Moonblood: The curse of Arodan

🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan

Chapter Thirty-two: 32

The road to Nar'Thaen twisted through forgotten valleys and crumbling paths, the skies above painted in cold gray and bleeding dusk. Each step forward was met with silence, as if the world itself held its breath. Arodan was no longer behind them—it loomed above them now, like a shadow trailing their every move.

Draven walked ahead, his cloak dusted with ash and memory. Since meeting Vaela, the dreams had changed. They were clearer, louder—Kael's voice guiding him through storms of fire and moonlight. It was no longer just a curse. It was a key.

Behind him, Elira rode quietly, her gaze fixed on the broken horizon. She hadn't spoken much since they left the forest, but she stayed close. Callen led the rear, watching every tree, every hill. The queen's hunters were growing bolder.

They arrived at the edge of a dark canyon as night fell. There, buried beneath the cliffs, was the entrance to the Temple of Echoes.

A giant stone arch marked the way, half-swallowed by ivy and broken runes. The wind that blew from within was cold—not just from air, but from memory. Draven stepped forward and placed his hand on the stone. It burned cold against his skin.

"This is it," Vaela whispered, appearing from the mist behind them. "The gate only opens for one who carries Kael's flame."

Draven turned to her. "What if I'm not ready?"

"You're not," she said. "But the curse doesn't wait for readiness."

He breathed in deeply, then pressed his hand harder. The runes lit up slowly, one by one, like old stars being woken. With a thunderous groan, the stone shifted, and the gate opened into darkness.

Inside, the air was thick with silence and dust. Their torches barely lit the walls, which were carved with ancient words none of them could read—except for Vaela. Her fingers traced the marks with reverence.

"This temple was Kael's final sanctuary," she said. "Before the fall. Before he was betrayed."

"Who betrayed him?" Elira asked.

Vaela paused. "Someone he called brother."

The passage narrowed as they moved deeper. Strange whispers floated from the walls—voices from long ago. Draven felt them in his bones. They didn't speak words… just emotions. Fear. Hope. Regret.

At last, they entered a grand chamber with a cracked stone altar at its heart. Above it hung a massive crystal, dull and lifeless.

Vaela stepped forward. "This is the Ember Crown."

Draven's eyes widened. "That's it?"

"It sleeps," she said. "It will awaken only for the true heir. Place your hand on it, Draven."

He hesitated, then moved to the altar. As his fingers touched the crystal, fire sparked inside it—small at first, then bursting outward in streams of light. The room trembled. The whispers screamed. And Draven was thrown backward.

He saw Kael again—this time chained in the heart of the temple, his eyes blazing. A figure stood over him, holding a black dagger.

"Blood must open the flame," Kael said. "But only love can bind it."

Draven awoke on the cold floor, gasping. The crystal above now glowed with red light. The Ember Crown hovered in the air, spinning slowly. Vaela bowed her head.

"You've awakened it," she said. "The next part of the path begins."

"But what does it mean?" Draven asked. "What do I do with it?"

"Protect it," Vaela replied. "Because if the queen gets it… the Black Gate will fall."

Suddenly, a tremor shook the ground. Stones fell from the ceiling, and from the darkness behind them came a howl—long, low, and hungry.

"They're here," Callen said, drawing his sword. "The queen's hunters found us."

As the crystal dimmed and the temple echoed with danger, Draven grabbed the Ember Crown, holding it close. His heart beat with fire.

No more running.