The moon had waned, but its echo lingered—an aftertaste of red on the world's tongue.
In the high halls of the Crimson Citadel, marble pillars glistened with veins of dried blood. Torches flickered with unnatural light, fed not by fire, but by energy drawn from the life essence sealed in their cores.
The vampires of the House of Wilson had gathered.
Dozens stood silent, their pale faces bathed in crimson glow as Lord Thomas Wilson entered. His cloak flowed like a living shadow, his presence bending the air around him.
At his side walked Kael Orin, his most trusted warrior—and James' oldest friend turned rival.
At the center of the chamber stood James, the heir who had returned from centuries of slumber.
"Your timing is convenient, my son," Thomas said, his voice smooth and cold. "The Blood Moon rises once more, and with it, the wolves grow restless. The gods themselves whisper your name."
James met his father's gaze, calm but defiant. "Perhaps because they remember what you did to silence them."
A flicker of rage crossed Thomas's expression, but he masked it with a smirk.
"Careful, James. You speak as though you've seen their judgment."
"I have," James said. "In my dreams, they show me the truth of our curse. The Blood God still sleeps beneath these stones, and you—" his eyes narrowed "—you feed his hunger."
The council hissed in shock, their fangs flashing.
Kael took a step forward. "Mind your tongue, old friend. The Blood God gave us immortality."
James turned his gaze on Kael. "He gave us thirst. And through that thirst, we lost our souls."
Thomas raised a hand, silencing them both. "Enough. The time for philosophy is over. The wolves prepare for war. The Luna Wolf has risen, and prophecy calls for blood."
James' jaw clenched. "You intend to start another war?"
"Not start," Thomas said with a cruel smile. "Finish."
He gestured toward a massive tapestry behind the throne — an image of a wolf impaled by a crimson spear beneath the Blood Moon. "The prophecy speaks of a union between blood and moon. I will make sure that union dies before it begins."
Hannah, standing at the edge of the hall, stepped forward. "And what if killing the Luna Wolf fulfills the prophecy instead of stopping it?"
The court murmured. Thomas's eyes glowed scarlet. "Then let the gods choke on their own fate."
James' voice dropped, quiet but sharp. "You're playing with forces older than the night itself."
Thomas's grin faded. "And you're still the frightened child who ran from destiny. If you won't lead this house into war, I will."
The council began to bow, pledging their loyalty to the lord of blood. James turned away, disgusted. The war he feared was already being born in that hall, clothed in pride and old hatred.
🐺 Meanwhile, in the North…
The forests of the Moonvale Ridge groaned beneath the weight of gathering wolves.
Chloe Brown rode along the ridgeline, her silver hair catching the pale morning light. The scent of pine and cold air masked the tension in her chest.
At her side, Taron Vale kept pace in wolf form, his coat dark as midnight.
"You've been quiet," Chloe said softly.
Taron shifted back to human form, walking beside her. "You're heading straight into vampire lands. It's not exactly a path that invites small talk."
"I didn't ask you to come."
He smiled faintly. "No, but I came anyway."
Chloe looked ahead. "You always do."
For a moment, the only sound was the rustling of leaves.
Taron finally asked, "What do you really think you'll find there, Chloe? The truth—or your death?"
"Maybe both."
He frowned. "You're not the only one who lost someone. Martin was my brother too."
Her voice broke slightly. "Then help me find the one who killed him."
Taron nodded. "Then we start with the Blood Citadel. But if we see James Wilson"
Chloe interrupted, her tone like steel. "I'll handle him."
🩸 Back at the Citadel
That night, James stood alone in the Chamber of Echoes, an ancient vault carved deep beneath the castle.
Here, the blood of every Wilson heir was kept in crystalline vessels, glowing faintly with crimson light. The air was thick with whispers—the voices of ancestors who had once ruled the night.
Hannah entered quietly, carrying an old scroll bound in black silk.
"You shouldn't be here," James said without turning.
"Neither should you," she replied, setting the scroll on a stone altar. "I found something in the old records. The prophecy wasn't just about war… it was about choice."
James turned, eyes narrowing. "Choice?"
Hannah unrolled the scroll. The parchment was ancient, written in two inks—one red, one silver. "It says, 'When blood and moon meet not in hate but in sorrow, the curse shall break.'"
James stepped closer. "Sorrow?"
"Yes. A bond of loss, not love. The heir of blood and the Luna Wolf must share the same pain—only then can the curse be undone."
He stared at the words for a long moment. "Then perhaps there's still hope."
Hannah looked at him cautiously. "Or perhaps… there's only tragedy waiting to repeat itself."
From the shadows above, unseen, Kael listened—his expression unreadable.
He slipped away silently, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
🌒 Elsewhere…
Chloe and Taron reached the Vale of Shadows, the last stretch before vampire territory.
The air here was colder, the trees twisted and black. The soil drank light, and the birds dared not sing.
Chloe crouched beside a stream. The water ran red—not with blood, but with reflected moonlight.
Taron muttered, "The air stinks of death."
Chloe's gaze sharpened. "No. Not death… awakening."
From beyond the trees, a faint whisper drifted toward her.
A voice both strange and familiar.
"Come to me, Luna Wolf. The curse remembers you."
Her pulse quickened. She didn't realize she'd whispered his name aloud.
"James."