Moonblood: The curse of Arodan

🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan

Chapter Thirty-one: 31

Dawn broke over the dense forest of Dareth with a silver glow, painting the treetops in shades of mist and dew. The sun had not yet fully risen, but already the small camp of Draven, Elira, Callen, and Vaela was alive with quiet movement. The embers of their fire smoldered low as they prepared for the next leg of their journey—to the long-lost Temple of Echoes.

Draven rolled up his worn cloak and slung it over his shoulder. His body still ached from the night before—visions, dreams, and truths had come like a flood. Kael, his cursed ancestor. The Hollow Flame. The Black Gate. All of it still swirled inside his head like smoke in a bottle.

But one thing was clear: there was no turning back.

"We'll follow the old river path north until we reach the cliffs of Nar'Thaen," Vaela said, drawing a map in the dirt with her finger. "The temple will only reveal itself when the moon touches the stone at twilight."

Callen looked up from sharpening his blade. "And what monsters guard the path?"

Vaela's eyes darkened. "Shades of the Hollow Ones. Fragments of souls twisted by the curse. They linger near the cliffs, where the veil between worlds is thinnest. Stay in the light and don't look back if they call your name."

Elira's grip tightened on her dagger. "Lovely."

They moved out in single file, boots pressing into damp soil. Birds chirped above them, but there was something off about the forest—too quiet, too watchful. Draven walked near the front, beside Vaela, trying to read her expression. She looked calm, but her silver eyes scanned every shadow.

"Vaela," he said softly, "you said the curse is a prison. What happens if it breaks?"

She glanced at him. "You either become free—or something else takes your place."

"What do you mean?"

She hesitated. "The curse feeds on pain, but it also contains power. If broken recklessly, that power might be unleashed... and not all of it belongs to you."

They walked in silence after that. Every snap of a twig, every rustle of leaves felt sharper. Draven could sense something watching them, just out of reach.

By midday, they reached the river—wide, fast, and cold. The only crossing was an old wooden bridge, rotting and swaying in the wind.

"Looks safe," Callen muttered. "If you're a ghost."

They crossed one at a time. Draven's heart pounded with each creak underfoot. Below, the water roared like a living beast. Halfway across, he stopped—something moved beneath the surface. A shadow, long and writhing.

"Faster!" Elira called from the other side.

Draven didn't hesitate. He ran.

Behind him, the shadow rose—a long serpent-like creature, its eyes glowing white. Just as it lunged at the bridge, Callen slashed at the rope on the far end. The bridge collapsed into the river, the creature crashing into the waves below with a shriek.

They panted, safe on the other side—for now.

"That was no ordinary beast," Elira said.

"No," Vaela agreed. "It was a Wraithscale. A guardian left from the old days. It knows we're coming."

Draven looked back across the river. The creature was gone, but the feeling of being hunted lingered.

That night, they made camp in a clearing surrounded by thick vines. Vaela placed protective stones at the edges—old runes carved with fire symbols. As the stars appeared above, Elira sat close to the fire, staring into the flames.

"What if we fail?" she asked quietly. "What if the temple's gone? Or worse, if the Queen gets there first?"

Draven sat beside her. "Then we fight. Like Kael did. Like we must."

She looked at him. "You really believe you're strong enough?"

He thought of the dreams, the pain, the moonlight. "No," he admitted. "But I believe we're stronger together."

She smiled faintly. "Good answer."

And for a moment, the night didn't feel so dark.

But miles away, in the shadows of the Black Gate, Queen Valdara watched the sky. Her scouts had returned with whispers of Draven's path. Her fingers traced the edge of a stone altar.

"Let him find the temple," she whispered. "Let him take the crown. And then… let him break."

The fire behind her flared—green and cold.

Back in the forest, Draven dreamed again. This time, he stood at the foot of a tall mountain. The moon hung blood-red above it. A voice echoed across the stone.

"The Hollow Flame waits. Will you light it... or be consumed?"

He woke with a start. The wind was howling through the trees.

The journey had begun—and the real test was still to come.