping into Liora's bones even before the gates of the Moon Court loomed into view. Twilight clung to the sky like a shroud, casting long shadows across the jagged black stone of the castle walls. A silver mist drifted low, swirling between twisted spires that pierced the heavens like thorny fingers.
She stood at the edge of the forest, heart pounding with a mix of fear and defiance. The moon hung high, pale and distant—an eternal witness to the bargains and betrayals made within these cursed walls. Around her, the air hummed with a quiet magic, sharp and wild, like the breath of something ancient and unforgiving.
Liora's hands clenched the worn fabric of her cloak. She had been chosen—the mortal tribute—sent by her village as payment for debts older than memory. But she was no helpless girl to be broken and forgotten. Whatever waited inside the court, she would face it on her own terms.
The heavy gates groaned open, revealing shadows that moved like smoke. The faintest flicker of silver eyes watched her from the darkness, assessing, calculating. A voice, soft but edged with power, whispered in the cold wind.
"Welcome, mortal. Your time begins now."
Stepping forward, Liora crossed the threshold, the first thorn in the crown of the Moon Court.
Liora's footsteps echoed hollowly across the black stone floor as she stepped inside the Moon Court. The air grew heavier, charged with a strange energy that prickled her skin and tugged at her thoughts. Walls twisted with ancient runes flickered faintly, as if breathing with a life of their own. The faint scent of wildflowers mixed with something darker—blood and earth, old and deep.
From the shadows, silent figures emerged—slender, tall, their eyes glowing faintly silver. Their faces were beautiful but unreadable, like statues carved from moonlight and shadow. One approached, his gaze sharp but unreadable, clad in robes woven from threads of night. He spoke in a voice that rippled like a hidden stream.
"You carry the mark of your village's oath. The Moon Court has watched your people for generations. What say you, mortal? Will you bend or break beneath our gaze?"
Liora lifted her chin, voice steady despite the chill in her bones. "I will stand as I am. Not broken. Not bowed."
The figure inclined his head once, a gesture that felt more like a challenge than acceptance. "We shall see."
---
The corridor opened into a vast hall, vast beyond imagining. Moonlight spilled through a vaulted ceiling of stained glass, casting fractured silver patterns across the marble floor. At the far end, an ornate throne rose on a dais, carved from midnight stone and shimmering with cold frost. The air thrummed with power, thick as thunder before a storm.
Liora's breath caught. This was no place for mortals, and yet here she was, the chosen tribute. Around her, the court's denizens gathered—fey nobles with eyes like stars, their expressions unreadable, their presence both intoxicating and terrifying.
A figure stepped from the shadows, cloaked in a mantle of stars. His smile was cruel and knowing. "You are far from home, little mortal. Do you understand what you have walked into? This court does not forgive weakness."
Liora's heart hammered, but she met his gaze without flinching. "I understand more than you think."
---
The cruel smile faded, replaced by something colder, calculating. The star-cloaked figure raised a slender hand, and the air shimmered as shapes twisted into existence—phantoms of shadow and light, weaving illusions and nightmares.
"Your first trial," he intoned. "Show us your strength, your will. The Moon Court claims no one who cannot prove their worth."
Liora felt the magic press in around her, whispering doubts and fears meant to unravel her mind. But she dug deep into the well of her courage, remembering the faces of her village, the weight of her sacrifice.
Clenching her fists, she faced the phantoms. "I will not fall."
The hall filled with flickering lights, shadows dancing wildly, as the trial began.