Year 7 Autumn Blood Moon
The domes of the Holy City Lunaris glowed like suns caught in crystal. Choirs of light floated between spires; rivers of luminescent water wound through the streets. Yet inside the Basilica of Morning, silence reigned.
The baptism pool shimmered white until the Blood Moon rose. Then the water darkened, tinting pink, then crimson. Priests whispered prayers that faltered halfway.
From the pool, a girl rose slowly, hair the color of sunlight over blood. Six wings unfurled behind her—two white, two rose, two deep crimson. Drops fell from their tips and stained the lilies floating on the water.
"An angel born under a blood moon," murmured the High Seraph. "Heaven has erred again."
The girl opened her eyes. Hazel irises ringed with red caught the torchlight. Her voice came soft but steady.
"My name is… Rosa."
When she stepped from the pool, the gold inlaid floor hissed beneath her feet. The lilies she touched turned scarlet. The choir behind the altar froze; their song died in the throats.
The Mark of Exile
They dressed her in robes of white and gold, though the seams darkened almost at once, bleeding color as if refusing purity.During the examination, the High Seraph laid a crystal upon her chest; it cracked down the center.
"Your light is not pure," he said. "There is mortal blood in your grace."
The verdict came before dawn.She was to leave the upper sanctum and serve among the House of Fallen Angels, the order of exiled Seraphim who studied compassion and imperfection.
A younger priest whispered as she passed,
"Saint of Red Wings. May mercy find you before hunger does."
She bowed without replying, but inside her chest a second heartbeat throbbed—slow, heavy, and familiar.
The House of Fallen Angels
Their sanctuary stood at the city's edge, where the marble faded to living stone and the air smelled of ash and roses. Stained-glass windows showed halos cracking, feathers burning, angels kneeling. Every pane pulsed faintly with residual light, like wounds that refused to heal.
Lady Seravine, the matron of the House, welcomed Rosa with calm eyes.
"You are neither condemned nor blessed here," she said. "Only unfinished. We refine what heaven rejects."
Lessons began at once: how to weave light into blades, how to sing hymns that soothe or command, how to balance divine Qi with mortal breath. Rosa excelled—but each success left a taste of iron on her tongue.
At night she woke thirsty, trembling. Once she caught herself staring at a fellow acolyte's wrist, hearing blood move under skin like music. She prayed until dawn.
The Blood Moon Vision
On the seventh night, as the Blood Moon climbed above the cathedral dome, she felt the second heartbeat again. The pool outside shimmered darkly, its surface fracturing into countless tiny mirrors. One fragment lifted, floating before her face.
Inside it, the reflection was not her own.A boy stood among spider lilies, white-haired, crimson-eyed, a faint scar glowing on his chest.
"Ketsuraku…" she whispered, the name rising unbidden from memory she should not have.
The mirror vibrated. The scent of iron filled the air. Behind the boy, a vast river flowed red beneath a black carnival sky. A jester's laughter echoed faintly.
The fragment cracked, and a single drop of blood rolled from its edge into the pool. When it touched the water, the lilies turned scarlet again.
Rosa pressed a hand to her heart.
"The river remembers," she murmured.
The Archon's Summons
At dawn, bells rang across the Holy City. Rosa was summoned to the Archon of Lunaris—a figure robed in star-white, face hidden by light.
"You felt it," the Archon said, voice neither male nor female."The pulse that crosses worlds."
Rosa bowed. "It was him."
"The Blood Elf of the lower towers. The one the mirror named Sanguis."
A pause, heavy as prophecy.
"You share a current. The gods stir because of it. Guard your heart, Seraphiel. If river and heaven join, the chain between realms will break."
She raised her head, eyes bright.
"Then perhaps the chain should break."
The Archon's light dimmed for a moment. "Such words are how angels fall."
"Then I have already fallen," she said quietly.
The Whisper of the River
That night she stood again by the crimson pool. Her reflection flickered between light and shadow. Her fangs—small, delicate—caught the moonlight.
Somewhere far below the clouds, another heartbeat answered hers. The water rippled; faint red code drifted across its surface like glowing runes.
Hel's voice flowed through it, calm and sorrowful.
"You were reborn from his blood. Two streams of one river. When the currents meet, the worlds will bleed or bloom."
Rosa knelt, fingers brushing the surface.
"Then let them bloom."
The water shimmered. A single crimson feather detached from her lowest wing and drifted onto the pool. It did not sink; it glowed, forming a trail of light that pointed toward the horizon—toward the distant towers of Lunaris Academy.
Epilogue of the Bloom
In the depths of the academy far below, Ketsuraku stirred in his sleep. The mark on his wrist flared once, and the faint scent of roses filled his room. He opened his eyes to see a feather of light resting on the windowsill before dissolving into mist.
He smiled faintly.
"So you're still chasing the moon."
Above the clouds, Rosa watched the same moon and whispered,
"And you're still rewriting it."
The Blood Moon shone between them, one world apart yet bound by the same river.The flowers in both realms bloomed red.