🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan
Chapter Ten: 10
The Veiled Hollow was quiet.
Too quiet.
Draven stood near the crystal pool, the silver locket clutched in his hand. The word inside—"Wake"—swirled in his mind like smoke.
"What am I supposed to wake?" he whispered.
No one answered.
Elira was asleep near the carved tree pillars, her breathing slow. Even the Hollow's soft hum had stilled, as if the roots themselves were listening.
Draven turned the locket over again. And this time, something changed.
A second compartment opened.
Inside: a sliver of moonstone and a tiny scroll, barely longer than his finger. He unrolled it with shaking hands.
A voice—not loud, not whispering, but somewhere in between—spoke inside his mind as he read.
"When shadows crawl and fire falls,
Follow the silver that does not burn.
Three names broken.
One heart returned.
And the throne will rise…
Or turn."
Draven froze.
The mark on his wrist glowed faintly.
Callen stirred behind him. "What are you reading?"
Draven handed him the scroll.
Callen read it twice, frowning. "This is a riddle."
"No," Draven said. "It's a warning. And a path."
Far above, in the darkest part of Arodan, the Queen's creature stirred beneath the Whitespire.
It had no name. No true shape. It had once been human—centuries ago—but the curse of binding magic had reshaped it into something hollow.
Now it moved without eyes.
Smelled only power.
And the first scent it caught was Moonblood.
At sunrise, the Hollow trembled.
Elira jolted awake, staff in hand. "Something's coming."
Draven and Callen stood at once.
"What is it?" Draven asked.
Elira listened. Her eyes narrowed. "It moves like smoke. But it walks like hunger."
She turned toward the far side of the Hollow. "We have to leave. Now."
The escape tunnel curved up and east, toward the outer cliffs.
As they ran, Draven felt the magic in the air tighten—like a fist slowly clenching. The light from the walls dimmed. Even the runes Elira lit flickered weakly.
They passed old bones. Forgotten armor. Signs of Moonblood warriors who had once hidden here, long ago.
"What happened to them?" Callen asked.
"They didn't leave fast enough," Elira said.
Suddenly, the stone behind them cracked—not from footsteps, but pressure, like something massive brushing against the world itself.
Callen turned. "Did you hear that?"
They didn't need to hear it again.
They ran faster.
Above ground, the city of Arodan began to shift.
Cracks split across the edge of the eastern wall. A tower near the Queen's gardens crumbled slightly—just a few stones, enough for the guards to whisper.
Street lamps flickered without wind.
And the moon, still pale in the morning sky, seemed to glow too brightly—even with the sun shining.
They reached a hidden exit at the base of the cliffs—a cave mouth sealed with vines and spell-runes.
Elira whispered a word, and the wall opened like paper. Outside, mist rolled over the grasslands, thick and cold.
Draven stepped into the light.
The moment his boots touched the earth—
He heard a voice.
Not in his mind.
Not in the air.
But in the moonlight.
"One of twelve. One of none.
The hunter follows. The blood undone.
Turn north.
Or turn to stone."
Draven gasped, stumbling.
Callen caught him. "What happened?!"
"The moon," Draven whispered. "It spoke again. Clear this time."
Elira's face had gone pale. "Then we don't have much time. The creature she summoned is not meant to kill. It's meant to erase. To silence the bloodline entirely."
Draven clenched his fists. "Then we turn north."
Callen blinked. "North? But that's toward the Frosted Hills. There's nothing out there but ghosts and ice."
Draven looked at the moonstone in the locket. It pointed north—faintly glowing.
"I think that's where we'll find the next name."
Meanwhile, in the palace, Queen Valessa stared into a mirror filled with smoke.
She could not see the boy.
But she could see where he had been.
The Hollow had opened.
The moon had begun to speak again.
She turned to her captain. "Send word to the Black Cloaks. And wake the Binder of Chains."
"The Binder?" the captain asked, paling. "He's been asleep since the first war."
Valessa's voice was cold as steel. "Then he's overdue."
As night fell, Draven and his companions reached the edge of the fields. A single tree stood there—dead, white, cracked in half.
From its roots hung a torn banner.
The symbol on it: a silver crown split down the middle.
Draven stepped toward it.
The mark on his wrist blazed white-hot.
And beneath the tree, something stirred.