The village of Moonlight clung to the earth like a stubborn weed between the white dunes and the dark forest mountains. It was not marked on maps, nor sought by kings. No roads led here. People only came if they had nowhere else to go, and they stayed because stubbornness could outlast kingdoms.
In summer it smelled of wet soil and pine; in winter, of smoke and boiled cabbage. Today, though, the air carried another scent — something older, metallic, almost bloody, as if the day itself had been cut open.
Emily stepped out of the crumbling schoolhouse. The paint peeled from its walls like old parchment, and the bridge groaned under her boots as she crossed. Damp air pressed close, clinging to her hoodie and weighing down her long black hair.
She stopped.
Three boys leaned against the railing ahead, waiting like carrion birds. Jake, the leader, stood in the middle — neat blond hair, spotless shirt, polished boots. His smirk was as permanent as the arrogance in his voice.
"Emily," he drawled, stepping forward to block her path. "Out in weather like this? Where are you headed?"
Adam, at his side, snorted. "Probably to see her freak of a brother."
Emily's lips thinned. "None of your business, Jake. Take your stopped-up soldiers and play noble somewhere else." She flicked her gaze to Adam and Gorge. "And you—don't call him a freak again."
Jake's grin widened. "You've got a mouth on you."
He leaned closer, dripping mock sympathy. "Face it. Your brother can't even spark a candle. Magicless. Powerless. Gorge could beat him blindfolded." His hand shoved her shoulder.
Emily's fists curled. Anger flared hot—
But quiet footsteps cut through the rain. Measured. Leather on stone.
A hooded figure approached.
"Is there a problem, Emy?" The voice was calm. Too calm.
Relief swept over Emily. "No, Cidolfus. Nothing worth your time."
He came closer. Taller than most grown men though only twelve, lean with hunger and wiry strength. His pale brown eyes were sharp — too sharp — weighing the world like a blade testing the air.
Jake sneered. "Speak of the devil. Look who crawled out of the crypt."
Cid's voice was flat. "You're Jake."
"And what if I am?"
"I've heard your voice travels faster than your courage," Cid said softly. "Want to test that?"
The space between them vanished. One blink and Cid was right there, so close Jake could see nothing but those pale, unblinking eyes. No sound of steps, no rush — just sudden, unnatural presence.
Jake stumbled back, boots sliding on wet wood. "H-how? You don't even have magic!"
Cid crouched slightly, eyes level. "No. But touch my sister again, and I'll break your nose."
Jake's smirk cracked. Pride drained from him in silence. He turned and left, boots quick on the bridge. Adam spat curses and followed. Gorge trailed behind, eyes avoiding Cid's entirely.
When they were gone, Cid straightened, tugging his hood lower. "Cowards."
Emily sighed. "That wasn't necessary."
"It never is," he replied, already walking.
They moved through the market in silence. But whispers rose like gnats around them.
"It's him."
"That's the cursed child—quick, get inside."
"He brought death to our village."
An old man at his fruit stall hurled a rotten apple at Cid. "You dare show yourself here, boy? You cursed us! You brought death, and you dare to walk free?"
Emily's face flushed red. "How dare—"
"It's all right, Emy," Cid cut in, his voice steady. "It isn't worth proving them right."
The villagers scattered. Stalls closed. Doors slammed. The street grew hollow as if the very air rejected them.
Emily waved at a group of children across the square. None waved back. Their eyes slid over her as if she were invisible.
Cid noticed. "Friends?"
"I thought they were." Her voice was small, sadness glinting in her eyes.
"You don't have to stay near me if it makes life harder," he said quietly.
"Cid…"
"I know what I am." His voice dropped, bitter. "No magic. No aura. No presence. A black hole in a world of light. The cursed child. Born the night the Red Moon came to life. Lunar must truly hate me."
Emily froze. "She doesn't, Cid."
"You think so?" he asked softly. "The Black Moon came the day she slept, according to the legends. But the Red… the Red one rose the moment I was born. Tell me she doesn't hate me."
Twelve Years Ago
Ellie screamed.
It wasn't the cry of surprise, but of a woman clawing life back from death. The room reeked of herbs, incense—and blood. Candles guttered low, their wax dripping like tears.
Outside, Charlie paced. His boots struck the floorboards, uneven and quick. One hand gripped the hilt of his sword, Clain. "I can't feel him," he muttered to the empty hall. "No heartbeat. No aura. Nothing."
Inside, Ellie gasped through contractions. "He's alive. I know it."
Then silence. Endless silence.
The midwife's hands shook as she lifted the child. No cry. A chest barely rising. Skin pale. But life clung stubbornly.
Charlie burst through the door. "Ellie?"
She cradled the infant tight. "He's fine." Her voice trembled, but it was steel.
Charlie's gaze shifted. The window glowed wrong.
A sickly red bled across the heavens. The moon was torn open, spilling light like wounds. From the forest came howls — low, then rising, a chorus that gnawed at the bones.
Monsters. Not the kind of fables told to frighten children, but the ones hunters whispered of in ale-soaked fear. The ones that walked only under cursed moons.
Charlie snatched Clain, its black steel flashing red. The wolf carved into its hilt seemed to snarl.
He plunged into the night.
The village was already screaming. Shadows writhed between houses. Fire clung to thatch. Blood smeared the ground — human and monster alike.
Charlie fought like a man possessed. His blade cut through fur, flesh, and bone. He killed beasts he didn't even know existed. Hours passed in red haze. Blood on his hands, his armor, his breath. He couldn't tell if it was theirs, his own, or his neighbors'.
When the silence came, it was wrong. Too wrong.
Charlie staggered back to the house, kicking open the door. "Ellie?"
The room was quiet. She lay slumped, as if drugged.
"Ellie!" He shook her awake.
Her eyes fluttered open, found his face — and filled with fear. "Charlie… your eyes."
"What?"
"Your eyes." Her voice broke. "They're red."
For a heartbeat, the reflection in the window betrayed it — unnatural crimson burning in his gaze.
Ellie turned to the child in her arms. Tears streaked her face. "Lunar cursed him. Cursed us."
Charlie knelt beside her. The newborn lay silent, no aura, no soul-flame, nothing but a void in the shape of a boy.
They named him Cidolfus, after a doomed hero of legend.
That year, and every year after, the Red Moon returned on his birthday.
And with it came blood and tears across the Middle Lands.
now
Emily blinked away the memory of his words. She reached for her brother's hand. Her small fingers wrapped tight around his.
"Even if she does hate you, I don't," she whispered. "And neither do Mom and Dad. So stop saying those things."
Her eyes shimmered.
"Don't cry," Cid said, squeezing her hand, his voice softer than the air around them. "I'll stop."
He pulled her close. And for a moment, the whispers of the villagers and the weight of the Red Moon fell away. They walked on, brother and sister, bound together against the world.
Neither knew the world was already sharpening its knives.