Blood under the moon
291 Words
The night Elias was born, the moon turned red.
Not the soft silver glow hunters prayed by, nor the gentle white light lovers admired—but a deep, burning crimson that stained the sky like spilled blood. The elders of Moonfall Village whispered that it was an omen. Some said it was a curse. Others said it was a miracle.
Elias knew only this: from the moment he first breathed, the world feared him.
His mother died before sunrise.
His father vanished before sunset.
And by dawn, Elias belonged to no one.
He was raised by hunters—men who killed wolves for silver and glory. They never knew the truth. Or maybe they did, and fear blinded them. Elias grew up learning how to track, how to shoot, how to kill. Irony was cruel that way.
Because Elias was a wolf.
Not fully. Not yet.
On his seventeenth birthday, the moon called to him for the first time.
Pain ripped through his bones as he collapsed in the forest. His scream echoed between ancient trees as his senses sharpened—hearing the breath of insects, smelling blood miles away. His eyes burned gold. His hands trembled, nails lengthening, veins glowing beneath his skin.
He didn’t change completely.
That terrified him more than anything.
A half-wolf was unheard of.
A half-wolf was f*******n.
When the pain finally stopped, Elias lay n***d on the forest floor, gasping beneath the moonlight. Footsteps approached—soft, fast, not human.
“You’re late,” a voice said.
Elias looked up to see glowing blue eyes watching him from the shadows.
“You belong to us,” the stranger continued. “And whether you like it or not… you are the beginning of a war.”
- Writer
