🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan
Chapter Eight:18
The throne room trembled.
Not from footsteps, not from war—but from the Queen's rage.
She stood before the Great Mirror, robes flowing like black fire, her hands curled tight around her scepter.
Three names.
Three names now pulsed through the air like thunder:
Arilyn. Kaelen. Syrien.
The prophecy was no longer sleeping.
"Find him," she growled, voice sharp enough to shatter glass. "Find the boy. Find the girl. Kill the truth."
Behind her, the Nameless Monster shifted in the shadows. Its body was a mess of moving black smoke and bone, its limbs stretched too long, its mouth a gash of silence.
It didn't speak.
But it understood.
And it began to walk.
In the mountains above Veymoor, Draven stood at the edge of a cliff, holding the locket.
Inside, all three names now glowed with their own color—blue, gold, and silver—and their light pulsed in rhythm with his heart.
Something in him had changed.
He could feel Syrien—not as a ghost, not as a dream—but as a fire beneath his skin. She didn't speak, but her presence hummed behind his thoughts.
He could move faster now. Breathe deeper. See truths in people's eyes before they even spoke.
But the price was clear.
Every time he used that power, a small part of him faded. He wasn't sure into what.
Callen, meanwhile, sat in the shadow of the cliffs, running his thumb over the crescent on his chest.
When the woman appeared, he didn't even hear her approach.
She wore a cloak of starlight and moon-thread. Her face was hidden behind a silver veil.
"You've awakened more than blood," she said softly. "You've stirred the line of Kaelen."
Callen stood slowly. "Who are you?"
"We are the Sisterhood of the Third Flame," she said. "We serve the bloodline in secret. We carry the records. And we have waited… for you."
He narrowed his eyes. "Why me? Draven carries the prophecy."
"He carries the fire," the woman replied. "But fire burns brightest when held by two hands."
She placed something in his palm: a ring, silver and carved with ancient runes.
"If the prophecy is to survive… you must decide whether to stand beside him—"
She paused.
"Or take the crown from him."
Back at camp, Elira watched both boys with growing worry.
Draven's power was growing—but so were the shadows in his eyes.
Callen was growing quieter, more distant, but his mark had begun to change too: no longer just a crescent, but now surrounded by runic fire.
She flipped through old pages, lips moving in silent reading.
The third name will unchain the others.
But if the bearers divide…
The prophecy will bleed itself to death.
And far to the south, in the village of Red Hollow, a little girl ran through the fields to fetch her mother.
She never made it.
The Nameless Monster arrived just after sundown.
It did not knock.
It did not ask.
It simply entered.
And the next morning, the village was gone.
Only a crater remained.
In the center: a perfect mirror, cracked in the shape of a crescent moon.
That night, Draven couldn't sleep.
He saw flames behind his eyes.
He saw Syrien reaching for him, whispering something he couldn't quite hear.
And for the first time… he saw Callen's face beside hers.
But in the vision, Callen was wearing a crown.
And Draven was on his knees.