Chapter 12
1630 Words
The closer the Blood Moon came, the quieter Whitecliff became.
Laughter no longer echoed through its streets. Merchants closed their stalls before sunset. Blacksmiths worked through the night, forging heavier locks and stronger iron bars, while fathers reinforced doors and shuttered windows with thick oak planks. Mothers filled their homes with food, herbs, and fresh water, preparing to remain indoors until dawn.
Every child born in Whitecliff knew the stories.
On the night of the Blood Moon, no werewolf remained master of themselves.
Kings became beasts.
Warriors forgot honor.
Brothers turned on brothers.
The Blood Moon came only once every three years, and every family prayed that, when morning arrived, everyone they loved would still be alive.
Even the palace grew strangely silent.
The royal guards doubled their watch before sunset, though everyone knew it was little more than tradition. Once the crimson moon climbed into the heavens, no sword, no title, and no crown could command the beast within.
Only one person possessed that gift.
Elara.
In the weeks before the Blood Moon, Elara noticed changes within herself.
She tired more quickly than before.
Some mornings, the scent of food made her nauseous.
Other days, she found herself resting a hand unconsciously against her stomach, smiling for reasons she could not explain.
She had tried to tell Rowan.
More than once.
The first time, he had been studying maps spread across a large table.
“Rowan,” she had begun softly. “There’s something I—”
“Not now,” he interrupted without looking up. “I’m preparing the men. We’ll talk tonight.”
But night came and he never returned before she had fallen asleep.
The second time, she found him in the training yard.
He was correcting formations, shouting instructions as nearly a hundred warriors practiced together.
He noticed her immediately.
“Elara.”
She smiled.
“I need to tell you something important.”
He kissed her forehead distractedly.
“After today’s training.”
Then he was gone again.
The third time, she simply smiled to herself.
After the Blood Moon, she thought.
I’ll tell him then.
She imagined the joy on his face.
She imagined him lifting her into his arms, laughing like he had on their wedding day.
The thought alone filled her heart with quiet joy.
She never noticed that every hour Rowan spent away from her brought him closer to betraying everything she believed.
Meanwhile, Healer Braham continued her training.
“You are stronger than you realize,” he told her one evening.
“I don’t want strength,” Elara replied.
“I only want to protect people.”
The old healer smiled gently.
“And that is exactly why the Moon Goddess chose you.”
Training had grown more difficult over the past few months.
She learned to expand her blessing farther than ever before.
Ten wolves.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Fifty.
By the end of the second month, she could steady nearly eighty minds without losing consciousness.
Still…
She refused to stop.
“There are almost one hundred warriors,” she whispered after another exhausting lesson. “If Rowan truly wishes to save Whitecliff… then I must be able to protect every one of them.”
Braham’s smile faded.
“Do not forget,” he said gently, resting a fatherly hand upon her shoulder, “you are no longer fighting for one life.”
Instinctively, Elara placed a hand over her abdomen.
“I know.”
“I’ll be careful.”
The old healer looked toward the evening sky, unease clouding his weathered face.
For reasons he could not explain…
His heart felt heavy.
Elsewhere, Rowan’s preparations were nearly complete.
Every man gathered within the abandoned watchtower had once opposed Marcus.
Not because Marcus was unjust…
Quite the opposite.
He was too just
He had outlawed corruption.
Broken the influence of greedy nobles.
Punished those who preyed upon the weak.
Under Marcus’s reign, men who had once grown rich through fear found themselves stripped of privilege.
Now Rowan offered them something else.
Power.
Gold.
Freedom to reclaim what they believed had been stolen.
“We move when the Blood Moon reaches its peak,” Rowan told them.
“No unnecessary bloodshed.”
“We remove Marcus from the throne.”
“We banish him.”
The men nodded.
They believed him.
Only Rowan knew there would be no exile.
No mercy.
No witness.
At last…
The night arrived.
Clouds drifted apart.
The moon rose slowly above Whitecliff.
Not silver.
Not white.
Crimson.
It stained the sky like spilled blood.
Then came the first howl.
It echoed from somewhere beyond the eastern woods.
Another answered.
Then another.
Within moments, countless voices rose across the kingdom.
One by one, wolves surrendered to the curse.
The streets erupted into chaos.
Doors shook beneath pounding claws.
Glass shattered.
Animals fled through the forests.
The Blood Moon had begun.
Inside Rowan’s manor, every candle had been extinguished except those surrounding the great Moon Circle carved into the floor.
