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Chapter 1: The Moon Bleeds Silver
The moon bled silver over the cursed kingdom of Norvain, its glow spilling like tears across the ruined battlements. Once, these walls had been crowned with banners of gold and sapphire, symbols of pride and power. Now they stood jagged, scarred, and crawling with ivy, as if the earth itself were reclaiming what the crown had lost.
Prince Kael stood at the edge of the crumbled stones, the night air heavy on his shoulders. His cloak was damp with dew, his boots sinking into the moss that had crept over broken marble. He carried no torch—only the cracked remains of his father's sword. The blade was useless in battle, fractured down the center, but Kael kept it with him. It was memory. It was guilt. It was proof that he still belonged to something, even if that something was a fallen name.
The world had written him off long ago.
They called him cursed. A shame to the throne. A prince unfit to wear the crown he was born to inherit.
But Kael knew the truth.
He had not been banished for weakness. Not for treachery. Not for cruelty.
He had been banished for love.
Ren.
The name haunted him, soft as a prayer and sharp as a knife.
Ren, with his wildfire eyes and crooked grin. Ren, who had been nothing more than a servant in the palace halls but had carried a spirit brighter than any jewel. Ren, who had whispered dreams of freedom in the stillness of midnight, who had made Kael believe—if only for a moment—that happiness could exist even in gilded cages.
Kael remembered the warmth of his hand in his. The stolen kisses behind garden walls, where roses bloomed like conspirators. The laughter shared under candlelight, when even shadows seemed to hold their breath in reverence.
But dreams could not hide from the cruelty of kings.
Two years had passed since the night Ren was dragged from his arms. Two years since iron chains cut into his skin and silenced his smile. Two years since Kael raised his voice in defiance, only to be cast from the throne he once called his birthright.
Two years since the boy he loved vanished into screams and darkness.
Kael thought the silence would kill him. But tonight—the silence whispered back.
The wind carried a thread of something strange, something bitter. A pulse, faint but undeniable, tugging him toward the Wyrmwood forest.
The Wyrmwood was no place for men. Its roots drank blood, its shadows swallowed light. Even soldiers armed with steel and faith dared not trespass. But Kael had no soldiers. He had no faith.
Only love.
So he walked into the mouth of the trees.
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The forest closed in around him like a tomb.
Branches twisted overhead, knotting into shapes that clawed at the silver sky. The ground pulsed with warmth beneath his boots, as if some hidden heart beat just below the soil. Every step felt like trespass. Every breath like intrusion.
The silence was unnatural. No owls stirred, no crickets sang. Even the wind seemed to hesitate, as though the forest itself were listening.
And then—Kael saw it.
A trail across the moss, dark and brittle with age. Blood.
He knelt, gloved fingers brushing the dried streaks. His heart stumbled.
"Ren…" His voice cracked, breaking in the stillness.
The forest answered.
"You shouldn't have come."
The words slipped through the shadows, smooth as silk, sharp as a blade. Kael spun, heart leaping, sword rattling in its scabbard.
A figure emerged from behind a twisted ash tree. Tall. Cloaked in black. Moonlight caught pale skin and eyes that burned like embers smothered in ash.
Kael's hand trembled around the hilt of his broken sword. Not from fear. From hope.
"Ren?" The name escaped as little more than a breath, fragile as glass.
The figure stepped forward, the shadows peeling back to reveal his face. Familiar, yet changed. The soft boy Kael remembered was gone, carved away by suffering and fire. His cheekbones were sharper, his mouth hardened into something dangerous. But his eyes—his eyes were still that same burning red, though darker now, rimmed with something almost unholy.
"I heard you died," Kael whispered, voice breaking.
Ren's lips twisted, a bitter smile dragging at the corners. "I did. The day they tore me from you. The day you let them take me."
The words struck like a blade. Kael staggered back, breath shattering. "I tried—gods, Ren, I tried to stop them—"
"You tried?" The crimson glow in Ren's eyes deepened, his voice trembling with rage. "You let them break me. While you stood there with your crown and your bloodline, I screamed your name. And the only thing that answered was the dark."
His hands lifted. Shadows curled along his skin, and from his fingertips, black fire roared to life. It twisted in the air, hungry, alive.
Kael's broken sword slipped from his grasp, clattering against the roots. He raised his empty hands, voice raw. "Then burn me. If that's what you want. Burn me, Ren, and I'll still find you again. I'll come back. Again and again. Until even the flames can't keep me from you."
Ren's breath hitched. The black fire faltered. His hands trembled as if torn between fury and something older, deeper.
"Why?" The question fell from his lips like a plea.
Kael stepped forward, closer to the heat of the shadows. His voice was low but steady. "Because I never stopped loving you. Not for a single night. Not for a single breath."
The forest froze. Time itself seemed to hold its breath.
The fire died.
Ren stood trembling, the darkness unraveling from his fingers, his chest heaving. His crimson eyes glistened with something dangerously close to grief.
"You fool," he whispered, and the word cracked like breaking glass.
Slowly, he closed the distance between them. His forehead pressed against Kael's, their breaths tangling in the space between. The air smelled of ash and earth, but underneath it—Kael swore he could still catch the faint scent of wildflowers Ren used to carry on his skin.
"If you stay," Ren murmured, voice breaking, "you'll share my curse. You'll be bound to ruin. To shadows. To me."
Kael's lips curved, soft and certain. "Then let ruin come. I choose you."
The forest exhaled, a long, low sigh through the trees, as if some great power had been watching. The branches groaned, and the shadows shifted.
Fate had been altered.
Two souls—one broken, one cursed—stood at the threshold of something greater than either could name.
The war had not yet begun, but the first move had been made.
And the moon above bled silver, watching, waiting.