🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan
Chapter Eight: 8
The letter from the Queen lay open on the stone table.
Draven stared at it. The royal seal, the polished script, the way it called him "boy" as if he was a child, not a threat—it all churned inside him like a storm.
"She's not offering you mercy," Elira said flatly. "She's offering you a blade with silk on the handle."
Callen leaned over Draven's shoulder. "But she invited you. That means she's afraid, right?"
"She wants to see what I've become," Draven said. "She wants to judge me herself."
Elira folded her arms. "Or she wants to poison you and call it peace."
Draven stood up. "I'll go."
Callen's head snapped around. "What?"
"I'll go to her. But not alone. And not unprepared."
That night, the Daggerborn assassin stood on a rooftop near the southern quarter, watching candlelight flicker through a cellar window.
He didn't blink. He didn't breathe loud enough to be heard.
He had waited days for this moment.
His knives were silver, curved like crescent moons. A gift from the Queen herself.
He whispered softly, "Forgive me, boy," then stepped from the roof like falling shadow.
Underground, Draven trained harder than ever. Elira had carved new runes into the floor—ones designed to pull back magical surges when he lost control.
He was losing control more often.
"Your magic responds to the moon," she explained, panting as she blocked a spark with her staff. "And the moon is rising fuller each night. You have maybe a week before the Veil breaks completely."
"The Veil?" Draven asked.
Elira hesitated. "A barrier. A wall of magic that once kept the Moonblood power asleep. It's breaking, and when it does… your body won't be able to hold it all."
Draven stood still. "So I'll die?"
"Not if we reach the Veiled Hollow," she said.
Callen packed a small bag in silence. He hadn't said much since the letter arrived.
"You're mad for agreeing to go," he finally said. "She'll kill you."
"I have to see her," Draven replied. "If I'm going to survive this… I need to understand what she fears."
Callen shook his head. "Then I'm going with you."
"You said you didn't belong—"
"Yeah, well," Callen said, slinging the bag over his shoulder, "I'd rather die next to my friend than hide while he burns."
Draven smiled faintly. "Thanks."
But they would never make it to the palace that night.
Because the assassin had already slipped inside.
The silver knives flashed in the dark as he crept down the stairs. His boots made no sound. His eyes glowed faintly under the hood.
He was close now. He could feel the power in the air.
And then—
"Elira!" Draven shouted.
A blade scraped across the stone wall.
The assassin was there—in the chamber, striking like wind.
Elira raised her staff, but he was fast—inhumanly fast.
Draven's mark burst with heat. He threw out his hand—magic surged.
The floor shattered beneath the assassin's feet, sending up shards of stone and a flash of light. The assassin rolled back, one blade nicked—but not stopped.
Elira shouted, "He's a Daggerborn! Don't let him touch your skin!"
Callen grabbed a book and hurled it. The assassin ducked, then leapt toward Draven.
But Draven was ready.
He reached inside—not for anger, not for fear—but for the fire in his blood.
A silver burst erupted from his chest, a wave of force that sent the assassin crashing into the wall.
For a moment, everything was still.
Then the assassin stood slowly.
He pulled back his hood.
And for the first time, Draven saw his face—pale, lined with ancient scars, his eyes like two moons—one full, one shattered.
"You are not ready," the assassin whispered.
Then, without another word, he vanished in a swirl of shadow.
Elira sealed the doors with a wave of her staff.
"You're being hunted now," she said. "Not just by the Queen… but by the ones she hired to do what her soldiers can't."
Draven stared at the cracked wall.
"I need to grow stronger. Faster."
Elira nodded grimly. "Then it's time."
She reached behind the bookshelf and pulled a chain.
A hidden door groaned open.
Stairs spiraled down into darkness, deeper than any tunnel he'd ever seen.
"The Veiled Hollow lies beneath the roots of Arodan," she said. "No magic watches there. No voices whisper. Only truth."
Draven looked into the darkness.
And stepped inside.