Elara knelt at its center.
Her breathing slowed.
She closed her eyes.
First…
She pictured Rowan.
His smile.
His voice.
His heartbeat.
Then Celeste.
The friend she loved like a sister.
Finally, she extended her thoughts outward until every warrior Rowan had chosen appeared within her mind like tiny lights scattered across the darkness.
One by one…
She reached for them.
Silver light spread from beneath her hands.
It flowed through the floor.
Through the walls.
Across Whitecliff itself.
Like moonlight carried upon the wind.
Each chosen warrior felt warmth wash over him.
The madness stopped.
The beast obeyed.
Nearly one hundred wolves remained completely aware beneath the Blood Moon.
Elara gasped.
Pain surged through her body.
But she refused to stop.
“If this saves lives…”
“…then it’s worth everything.”
While the kingdom descended into madness…
Rowan marched.
His soldiers moved with terrifying precision through streets filled with chaos.
Mindless wolves ignored them.
They had eyes only for one another.
Within minutes, Rowan’s force reached the royal palace.
The palace gates stood wide open, abandoned by guards who has already surrendered to the blood moon curse.
No sentries remained capable of defending them.
Inside the throne hall stood Marcus.
Or rather…
The shell of the man he had once been.
His wolf paced restlessly beneath the crimson light streaming through broken windows.
His breathing came in deep growls.
His golden eyes held no recognition.
Only instinct.
For a heartbeat, Rowan simply watched him.
This was the brother who had taught him to fight.
The brother who had shielded him as a child.
The brother who had once sworn they would rule together.
Marcus lifted his head.
Their eyes met.
For the briefest of moments, recognition flickered in Marcus’s golden eyes. It was as though the brother Rowan had once loved fought desperately to break free from the beast. Then the crimson moon claimed him once more.
The beast lunged.
The battle was brief.
Marcus fought with overwhelming strength but no strategy.
Rowan fought with both.
Steel flashed.
Claws tore stone.
The throne room trembled beneath their struggle.
At last…
Marcus stumbled.
He fell to one knee.
One of Rowan’s captains stepped forward.
“It’s over.”
“We’ve won.”
“Bind him.”
“We’ll take him into exile before sunrise.”
Several others agreed.
“It doesn’t have to end this way.”
Rowan looked down at his brother.
Then without another word……
He stepped forward and drove his blade into Marcus’s chest.
Silence filled the throne room.
Marcus collapsed.
The crimson light reflected across the polished floor.
“No…” one warrior whispered.
“You said we’d spare him.”
Another stared in horror.
“You promised.”
Rowan slowly turned toward them.
“A king who leaves a rival alive,” he said coldly, “is simply choosing the day he dies.”
The men exchanged uneasy glances.
“This wasn’t our agreement.”
“We didn’t come here for—”
He never finished.
Rowan moved like lightning.
Within moments, the first man fell.
Then another.
Panic spread through the room.
Those who had followed Rowan believing they fought for their justice now realized they had helped create the very monster they had sworn to oppose.
One after another…
They fell.
When the last echo faded, only Rowan remained standing.
His hands were stained with the price of his ambition.
Behind him, soft footsteps echoed.
Celeste.
She looked from Marcus…
…to Rowan…
…and understood.
Without speaking, she crossed the room and embraced him.
“We’re finally free,” she whispered.
Rowan closed his eyes.
“No.”
He looked toward the throne.
“We’re finally home.”
Hand in hand, they walked back toward Rowan’s manor.
Far away, Elara remained inside the Moon Circle.
Every breath hurt.
Every heartbeat felt heavier than the last.
Through her spiritual gift, she sensed Rowan returning.
Alive.
Victorious.
Relief flooded her exhausted heart.
She smiled through tears.
“They did it…”
“They saved Whitecliff.”
Using the last strength left within her, she forced herself to stand.
One trembling step.
Then another.
Her vision blurred.
Her body begged her to rest.
But she kept walking.
She wanted to be the first to welcome them home.
She wanted to tell Rowan about the child growing beneath her heart.
She wanted to believe that, by sunrise, Whitecliff would finally know peace again. She wanted to believe that her husband had become the hero he had always claimed he wished to be.
Outside, footsteps approached the manor doors.
Elara smiled and opened her arms.
She had no idea…
…that the greatest darkness of the Blood Moon had never come from the sky.
It had always lived in the heart of the man she loved.
- Writer
