the Blood Moon
The war ended with silence.
No more howls. No more screams. Only the soft sigh of wind brushing through what remained of the temple ruins — a graveyard of shattered stone and fading stars.
Lucien stood alone at the center, the air still heavy with the memory of power. His shadows moved slower now, quieter, mourning in their own way. They lingered near the two silver blades embedded in the cracked earth, the faint glow still pulsing at their hilts.
Her light.
Her sacrifice.
Kimberly.
He knelt, his fingers brushing the hilt of her blade. The contact burned faintly — not from pain, but from something purer, something that still resisted the dark.
“She was never meant to be this,” he whispered. “Neither of us were.”
The wind stirred, carrying the faint scent of rain.
L
