The Loud Moon doesn't laugh tonight. It watches. Cold. Eternal. And for once—I watch back.
It began like every Festival of the Eye—with fire and painted faces. With hollow joy masquerading as tradition. I stood at the Wyrmgate, same as every year, draped in silver and silence, a sentinel between realms.
I had never missed a night.
Until tonight.
It hit like lightning through bone.
I didn't hear a sound. I felt it—a thread inside me snapping, violently. The kind of silence only death can bring.
My knees buckled. My heart—my real one, the one beneath the bravado—collapsed.
"Mother…"
I didn't remember running.
The city blurred around me. Laughter turned to static. Lanterns became floating ghosts. I shoved through crowds, ignored the gasps, the startled dancers. Something primal drove me, something deeper than duty.
I reached her tower on breathless limbs.
The door was ajar.
Blood. It was everywhere. Streaked across her polished floor. Pooled beneath the table where she brewed her nightly tea. It clung to the walls like it was trying to hold on.
She lay crumpled in the corner. One hand stretched toward the window, the other curled over her heart. Her eyes wide. Empty.
I fell to my knees. My scream caught in my throat—tight, bitter, buried beneath years of practiced poise.
I touched her cheek. Cold. Too cold.
"No. No. No."
I clutched her. Rocked her. My mother. My flame. My guide. My root.
"Don't go," I choked. "You can't go. You said we'd watch the moon together tonight. You said you'd braid my hair again."
Her braid was half-undone, streaked with blood.
I pressed my head to hers. I whispered the old words. The death prayer of the Shade Walkers. My voice broke halfway through. I said it again. And again. Until the room echoed with nothing but that chant.
Then I heard her voice.
Not truly. But in memory. In marrow.
"The Veil is a song, Nylessa. When you feel it unravel, you must hold the note. Don't run. Don't forget what we are."
Tears spilled.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I left the Gate. I left it. I'm sorry."
The city moaned outside. A sound like wind—but heavier. Wrong.
And then another pull—a different thread. Weaker. Thinner.
My brother.
I stood. Swayed.
He was in danger. I didn't know how I knew, but I knew. Blood knows blood. Soul knows soul.
I wiped my face with shaking hands. Took one last look at her.
"I'll come back. I promise. But not until he's safe."
I stumbled through the streets.
They were no longer filled with laughter.
Screams echoed now. Horns. Bells. The roar of things not born of this world.
I saw a winged girl, no older than fifteen, sobbing as she dragged her wings along the stone. Her feathers were torn, not by choice, but by claws. Her blood glistened beneath the moonlight. Her father wept over her limp body, holding what was left.
A man with three eyes screamed as he clawed at his own face, trying to hide the truth of what he was. Nearby, a satyr lay in a heap, hooves shattered, ribs broken. None of it mattered.
These creatures—these Veil beasts—did not care what we cut off.
They didn't care about concealment.
They could smell the magic in our blood. They hunted it. Hungered for it.
I ducked behind a crumbling wall, heart pounding.
One of them passed in front of me.
Its body was a patchwork of faces and limbs—none of them matching. Its eyes spun in all directions, some human, some inhuman, some empty. Its mouth opened too wide, lined with rows of needle-teeth, and a low moan spilled from it. Not a growl.
A moan. Like mourning. Like hunger.
Its limbs bent in ways no creature's should. One arm ended in a hand, the other in bone that twisted into a blade. Smoke bled from its back.
I held my breath. Clutched the wall.
The moment it passed, I ran again.
I had to find him.
And then, in the square near the shattered fountain, I saw Thorne.
He stood at the center of the chaos like a priest at a broken altar, staring at the carnage with a glimmer in his eyes—no fear, no regret.
Admiration.
"This," he said to no one, "is what balance looks like. Let the unnatural devour itself."
He turned slowly.
Saw me.
Our eyes met.
Hatred rose in my throat like bile. My legs trembled. I wanted to strike him down, to scream, to let the wrath of every slain non-human pour from my hands.
But my brother's face flashed in my mind.
He needed me.
I clenched my fists. Turned. Ran.
The observatory. That's where it all began. That's where he would be.
The buildings burned behind me. Shadows danced with fire. The screams grew louder.
And somewhere behind that veil of sound, I heard my name.
Not a voice from the living.
Not from the dead.
But from the moon itself.
"Nylessa."
I looked up.
And ran faster.
The observatory tower rose ahead, wrapped in smoke and silence.
And in that moment, I knew:
If I didn't reach him in time, there would be nothing left to save.