🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan
Chapter Twelve: 12
The snow fell harder now.
Draven stumbled through the storm, Callen's limp body in his arms. The frost clung to his eyelashes, and his breath came in short gasps.
"Elira, how much farther?"
The mage moved ahead of him, sweeping aside ice-covered branches with her staff.
"Just a little more," she said, though her voice was tight. "If we can reach the Moonweaver's hut, he may still help."
"Moonweaver?" Draven asked, slipping slightly on a frozen root. "Who is he?"
"A healer. A traitor. A friend," she replied. "He left the Queen's service when she turned on the Moonblood. He's lived in exile for twenty years."
Draven looked down at Callen, who groaned softly, still unconscious. "He doesn't have twenty years."
At last, through a thick veil of snow and pines, they saw it: a crooked wooden hut tucked into a cliffside, steam rising from its stone chimney.
They banged on the door.
A moment passed.
Then, it creaked open.
An old man stood inside. Tall, cloaked, his white beard tied in three braids. His eyes—moon-grey and blind—searched the air, not their faces.
"Elira," he said. "You bring trouble."
"And you've always welcomed trouble, Moren," she said sharply. "He's dying."
Moren stepped aside.
"Bring him in."
Callen lay on a straw mat, pale and barely breathing.
Draven sat beside him, holding his friend's hand. It was cold, and every so often, Callen's body twitched as if fighting something unseen.
Moren lit blue flame in a bowl of silver dust and passed his hands through the smoke.
"He was touched by shadow," the old man said. "By something summoned. This is no ordinary poison. It's magic—deep and old."
"Can you heal him?" Draven asked.
Moren turned his blind eyes toward him. "Only with Moonblood fire."
Draven's heart sank. "I don't know how."
"You do," Moren replied. "But you must choose to use it fully. Not for battle. Not for rage. But to give."
Elira nodded. "Your power can destroy, yes. But it can also restore. Moonblood magic is not just fire—it is life, too. If you offer it freely, it will heal. But…"
She paused.
"But what?"
"It will take part of you with it."
Draven swallowed hard.
"You mean… I could lose my powers?"
Moren nodded slowly. "Maybe a piece. Maybe more. Magic given in love is magic not easily returned."
Draven looked down at Callen again—his first friend, his only constant in this broken journey.
And he made his choice.
Draven knelt beside the mat.
He placed both hands on Callen's chest. The mark on his wrist flared white-hot, and the light spread up his arms, down his spine, into his chest.
He let go of fear. Let go of control.
He let the magic flow.
A pulse of silver light rippled through the hut.
The blue fire in Moren's bowl flickered. The floor glowed beneath them. The walls whispered with old words in a forgotten tongue.
Callen arched back, gasped, and then—
Stillness.
And then—breath.
His eyes fluttered open.
"D-Draven?"
Draven collapsed beside him, drained, chest heaving.
Callen grabbed his hand weakly. "You… look like you got hit by a wagon."
Draven laughed through tears.
"You're alive."
Outside, snow began to melt in a wide circle around the hut.
Moren stepped outside and raised his hand to the sky.
"The Moonblood rises," he said quietly.
Far away, in her tower, Queen Valessa stood at her window, staring north. A chill crept across her skin that had nothing to do with wind.
She turned to a cloaked figure standing in shadow.
"It's time," she said. "The boy has awakened the healing flame."
The figure stepped forward.
Its face was pale, eyes hollow, skin marked with silver runes that moved like smoke.
"Then I will go," it said in a voice like cracking ice.
Valessa nodded. "He gave life today. Let us see if he is ready to face death."
Back at the hut, Draven lay on the floor, pale and sweating. The light from his mark had dimmed.
Elira sat beside him. "You've done what few ever could."
"I feel… empty," he said softly.
She touched his shoulder. "You are. That power will return—but differently. You've changed the shape of it."
"Will Callen be alright?"
"He'll heal fully. Because you were willing to lose part of yourself to save him."
Draven stared at the ceiling.
"And the Queen?"
"She knows. She always knows," Elira said. "And now… she'll send worse than shadows."
Draven closed his eyes.
The first name: Arilyn.
The second: unknown.
His power: changed.
And the war… had just begun