The kingdom of Caeryn bled red the night the prophecy stirred.
Above the palace, the moon hung crimson bloated and watching. The wind howled through the frost-laced towers as if mourning a death not yet spoken. Within the birthing chamber, screams echoed. A Queen labored, and a curse awakened.
Then silence.
Then crying.
A boy was born beneath the red moon his silver eyes opening for the first and final time.
The room stilled. The Queen, drenched in sweat and tears, reached for her son. But no one moved.
Instead, all eyes fell on the mark on the child's chest: a scar shaped like a star, glowing faintly.
Moonborn.
The word trembled through the air like an unspoken sin.
A blade rang free of its sheath.
The King stood tall, his face carved from stone, voice like thunder
"No child born under a red moon shall live."
It was not a law.
It was a sentence.
The Queen wept, clutching her baby. "Please," she whispered. "He's just a child."
But mercy had long since drowned in Caeryn's throne.
Before the sword could fall, the midwife moved.
She wrapped the infant in bloodstained linens, pressed him to her chest, and ran—through back doors, down hidden halls, into the howling woods.
She vanished with the child into the Blackwood Forest.
That night, the King declared the child dead.
That night, the stars shifted.
And the boy was given a name:
Riven.
Seventeen winters later...
Caeryn thrives on silence and secrets.
Magic is outlawed. The forest is feared. And the Moonborn are nothing more than ghost stories whispered to frighten children.
But deep in the blackwoods, beneath ancient canopies and shadow-wrapped ruins... he lives.
Riven.
A boy forged in exile.
Raised by a swordmaster with no name and too many scars.
Trained by shadows, fed by whispers, and watched by stars.
His eyes flash silver when angered.
Sometimes, things break around him without a touch.
And when the wind hushes, he hears things no one else can the voice of the moon.
That same moon turns red again.
In the palace, the King lies dead. And among his hidden papers, a girl named Lyra finds a letter sealed in wax and fate.
"Find the Moonborn. He is the last key." "He will either save the world or destroy it."
Lyra. A royal bastard. Sharp-tongued, quick-footed, and never meant to survive the palace.
Riven. A boy written off as a curse. Hunted by ghosts and raised for war.
Their paths were never meant to cross.
But destiny doesn't care what's meant.
Together, they will uncover the rot behind the crown, the truth buried in blood, and a magic that could tear the kingdom in two.
And in the dark…
a masked assassin watches.
They call him The Crow Prince.
He once loved a Moonborn.
And she ruined him.
Now, he hunts the last one.