Chapter 2 — The Blood Eclipse
The forest burned red beneath the blood moon.
Smoke rose like black wings, and every howl in the distance was a prayer unanswered. The midwife ran, clutching the swaddled infant to her chest, her feet slicing through roots and ash. Each breath came ragged, each step a plea to a goddess who no longer listened.
Behind her, the village of Voss Hollow was dying.
Flames consumed rooftops and memory. The air shimmered with heat and terror as soldiers of the Alpha King moved through the wreckage, cutting down anyone who bore the faintest glimmer of silver in their blood. Wolves in human skin. Men in armor etched with lunar sigils. The hunt had begun.
At the edge of the forest, the midwife stumbled into a clearing. The eclipse had reached its zenith the moon, swollen and crimson, bleeding light across the world.
She knelt and looked down at the infant. The baby's eyes were open now not the pale blue of the newborn, but molten silver, glowing faintly in the dark. The mark on her chest pulsed like a heartbeat.
The midwife shivered. "You shouldn't have been born, little one," she whispered, voice breaking. "You're too bright. The world will devour you."
The child only stared, silent, as if she understood.
Thunder cracked across the valley. The ground shook — not from the storm, but from something ancient stirring beneath. Trees bent toward the earth. The very air hummed with power.
And then a voice.
It wasn't sound; it was vibration in her bones.
"Protect the child," it commanded.
"Until the moon remembers mercy."
The midwife gasped. "Who?"
But the voice was gone.
In the distance, she saw torches approaching soldiers sweeping the forest. There was no time left. She pressed a trembling kiss to the baby's forehead, tears streaking her soot-stained face.
"Forgive me."
She placed the child in the hollow of an ancient oak, wrapped in Elara's mooncloth shawl, and whispered a prayer older than the temples.
"Moon above, shadow below, hide this soul until she can burn the world anew."
Then she ran straight toward the soldiers screaming, drawing them away.
By the time they found her, the hollow was empty.
Hours later.
The moon's crimson faded to pale silver. The eclipse passed, leaving a sky too still, too silent.
From the ashes of Voss Hollow, smoke rose into dawn like a thousand laments.
In the ruins of what had been a home, Elara Voss crawled through the wreckage. Her arms were burned, her hair matted with soot. Her husband lay motionless beside her.
She reached for him, but her hand found only ash. Her scream was a whisper swallowed by wind.
Then faintly she felt it.
A pulse in her chest.
Her daughter's heartbeat.
"Elara Voss!"
The voice came sharp, cutting through the smoke. A soldier.
She staggered to her feet, clutching at a piece of burning timber. Her eyes, once soft, now gleamed with a wild, feral light. "You came to kill a child," she spat, "but you will answer to her mother first."
The soldier smirked, raising his blade but he never swung. The ground split beneath him, and from the crack poured a blinding white fire. It engulfed him in silence, leaving only the echo of his scream.
Elara fell to her knees, shaking. The power that had saved her was not her own. It was the moon's but wrong. Cold. Defiant.
She looked up at the dimming sky. "Lunara," she whispered, "why do you curse us?"
And the goddess's answer came on the wind:
"Because your daughter will one day kill me
By midday, riders from the Dark Citadel arrived. The Alpha King's banner a black moon over silver flame fluttered as his soldiers surveyed the carnage. Among them rode Prince Lyon Drax, his armor still unstained by war, his face sharp with the arrogance of youth.
He looked at the smoldering ruins, jaw tightening. "They slaughtered a village for prophecy," he muttered. "Was there even proof?"
His captain bowed. "A priest confirmed it, my lord. The Blood Moon child was born here. The king ordered all traces erased."
Kieran's gaze drifted to the horizon, where the smoke met the fading moon. "Erased," he repeated softly. "Or buried?"
Beneath the forest canopy, hidden in the hollow of that ancient oak, the infant Ariana slept. Her tiny fingers curled around the mooncloth. The mark on her chest pulsed with faint light steady, defiant, alive.
A soft mist rolled through the trees, and within it, faint eyes glowed wolves, dozens of them, watching. One stepped forward fur white as bone, eyes like glass. It sniffed the air, then bowed its great head toward the sleeping child.
The pack moved silently, circling her, forming a living shield.
When the wind changed, the alpha lifted its muzzle and howled not to the goddess, but against her.
The howl carried for miles.
Over the burning fields.
Over the dying prayers.
All the way to the throne of the moon herself.
And for the first time in eternity, the goddess felt fear.