🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan
Chapter Nine: 9
The stairs twisted downward, deeper and deeper beneath the city.
Draven's boots echoed against the stone as he followed Elira through the ancient tunnel. Cold air pressed around them, sharp with the scent of moss and metal. The torch in Elira's hand glowed silver instead of gold.
"The deeper we go," she whispered, "the less the Queen can see."
Callen followed behind, close and quiet. He carried a lantern that barely flickered. For once, he said nothing.
At last, the stairway opened into a wide cavern.
And there it was—the Veiled Hollow.
A vast space under the earth, lit by glowing roots hanging from the ceiling like threads of moonlight. Pools of silver water shimmered quietly across the stone floor. Ancient tree trunks, petrified and cracked, rose like towers in the dark.
Draven took a step forward.
His mark began to glow again—but this time, it didn't burn. It hummed.
"Where are we?" he asked.
Elira walked beside him. "A place the world has forgotten. The Moonblood kings built their first sanctum here, long before Arodan existed."
Draven reached out to touch one of the stone trees. It felt warm.
"This place remembers," Elira said.
"Remembers what?"
She met his eyes.
"Everything."
As they moved deeper into the Hollow, the air changed. It was quieter—but not empty. Draven felt like he was being watched again, not by something evil, but by something old.
A breeze touched his cheek. It carried a whisper.
Not a word.
A name.
"Draven…"
He turned, but no one was there.
"Elira, did you hear that?"
She nodded. "The Hollow speaks to those who carry the mark. Listen. It will show you what your blood has forgotten."
She led him to a circular pool surrounded by twelve stones.
"Step in," she said.
Draven hesitated, then waded into the glowing water. It was cold—freezing at first—but then it warmed, as if welcoming him.
And suddenly—
The world twisted.
He stood in a memory not his own.
Before him rose a golden castle, open to the sky. Banners of silver moons flew from its towers. Crowds of people cheered as a young man in silver armor walked up marble steps.
His face…
It was Draven's.
Or rather, someone who looked almost exactly like him—only older, stronger, crowned.
A voice echoed through the memory:
"Crowned by the moon, betrayed by the sun…"
The vision shifted.
Screams.
The castle burning.
A robed figure raising a blade.
The Moonblood king fell—stabbed through the back.
Twelve stars blinked out in the sky.
And the vision shattered.
Draven gasped as he stumbled out of the water, soaked and shaking. His chest hurt like something had been torn from it.
Elira knelt beside him. "What did you see?"
"Me," he whispered. "Or someone like me. A king. Betrayed. Killed."
Elira closed her eyes. "Then it's true."
She walked to one of the stone trees and pulled something from beneath its roots—a small silver locket, shaped like a crescent.
She handed it to Draven.
"This belonged to your mother."
Draven stared at her. "You knew her?"
Elira nodded. "She was Moonblood, like you. She came to me when she was young—before the Queen's rise. I helped her hide."
His hands shook as he held the locket. "What happened to her?"
Elira's voice was soft. "She died protecting you. From the Queen."
Draven's throat tightened. His mother… He had barely known her. Only a few memories—her voice, her hands, a song she once sang.
"She left this for you," Elira said.
Inside the locket was a folded piece of parchment. A single word was written in silver ink:
"Wake."
Far above, in the Whitespire, Queen Valessa stood at the center of a darkened chamber.
Twelve cloaked figures knelt around her. A circle drawn in ash surrounded them. In the air hung the scent of burning herbs and black crystal.
"We have waited long," she said. "Too long."
A voice from the shadows asked, "You wish to summon it?"
Valessa stepped into the circle. "The boy survived the assassin. His power is growing. It must be crushed before the people believe."
She raised a silver dagger.
With a single slice, she let her blood fall into the center of the circle.
The ground trembled.
The fire turned black.
And from the depths of the spell came a sound—not a scream… but a growl.
Something had answered.
Something that should never wake again.
Back in the Hollow, Draven sat in silence, holding the locket.
Callen sat beside him, silent for once.
"I think," Draven whispered, "this curse isn't just a punishment."
Callen looked at him. "Then what is it?"
Draven stared into the silver pool, his reflection flickering.
"It's a warning.
And it's waking for a reason."