THE CRIMSON MOON HEIR

The tree was dying. Lyra stood beneath its enormous silver branches, staring upward as glowing leaves drifted slowly toward the ground. The tree had always been beautiful in her dreams. Its trunk shimmered like moonlight, and its branches stretched higher than the tallest mountains. But tonight, something was wrong. One by one, the silver leaves began to change. The soft glow faded, replaced by a deep crimson color that looked almost like spilled blood. The leaves trembled in the wind before falling around her feet. Lyra reached out and caught one. The moment her fingers touched it, a strange warmth rushed through her hand. Then she heard the voice. “When the Crimson Moon rises…” The whisper came from everywhere and nowhere. Lyra turned around, searching the empty forest. “…the last heir must choose.” Her heart pounded. “Who are you?” she called. “What heir?” The silver tree groaned. The ground beneath her feet cracked, and the crimson leaves rose into the air like a storm. The voice came again, softer this time. “Remember who you are, Lyra.” Her eyes widened. Before she could answer, a blinding light swallowed everything. Lyra woke up with a gasp. For a moment, she lay still, staring at the wooden ceiling above her. The dream faded quickly, leaving only a strange feeling behind — like she had forgotten something important. Outside her window, the first rays of sunlight touched the small village of Asteria. Another ordinary morning. At least, that was what everyone believed. Lyra pushed herself out of bed and tied her long hair away from her face before stepping outside. The cool morning air brushed against her skin as she walked toward the garden behind the small cottage she shared with her grandmother. “Good morning, little ones,” she said, scattering grain for the chickens. The birds rushed toward her, and she laughed softly. “You act like you haven’t eaten in days.” Her grandmother always told her she cared too much about everything. The animals, the flowers, the people in the village — Lyra found it impossible not to notice when something needed help. As she picked vegetables from the garden, she noticed a little boy standing near the fence. His eyes were fixed on the basket of fresh bread sitting beside her. Lyra smiled. “Hungry?” The boy quickly shook his head. “No.” She raised an eyebrow. “Your stomach disagrees.” The boy looked embarrassed, and Lyra picked up a piece of bread before handing it to him. “Here.” “But your grandmother made that for breakfast.” “I know,” Lyra said, smiling. “And she’ll make more.” The boy thanked her before running away. Lyra watched him leave, then looked toward the sky. She often did that without realizing it. Searching. Waiting. For what, she didn’t know. “Still looking for answers in the clouds?” Her grandmother’s voice pulled her back. Lyra turned and smiled. “Maybe the sky knows something you don’t.” Her grandmother gave her a strange look but said nothing. That was when Lyra’s fingers brushed against the pendant resting against her chest. A small silver moon hanging from an old chain. She had worn it for as long as she could remember. Her grandmother’s expression changed immediately. “Lyra.” The seriousness in her voice made Lyra stop. “Yes?” Her grandmother stepped closer and gently touched the pendant. “Whatever happens tonight…” She paused. “Don’t ever take this off.” Lyra blinked. “Grandma, it’s just the Moon Festival.” Usually, her grandmother would have smiled at that. She didn’t. The silence that followed made Lyra’s laughter disappear. “Why are you saying that?” But her grandmother only looked away. Before she could answer, the front door opened. “Lyra!” Mira rushed inside like a storm, her dark curls bouncing as she walked. “There you are!” Lyra sighed. “Good morning to you too.” Mira ignored her and grabbed her hand. “You’re coming to the festival tonight, right?” “Of course.” “Good. Because if you’re late, every handsome boy in the village will already have found someone else to dance with.” Lyra rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.” “And you’re hopeless,” Mira replied with a grin. “One day you’ll realize people are supposed to notice you.” Lyra laughed. With Mira around, everything always felt lighter. By evening, Asteria had transformed. Silver lanterns hung between houses, glowing beneath the rising moon. Children ran through the streets wearing small moon-shaped decorations, while families prepared food and shared stories. The Moon Festival was the most important night of the year. Everyone gathered to celebrate the moon’s blessing. Everyone except the old woman standing alone inside a quiet cottage. Lyra’s grandmother slowly opened a wooden box hidden beneath her bed. Inside was an ancient letter, its edges worn with age. Her hands trembled as she unfolded it. After reading the words again, she whispered: “It has begun.” She looked out the window. The moon above Asteria was still silver. But not for long. That night, Lyra stepped outside with Mira beside her. Music filled the village. People laughed. Fireworks painted the sky. For a moment, Lyra felt like everything was perfect. Then something made her look upward. The moon. Her smile faded. Slowly… Almost impossibly… The silver moon began to change. A red shadow spread across its surface. The villagers continued celebrating, unaware. But Lyra saw it. Her pendant grew warm against her chest. And above her… The moon turned the color of blood.