The night the Moon Crest awakened, the moon bled silver.
Aerin Vale felt it before they saw it a tremor beneath their skin, like the world itself had inhaled and forgotten how to exhale. The sky above Lunaris Vale thickened unnaturally, stars dimming one by one until only the moon remained, swollen and impossible, hanging too close to the earth.
Aerin's breath caught. They stood at the edge of the village, basket of moonroot forgotten at their feet. The air smelled of cold iron and night-blooming flowers, a strange sweetness undercut by fear. Somewhere behind them, doors slammed shut, and villagers whispered prayers to gods they hadn't spoken to in generations.
And then the moon cracked.
A thin, silver fracture split its face, spilling light like molten silver across the heavens. The glow stretched downward, not falling, but reaching, as though the sky itself had chosen a target.
Aerin clutched their chest. Pain seared beneath their tunic, right where the crescent-shaped birthmark had always been pale and meaningless until this moment.
Now it burned with life, as if the moon itself had pressed its fingers into their flesh.
"No… this can't be happening," Aerin whispered, their voice trembling.
The ground trembled beneath their feet. From the shadowed earth before them, stone peeled apart like petals, revealing a hollow. Within it floated a sigil of living moonstone, carved with runes that shifted and shimmered like tides.
The Moon Crest.
Aerin fell to their knees. Memories that were not their own flooded their mind, crowns broken beneath eclipses, cities drowned in moonfire, voices chanting a name that echoed through centuries. Power pressed against their mind, vast, intimate, and terrifying.
Chosen.
The word rang inside Aerin's skull, neither male nor female, neither kind nor cruel.
"I don't want this," Aerin gasped.
The Crest pulsed once, violently, and the world fell silent.
Then she appeared.
A figure stepped into the silver light, moving with calm inevitability. Cloaked in shadows that shifted like smoke, her eyes reflected the moon's glow, sharp and knowing. At her side, a curved blade caught stray rays of silver.
"Do not touch it," the woman said. Her voice was calm, but it carried the weight of command. "Unless you want the moon to finish what it's started."
Aerin's hands trembled inches from the Crest. " who are you?"
The woman's gaze flicked to the mark on Aerin's chest. Her jaw tightened. "I am Nyxara. And if you survive tonight, you may call me ally… or enemy."
" what is this thing?" Aerin asked, their voice barely more than a whisper.
"The Moon Crest," Nyxara replied. "It chooses. And now the world will bleed for it."
A roar echoed from the distant Ashen Plains. Torches flared along the village's edge. Shouts carried on the wind. Hunters had already arrived.
Nyxara grabbed Aerin's arm. "We move, now. If they see you, you're already dead."
Aerin stumbled but followed. Their lungs burned as they ran, branches whipping against their skin. With every step, the birthmark throbbed, pulsing in time with the Crest.
" why me?" Aerin asked between gasps.
Nyxara did not answer immediately. The forest swallowed them, leaving only silver light filtering through the canopy. Finally, she said, "Because the last Moonbearer destroyed everything I loved. You are their successor."
The words settled over Aerin like a shroud.
They had no idea what it meant, but their heart hammered with fear and an unfamiliar spark of resolve.
Somewhere above, the moon continued to bleed, a silent witness to what had just begun.
And Aerin Vale, orphan of Lunaris Vale, had just become the most dangerous soul in Elarion.