|-| Hollow Falls |-|
The night smelled of iron and smoke.
A crimson moon loomed low over the blackened forest, casting the snow-dusted pines in a red glow that made the world look drenched in blood. Wolves howled in the distance, but their cries were not of hunger—only mourning.
At the heart of the clearing stood a weathered stone altar, slick with rain and centuries of forgotten offerings. The wind rattled the bare branches like bones, as if the earth itself was warning them to stop.
But the Wolfe family did not stop.
---
Aveline Wolfe's dark hair clung to her pale, rain-slicked cheeks as she tightened her grip on the silver dagger. Her voice was steady, but her eyes flickered to the shadows beyond the clearing, as though expecting the forest to lunge at her.
"Once we cross this line," she whispered to her younger brother Adrian, "we will never again walk in the light."
Adrian's fingers, already stained with blood from the cut on his palm, trembled as he pressed them to the carved runes on the altar.
"Better cursed than buried," he muttered. "We made a promise. We don't break promises."
Behind them, Silas Wolfe loomed like a shadow carved from stone, his broad shoulders tense beneath his wolf-pelt cloak. His eyes glowed faintly amber in the moonlight, betraying the wolf still within him.
"Enough of this," Silas growled. "The plague won't wait. We do what we must."
Aveline glanced to the last figure—their father, Mathias Wolfe, standing at the edge of the altar with a grim serenity. The dark sorcerer's voice was low but commanding as he spread his arms to the blood moon.
"Tonight, we bind flesh to moonlight, bone to shadow. We claim eternity, but at a price no man would dare pay."
He lowered his hands to the altar, where their mother, Serenya Wolfe, lay pale and fevered. Her breaths were shallow, and sweat beaded her brow. The sickness ravaging the land had reached even their powerful bloodline.
Aveline's heart twisted at the sight of her mother. "This will save her, won't it?"
Mathias did not answer.
---
The ritual began with the cutting of palms. The siblings—Aveline, Silas, Adrian—pressed their bloodied hands to the altar. Mathias slit his own wrist and let the blood spill into a silver chalice carved with runes older than the forest itself.
When he lifted the chalice to Serenya's lips, the sky shifted. Clouds scattered as the red moon blazed brighter, casting the clearing in a scarlet glare.
The wind screamed.
Wolves gathered in a silent ring beyond the trees, their eyes glowing gold, as if called to witness.
Serenya drank.
Aveline felt her pulse quicken, something ancient stirring in the air. She heard whispers—soft at first, then louder, curling around her ears in a tongue she did not know but understood all the same: "The moon takes what is owed."
Suddenly Serenya arched, gasping as her veins turned black beneath her skin. Her scream tore through the clearing, and her eyes snapped open, no longer blue but silver-white like moonlight on ice.
The earth trembled. The altar cracked.
Silas stumbled back, snarling as pain wracked his body. Aveline clutched her chest as a burn like molten silver seared through her veins. Adrian fell to his knees, coughing up blood that sizzled on the snow.
And then—silence.
They rose, trembling and wide-eyed. The plague's pallor had left their skin. Their breaths came easy. But their hearts no longer beat.
---
Mathias exhaled in triumph—until he saw Serenya's belly stir.
"No," he whispered, horror dawning on his face as he looked up to the moon shining brightly above them. "Not tonight… not under this moon…"
Aveline froze. Her mother's cries filled the clearing once more, but these were not the cries of death—they were the cries of birth.
Serenya clutched Mathias's sleeve, eyes glowing brighter than the moon.
"The child… he's coming…"
In a frenzy, Mathias gathered furs, but when the baby's wail finally cut through the winter air, the wolves around the clearing fell to their bellies in submission.
The infant's eyes were not red like a vampire's, nor golden like a wolf's. They were both—one flecked in molten amber, the other rimmed in silver.
Aveline stepped closer, transfixed.
"What is he…?"
Mathias's face was ashen, as he looked down to his newborn son.
"A creature that should not exist. The blood moon made him more than us—more than either side. He is wolf and vampire both. A hybrid."
The baby's cries quieted as if he understood the weight of the prophecy that hung over him.
Serenya held her newborn close, whispering the name that would echo in legends yet to come.
"Lucian… my moon-born son."
---
That night, the wolves howled louder than ever before, and the wind carried with it the omen of blood.
The Wolfes had cheated death, but they had cursed themselves.
And Lucian Wolfe, the child of the blood moon, would grow to be their greatest gift… and their greatest threat.
|-| To Be Continued |-|