The wind over Hollowveil carried whispers that didn't belong to the trees.
They belonged to him.
Draped in a weather-worn cloak stained with ash and soot, the intruder moved silently across the edge of the glade. His eyes, unnaturally silver, reflected light like a predator's—cold and hungry.
He had been tracking them for days. Through rivers that ran with stardust. Through forests that grew symbols in their bark. Through fogs that tried to rearrange his memories.
But he was Crescent-born.
And Crescent-born don't forget.
He crouched behind a fallen pillar, eyes narrowing as the scene before him unfolded: Kael Thorne—the Ashblood Traitor—stood in the clearing, facing the girl with wild hair and fire in her palms.
Elowen.
The prophecy-bearer.
He watched as she stretched her fingers toward the sky, lips moving in ancient incantation. Flames danced between her hands, shifting from crimson to white. Kael stood behind her, his own mark glowing faintly through his tunic, guiding her, grounding her.
Their movements were in sync.
Like they'd done this before.
Like they belonged together.
He clenched his jaw. That was dangerous. The prophecy never spoke of love. Only of blood. Only of death. And if they bonded fully before the Assembly could intervene—
It would be too late.
He pulled out a rune mirror, pressing two fingers against its obsidian surface. The shimmer flared to life, revealing a face cloaked in shadow—only a sliver of silver hair escaping the darkness.
The Watcher bowed his head. "I've found them."
A pause.
"Both of them?"
"Yes. The girl is Moonborn. Her flame sings in the old tongue. And Kael—he's awakened something in her. Something buried."
The voice on the other end was deep, refined. Old. "You're sure?"
The Watcher's lips curled. "They were training. Magic. Together. And the air around them felt… thin. Like it was about to tear."
A slow breath. "Then it's as the blood map predicted."
The Watcher stiffened. "The map… it burned, didn't it?"
Silence.
Then: "Yes. The moment her name aligned with his. The map caught fire. And bled."
---
Far across the continent, in a chamber deep beneath the Crescent Citadel, the man in shadow stood before a long obsidian table. On it, curled and blackened, lay the remains of the Blood Map—a magical relic said to chart every sigil-bound soul across the realms.
It had lived for centuries.
It had only bled once before.
Now it was ash.
And in that ash, two names remained—unburned, etched like scars.
Kael Thorne. Elowen Veyra.
The man clenched his fist.
"The last Moonborn has awakened," he murmured. "But she's not just flame. She's the core."
The Watcher's voice crackled through the mirror. "What do you mean?"
"She is the curse breaker. The one bound to the Forgotten Binding. She wasn't meant to live. But now…"
A pause.
"She's rewriting fate."
The Watcher tilted his head. "Should I strike now?"
"No."
The voice sharpened. "Bring her to me. Alive."
"And Kael?"
A long, dangerous pause.
Then—
> "He's already marked. If he survives, he'll come to her. If not… he dies as he was born—unworthy."
---
Back in Hollowveil, the wind shifted.
Elowen lowered her hands, chest rising and falling with effort. Sparks still drifted from her fingertips like falling stars.
Kael stepped forward and gently brushed a lock of hair from her face. "You're getting stronger."
She met his gaze, eyes searching. "Because you ground me."
Kael's lips tugged in a rare smile. "Or maybe you were always meant to burn brighter than anyone else."
They didn't know they were being watched.
Didn't hear the rune stone humming silently beneath the moss.
Didn't feel the shift in the earth as an ancient curse stirred below their feet—responding to blood, to bond, to fate twisting into motion.
The Watcher melted back into shadow.
His job was not to fight.
His job was to deliver.
---
Back in the Citadel, the man in shadow moved to a basin of liquid memory—silver and thick as mercury.
He dipped one gloved hand into the pool, whispering:
> "Open the old gate. Prepare the ritual."
A figure stepped from the far end of the chamber. Another loyalist. Another scarred priest of the Assembly.
"What are we summoning?"
The man turned slowly, his voice like iron draped in silk.
> "Not what," he said.
> "Whom."
He stared down at the two names still glowing on the scorched map.
"Bawa dia hidup-hidup," he repeated softly in an old tongue.
"Bring her alive."
> "The girl is Moonborn."
"The boy... is the curse opener."
"And when they unite... the world will either heal—or burn."
He pressed one finger to the center of the map—right over Elowen's name.
The paper hissed.
The echo of her sigil flared briefly before flickering out.
"She carries the flame of the first wolf," he murmured. "But her blood... her blood was bound before time remembered her name."
The priest behind him stepped forward cautiously. "Master... if she is truly the Moonborn, the old law forbids touching her."
The man in shadow tilted his head. "That law was written in fear. And I am not afraid."
He turned slowly, revealing a glimpse of his face beneath the hood—his eyes were carved with runes. Lines of black ink that moved as he breathed.
"She must not be broken," he said. "But she must be... unlocked."
The priest hesitated. "You wish to awaken the Red Vault?"
"Yes."
"But... no one has entered it since—"
"I know when it was sealed," he snapped. "I was there."
Silence.
Then the man softened, almost contemplative. "The old ones believed the curse would sleep forever. But the prophecy was never about ending the curse—it was about choosing what shape it would take when it woke."
"And now, it chooses them."
The room trembled slightly as the silver pool began to glow. Thin threads of memory coiled upward like smoke—memories not yet lived, visions borrowed from fates not yet chosen.
In the ripples of the water, Elowen's face appeared—eyes wide, lips trembling with power she didn't understand.
Then Kael—blood on his chest, arms wrapped around her as light erupted from their joined hands.
The man watching didn't blink.
"She will come willingly," he said at last.
"And if she doesn't?" the priest asked.
The master's voice turned quiet. "Then we bring her to the vault... and let it show her who she really is."
The priest swallowed. "And the boy?"
The man finally smiled.
But it wasn't kindness.
"He's already unraveling. If his bond survives the test, he will follow her willingly. If not—"
A pause.
"—his death will serve as the final key."
The silver liquid flashed, then stilled.
Outside the chamber, the sky above the Crescent Citadel shifted color—from grey to a strange maroon. The moon above twisted unnaturally, shrouded by clouds that moved like claws.
A lone horn sounded in the distance—long, low, broken.
The ritual had begun.