Morning came reluctantly to Black Hollow.The sun, weak and pale, seemed unable to drive away the cold silver that clung to the land. Even in daylight, the huge moon loomed in the sky like a watchful eye, refusing to yield.
The village stirred uneasily. Chickens clucked half-heartedly. Children played, but their laughter was brittle, forced. The hunters, fewer than usual, carried their spears with nervous glances toward the forest.
Garrick had not returned.
The Vanishing
Mira Ashveil was the first to notice.She knocked at Garrick's door with a basket of herbs, intending to trade for venison. When no answer came, she pushed inside. The house was empty. The bed unslept. The fire cold.
By midday, whispers spread.
"Did wolves take him?""Perhaps the curse… dragged him into the woods.""No, no. I heard he went after the Elder. Something about the moon water."
The rumors twisted quickly, changing shape like smoke.
Draven listened quietly as villagers murmured outside his crooked house. He sat in his chair, eyes half-closed, the image of frailty. His cane leaned at his side, its steel core hidden from all.
Every whisper was a thread. Every rumor, a knot. And Draven, patient as the moon, let the threads weave into a net of fear.
But fear was dangerous if not guided.
So, when Mira entered, eyes wide and worried, Draven smiled kindly, masking the predator beneath.
"Elder," she said, voice trembling, "Garrick is gone."
Draven nodded slowly, sighing. "Yes. The woods are cruel. I warned him often not to wander so deep."
"But… others say he was with you last night."
Her words hung sharp, unblinking.
Draven's heart beat once, hard. But his face remained soft. He chuckled weakly, coughing as though the laugh pained him.
"My child, look at me. These bones barely carry me to the well. Do you think I wandered the forest at night?"
Mira flushed, ashamed. "No, Elder. Forgive me. I… I only worry."
Draven reached out, his wrinkled hand warm against hers. "Worry not. Garrick was strong. If he has not returned, it is because the forest claimed him. Nothing more."
But as Mira bowed and left, doubt still lingered in her eyes.
Good, Draven thought, lips curving faintly. Doubt is a sharper chain than faith. It binds tighter.
Kaelen's Eyes
That evening, Kaelen approached. The young man walked with purpose, his broad shoulders taut, his jaw set. Unlike the others, he did not hesitate to meet Draven's gaze.
"Elder," he said firmly, "I would speak with you about Garrick."
Draven smiled, leaning on his cane. "Of course, Kaelen. Come in. Sit."
Kaelen remained standing. His eyes narrowed slightly. "He was my hunting partner. He would not vanish without trace. I found blood in the grass near the clearing. Too much for a wound. Not enough for a wolf's kill."
Draven's smile never faltered, though inside he cursed the young man's sharpness.
"You have a keen eye," he said gently. "But sometimes keen eyes see too much. Blood in the woods is no strange thing."
Kaelen stepped closer, voice low. "I don't believe wolves took him. I believe something else walks under the moon. Something none of us yet understand."
Draven let silence stretch. Then, softly, "Perhaps you are right. But tell me, Kaelen… if you did understand, would you still stand here? Or would you run until your legs broke?"
Kaelen stiffened. The words, though spoken gently, carried weight. A warning. A test.
Finally, Kaelen bowed slightly, though his eyes never left Draven's. "I will not run. Black Hollow is my home. Whatever hunts us, I will face it."
Draven's smile widened, almost paternal. "Good. Then perhaps you will be of use."
The younger man frowned. "Use?"
But Draven waved a frail hand dismissively. "Nothing, nothing. Go. Rest. The moon is cruelest to those who lack sleep."
Kaelen left, suspicion burning in his eyes.
Draven watched him go, the smile fading. That one will be trouble. Or a weapon. Perhaps both.
The Curse Stirs
That night, alone in his crooked house, Draven returned to the scroll.
The First Step of the Sealed Moon.
The symbols shifted, refusing to stay still. He traced them with a trembling finger, his veins glowing faintly beneath his skin. The curse within him pulsed, hungering.
He had silenced Garrick. He had faced the stranger. But his body still rotted, time still bled away. If he did not ascend soon, all his cunning would wither with his bones.
He placed a bowl of moonlit water before him. The surface shimmered unnaturally, reflecting not his face but shifting shadows.
"More," he whispered. "I need more."
He pricked his finger, letting a drop of blood fall into the water. The liquid darkened, tendrils of silver spiraling outward. His veins burned as if molten ice filled them.
Visions flickered. A great gate of chains beneath the moon. Countless voices whispering in tongues older than stone. A shadowed figure watching from behind the seal.
Draven gasped, clutching his chest. His body shook, wracked by pain. But through the agony, he laughed softly.
"Yes… I see now. The curse is not death. It is the key."
The glow in his veins dimmed slowly, leaving him panting, drenched in sweat. But a spark of strength lingered. His breaths came easier. His hands trembled less.
A single step. But enough.
The Villagers Gather
The next morning, the village gathered at the well. Mira, Kaelen, and a dozen others stood together, their faces drawn tight.
"We must know what happened to Garrick," Mira urged. "We cannot let his disappearance pass in silence."
Others murmured agreement. Fear sharpened into anger.
Kaelen spoke louder, his voice carrying. "We cannot pretend the woods are the same as before. Too many strange things. Too much silence. If we do nothing, more will vanish."
Draven arrived late, leaning on his cane, moving slowly. The crowd parted for him, respectful, expectant.
He raised a hand, silencing them with the weight of his presence.
"My children," he said softly, "I hear your fear. I share it. But you must remember—life beneath the moon has always been cruel. Garrick's fate is tragic, but it is not new. Wolves take the strong as well as the weak. Shadows swallow those who stray."
Kaelen's jaw tightened. "And if it was not wolves? If it was something else?"
The villagers murmured uneasily. Mira's eyes darted between Kaelen and the Elder.
Draven sighed, his shoulders heavy, his voice frail. "If it was something else, then I will find it. I will bear the burden, so you may rest."
The words struck like balm. The crowd softened, reassured. Many bowed their heads.
But Kaelen's eyes never left Draven's.
Alone Again
That night, Draven sat by his candle, the scroll before him, the village silent outside.
He could feel the threads tightening. Suspicion, faith, fear—all weaving into a tapestry he alone could read.
Kaelen watched him. Mira doubted him. The villagers clung to him.
And beyond the woods, the stranger still lingered.
Draven smiled faintly, eyes glowing silver in the moonlight.
"Good," he whispered. "Let them watch. Let them doubt. Let them fear. All shadows serve me in the end."
The candle guttered. The moon shone brighter.
And somewhere far above, behind the seal, something stirred.