🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan
Chapter Thirteen: 13
The fire crackled low in the hearth.
Draven sat beside it, his arms wrapped in fresh bandages. The silver glow of his mark had faded to a faint shimmer—still there, but quiet. As if waiting.
Across the room, Callen sat upright at last, a blanket wrapped around him, face pale but smiling.
"I don't remember much," he said. "Just… cold. Then light. Then your stupid face."
Draven chuckled. "I saved your life. Show a little gratitude."
Callen raised his cup. "To your stupid face, then."
They clinked wooden cups—moonleaf tea warmed their hands, their ribs still aching. But in this quiet hut, there was peace again.
For now.
Outside, the storm had passed. But far to the east, a darker wind rose.
The Queen's rune-marked servant moved like a wraith—through valleys, over rivers, across stone and soil. He carried no blade.
He didn't need one.
Where he walked, animals went silent. Water turned sour. Old runes cracked.
His name was once Vaeron. Now, he was only The Scarred One.
The Queen had whispered a name into his ear.
"Draven."
And now, he hunted.
Back at the hut, Moren sat cross-legged before the fire, polishing a stone orb with streaks of silver.
He looked up without using his eyes.
"You're not finished, boy."
"I didn't think I was," Draven said.
Elira leaned forward. "You've unlocked one name. There are three total. The prophecy said as much."
Callen raised an eyebrow. "One down, two to go?"
"Exactly," Elira said. "And I think I know where the second name is hidden."
She unrolled an old map on the floor.
"This symbol," she said, pointing to a crescent beside a river, "marks an old Moonblood shrine—it was turned into a village temple long ago. The Queen erased most of them, but this one… it may still hold truth."
Draven nodded slowly. "What's the village called?"
Moren answered.
"Kareth."
The road to Kareth was quiet, but strange.
Crows circled overhead in slow patterns. The moon—still faint in the daylight sky—seemed to follow them. And once, Draven thought he saw a shadow walking through a field of wheat.
But when he turned—nothing.
Elira seemed uneasy.
"The Queen has loosed something. I can feel it in the earth."
Callen tightened the strap of his pack. "Can we just reach the village without being chased, frozen, or cursed for once?"
"Let's try," Draven said.
They followed the river north.
Kareth was a small village nestled beside silver waters.
Children laughed by the well. Smoke curled from chimneys. The smell of bread and lavender drifted through the air.
It felt untouched by war.
Too untouched.
As they entered, a woman met them at the edge of the path. She wore a long gray cloak and a moonstone pendant.
"You carry the mark," she said softly.
Draven showed his wrist.
The woman smiled. "Then the shrine waits for you."
She led them through narrow paths, past wooden homes and lanterns glowing with rune-light, until they stood before a moss-covered temple.
Inside, stone statues lined the walls—each with a crescent carved over the heart.
The woman whispered, "Stand in the center. If the name is meant for you, it will come."
Draven stepped forward.
And the air stilled.
A beam of silver light fell from the open roof above and struck the floor.
Letters burned into the stone—one by one.
Kaelen
Watcher of stars. Bound by silence. Lost to flame.
Elira gasped. "That's the second name."
Callen tilted his head. "Wait… Kaelen? That's close to my name."
Draven stared at him.
So did Elira.
Callen blinked. "Wait. What?"
Before anyone could answer, a scream tore through the air outside.
The temple doors shook.
A villager burst inside. "It's coming! Something's coming through the fields—it's burning everything!"
Elira drew her staff. "The Scarred One. The Queen sent him."
Moren's voice echoed from behind them—he had followed without being seen.
"He won't stop until the names are buried. Until the Moonblood dies with you."
Draven stepped toward the light.
"No," he said. "He won't take this village. Not while I'm breathing."
He turned to Callen. "Get the villagers to the temple. Elira and I will hold the field."
They stood in the wheat.
Elira raised a barrier of silver flame.
Draven's mark pulsed again—not wild, but focused now.
The Scarred One emerged like mist through the smoke. His skin was cracked with moving runes. His eyes glowed hollow white.
"Give me the name," he said.
Draven stepped forward.
"No."
The Scarred One raised a hand.
The earth screamed.
But Draven met him with fire—not to burn, but to shield.
He fought with the memory of his mother's voice.
He fought with the heat of Callen's laugh.
He fought for Kareth.
And the moon, high above, glowed brighter than it ever had.