🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan
Chapter Twenty-Seven: 25
The stairs went down… and down… and down.
Each step was carved from black stone, warm beneath their boots. Strange red lights glowed from cracks in the walls. The deeper they went, the hotter it became, as if they were walking into the heart of a great beast.
Draven wiped sweat from his brow. His hand was still on the sword hilt, but the blade no longer glowed. Down here, it was silent—as if even the sword was holding its breath.
Callen walked behind him, one hand against the wall, the other on his dagger.
"This place feels wrong," he said. "Like it's alive."
Elira nodded. "It's not just alive. It remembers."
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Before them stood a great stone door, covered in ancient symbols. Some looked like stars. Others like flames. In the center was the mark of the Moonblood—a circle wrapped in thorns, with a drop of blood at its heart.
As Draven stepped closer, the door shook.
Then it opened.
A blast of heat rolled over them. The room beyond was massive—a huge underground hall, glowing with rivers of red fire that flowed through deep cracks in the stone floor. Giant pillars stretched into darkness above, carved with faces—some human, some not.
Elira stared in awe. "This is… the Hall of Trials."
At the far end of the hall stood a stone altar. A single torch burned above it with blue fire. And behind that… was a shadow.
The shadow moved.
It stepped into the light, revealing a tall man with silver hair and a black cloak made of feathers. His eyes were not normal—they glowed like coals. His chest was bare, marked with scars and symbols, and on his arm was a tattoo of the moon dripping blood.
"You should not have come," the man said. His voice was like stone grinding against metal.
Draven stepped forward, sword drawn. "We seek the truth."
The man tilted his head. "Then prove you deserve it."
With a wave of his hand, the floor cracked. Fire burst upward, and from the flames rose three creatures—tall, thin, with burning eyes and skin like molten rock. They screeched, their mouths filled with black smoke.
Draven raised his blade. Elira lifted her hands. Callen drew both daggers.
"Stay together!" Draven shouted.
The battle began.
One creature lunged toward Callen, fast and wild. He dodged and slashed, cutting deep into its leg. The creature screamed but didn't fall.
Another charged Elira. She held her ground, sending a wave of light from her hands. The creature shrieked as it burned, stumbling back.
The third came for Draven. Its claws swiped through the air, nearly hitting his face. He ducked, rolled, and drove his sword through its chest. The creature exploded into ash.
But they kept coming.
More rose from the fire, each one stronger than the last.
Draven's arm ached. Blood dripped from a cut on his cheek. Elira was breathing hard. Callen's cloak was half-burned. Still, they fought.
Still, they stood.
Until at last, the man raised his hand again. The creatures froze—then vanished into smoke.
Silence.
He stepped forward, his glowing eyes fixed on Draven.
"You have courage. That is not enough. The truth you seek is older than the kingdom. Older than Arodan itself. And it comes with a price."
Draven lowered his sword slightly. "What price?"
The man's mouth curled into a strange smile.
"Your blood… or your name."