That night, the sky turned crimson. The villagers lit candles in their windows, whispering old prayers. They called it the Blood Moon, a rare night when the boundary between the living and the dead grew thin.
Elena stood at her window, staring at the glowing red sphere above the trees. Her veins felt hot, as if fire ran through them instead of blood.
"Elena…"
The voice came again, stronger now, almost tender. She pressed her hand to her chest, her pulse racing.
A knock startled her. She turned to see Lucian standing in the doorway, his face pale in the strange light.
"You feel it, don't you?" he asked quietly.
She didn't answer.
Lucian stepped closer, his golden eyes catching the glow. "This is his night. The red moon gives him strength. You must be careful, Elena. He will try to reach you."
"Why me?" she whispered.
"Because his blood sings in your veins more than in any before you," Lucian said. His voice was low, almost reverent. "You are his heir. And his prize."