Chapter 4 – The Blood Moon's Mark
By the fourth night, the mountains felt endless.
The air was colder here, thinner, carrying scents from far-off valleys Nara would never see. She had followed a narrow goat path higher and higher until the smoke from her village was just a memory on the wind. She told herself she was escaping, but the truth whispered beneath the surface — she was circling, like a wolf trailing the edges of her enemy's scent.
That night, the sky changed.
It began subtly — the moon, pale and silver, sliding into a shadow. Then, as darkness bled across its face, a deep, strange red began to glow in its place. The color spread until the entire moon burned like a coal in the sky, staining the mountains in shades of blood and fire.
Nara had heard stories of the Blood Moon before — old superstitions traded by her grandmother when she was a child. They said it was a night when the barrier between the living and the dead thinned, when wishes made in blood could reach the ears of things that walked in the unseen. She had laughed then.
She wasn't laughing now.
The air itself felt different — heavy, charged, as if every tree, every stone, every grain of dirt was holding its breath. A cold shiver traced the length of her spine.
That was when she heard the footsteps.
Slow, deliberate, crunching over the rocky ground.
She turned. The woman from the smoke was there again. The same crimson cloak that seemed to catch its own light. The same black veil, hiding her face but not the golden gleam of her eyes.
"This is the night," the woman said, her voice rich and deep, each word falling like a weight. "The Blood Moon opens the way. If you wish for power, I can give it. But there is always a price."
Nara's heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. "What price?"
The woman stepped closer, the moon's red light painting her veil the color of fresh blood. "A vow. One that will bind you to the moon, to me, and to the path you choose. Once spoken, there will be no turning back. You will be marked. You will be hunted. And you will be changed."
The wind caught her cloak then, making it flare like a wound in the darkness.
Nara thought of the twins.
Of her father.
Of the Dark Knights' faceless helms, and the blood dripping from their swords.
She didn't hesitate. "I'll take it."
The woman produced a small blade, its surface etched with symbols that shimmered faintly under the red moon. She took Nara's hand, pressed the point into her palm.
The cut was quick — a sharp sting followed by the warm rush of blood. It dripped into a black bowl carved from obsidian. The woman lifted it to the moonlight and began to speak in a language that made the earth under Nara's feet tremble.
The shadows around them shifted. The trees seemed to lean closer. The wind carried whispers Nara couldn't understand, but she felt them coil inside her like smoke curling into her lungs.
When the woman finished, she pressed the bowl into Nara's hands. "Drink."
The liquid was warm, metallic, and tasted faintly of iron and something older — like earth after lightning.
The moment it touched her tongue, she felt it — a power unfurling inside her chest, coiling and stretching like a serpent waking from a long sleep. It filled her limbs, sharpened her senses, and made the world around her hum with a clarity she had never known.
The woman's golden eyes gleamed through the veil.
"The vow is sealed."
When Nara blinked, she was alone again.
But the power was still there.
And it was hungry.