CHAPTER 4 : THE BLOOD ECLIPSE BEGINS
1083 Words
The whisper wouldn’t leave her.
“I’ve finally found you.”
Kaelira searched the whole clearing until her legs were sore, but the owner of that voice—whoever it was—had vanished as quickly as the sense of being watched.
Just her. Alone. The forest gave her no answers.
All she had was the pendant, clenched so tight in her trembling hand she barely felt her fingers.
She swallowed and forced herself to breathe.
“I need to get out of here.”
She spun from the clearing and hurried towards Black Hollow, fighting the urge to look back every few steps.
The black crescent under her collarbone burned—not painfully, just enough to remind her it was there.
It pulsed, like it was trying to match her heartbeat.
Something was different.
She could feel it. No denying.
By the time she stumbled into Black Hollow, everything was wrong.
The marketplace, usually a mess of voices and arguments, felt muted. Even the children had disappeared from the streets. Dogs hid under wagons and wouldn’t come out. The horses inside their stables snorted and stomped, spooked by nothing anyone could see.
The whole village felt heavy. Like a thunderstorm was about to break but never did.
Old Mrs. Elra nearly ran past her, white-knuckling a basket of bread, glancing over her shoulder up at the sky.
“This isn’t right,” she muttered, her voice shaking.
Kaelira looked up too. Clear sky. Sun shining, but the shadows on the ground stretched impossibly long—unnaturally so.
A cold wind picked up, sending the lanterns swinging.
The village elder came out of the council hall, staring off at the mountains, his face all lines and worries.
“Everyone inside,” he called out, not shouting but leaving no room to argue. “Now.”
Nobody hesitated.
Doors slammed. Windows latched. The whole village emptied in seconds.
Kaelira just stood there, stunned.
“What’s happening?” she blurted.
The elder met her eyes. He looked lost.
“I don’t know.”
That was worse than anything he could’ve said. He always had answers. Not tonight.
Time dragged. Grey clouds swallowed up the sun. By nightfall, candles flickered in every window, but the village had gone mute. Nobody sang. Nobody played. Not even a whisper slipped through the cracks.
Kaelira sat at her table, sleep miles away. The pendant lay on the wood, her skin still prickling where the black crescent flared.
Then—
A wolf howled, far out in Black Hollow Forest.
An answering cry came, then another. Soon, the whole mountain range echoed with their voices.
Kaelira slipped outside. She wasn’t the only one. Neighbors filtered into the square, pale and silent.
Everyone stared up.
The moon rose.
But it wasn’t silver.
A wave of shocked gasps rippled through the crowd.
The moon was black. Not clouded over—its whole surface shined like dark glass, ringed with an eerie red glow.
It looked less like a moon and more like a watching eye.
Someone screamed.
Birds dropped dead from the sky, landing on rooftops, stones, anywhere. Their bodies thudded hard and final.
Dogs started barking, then whined and collapsed. Horses thrashed in their stalls. Cattle ran wild, crashing through fences.
The ground trembled.
A deep, low rumble rolled through the earth.
Women grabbed their children. Men reached for weapons, shakily, knowing there was nothing to fight.
“What’s happening?” someone sobbed.
“The Moon Goddess…” muttered another, falling to their knees, “have mercy.”
Kaelira stood frozen, heat building in her chest, the black crescent beneath her clothes burning so bright she could see silvery light leaking through the fabric.
Nobody noticed. They were too terrified by the thing above their heads.
Hundreds of miles away, inside the towering walls of Ashen Fang, King Aldric faced the impossible moon from his balcony. His silver cloak whipped around him in the wind as he stared, golden eyes narrowed.
“This can’t be,” he growled.
Behind him, Alpha Lords gathered in confusion. One tried to speak—then crumpled to the ground. Another followed. Within seconds, every Alpha in the palace was on their knees.
Panic ripped through the hall.
“What’s happening?”
“I can’t stand!”
“My wolf—something’s wrong!”
King Aldric fought to keep his feet, every muscle shaking as if something pressed down on him, heavier and heavier. In the end, he dropped too.
Inside his mind, his wolf howled—not in fear, but in surrender.
Far north, in Frostclaw, Alpha warriors dropped in mid-battle, swords slipping from their fingers.
Armies froze as one.
South in the desert kingdom, a circle of elders collapsed in the middle of a ritual.
On scattered islands, ancient Alpha rulers bowed their heads, confusion and fear mixing, none of them knowing what had struck them.
Every Lycan kingdom. Every Alpha. Each ruler, forced to their knees.
No one knew the reason.
They all heard the same thing through their bond—the truth running wild under their skin:
The Blood Sovereign has awakened.
Up on the highest mountain, in the Moon Temple, white-clad priestesses rushed through the halls.
Candles hissed out. Sacred flames turned black.
The High Oracle threw her hands toward the sky. “Great Moon Goddess—” Her voice shook. “Speak to your children!”
Silence.
She tried again, desperate, begging.
Nothing.
The bond they’d felt with the goddess since the day they were born—gone, as if severed.
Panic spread, fast and sharp.
“Why won’t She answer?”
“She’s never left us before. Has she… left?”
The High Oracle dropped her hands, her voice gone.
For the first time in living memory, and maybe ever, the Moon Goddess did not answer.
Deep below the Ashen Fang palace, four crystal mirrors stood in a circle, reflecting four young men.
One sat on a throne, every inch a king, cold and proud.
One sharpened a blade, all quiet focus.
One smiled like nothing could ever trouble him.
The last stood out in the rain, silver eyes full of shadows.
The mirrors flashed red.
Each heir heard the same voice, inside their minds—old, powerful, impossible to ignore:
“Bring me the Blood Sovereign.”
The light died.
Silence came back.
Each one, far apart, lifted his head and looked up at the black, impossible moon.
They understood, plain and simple:
Nothing would be the same again.
- Writer
