Breaking The Moon
864 Words
The morning after the mist, the moon did not fade with the dawn.
It hung in the sky like a bloodshot eye, pulsing faintly with power. The villagers gathered in the fields to stare upward, muttering prayers and curses under their breath. Birds did not fly. The sun struggled to break through.
In the tower, Calla watched the crimson glow stain the sky. Her body trembled—not from fear, but from recognition.
“It’s an omen,” she murmured.
Behind her, Matra’s voice creaked like winter bones. “It’s a warning. The Old Ones don’t wait. They announce themselves with signs. This is the first.”
Calla turned to the elder. “How many signs are there?”
Matra didn’t answer right away. Her faded eyes looked out the window, as though remembering another time.
“Three,” she said at last. “The moon. The fire. And the betrayal.”
---
Riven stormed into the war room, slamming a scroll onto the table. Council members flinched as the blood-red seal cracked open.
“Sol has crossed into the Shadow Wastes,” he said, voice low and clipped. “The Old Ones have claimed him. He's been marked.”
One of the younger councilors spoke up, uncertain. “Then he’s fallen?”
“No,” Riven growled. “He’s risen. And he’s not hiding anymore.”
Another elder stood. “What do we do?”
Riven glanced at the doorway, where Calla now stood, pale and silent.
“We prepare for war.”
A beta with frost in his beard shook his head. “Not war. Survival.”
Calla stepped forward. “You think we can run from the end of the world?”
He looked at her grimly. “No. But we might last a little longer.”
Her hand curled into a fist. The mark on her neck shimmered.
“Then I’ll make sure this ends on our terms.”
---
That night, Calla walked alone through the garden behind the manor. Vines curled around the statues of forgotten heroes, and the wind whispered riddles in her ear.
She felt watched.
The bond between her and Sol burned hot. Not painful—but insistent.
She reached the old marble fountain and sat beside it. The water was black, reflecting nothing. Her fingers hovered over the surface.
Then ripples spread—and a face appeared.
Sol.
His eyes glowed silver. His lips moved, but no sound came. Yet she heard him anyway.
“I saw what they want. What you could become. Don’t let them twist you.”
Her heart ached. “You let them mark you.”
“To protect you.”
“And if that protection costs your soul?”
Sol smiled faintly. “Then it was never mine to begin with.”
His image faded.
Calla sank to her knees.
Was she the prize—or the battlefield?
---
Riven found her just before midnight. His cloak was soaked in rain, and something wild flickered in his eyes.
“You’re not safe here,” he said.
“I’m not safe anywhere.”
He stepped closer. “Then run with me.”
She looked at him, startled. “Run?”
“There’s a path through the southern marsh. No magic can track through it. We leave at dawn.”
“And the people?” she asked. “The war?”
His voice cracked. “Let them burn if it means you live.”
She touched his cheek. “You love me.”
“Enough to give up everything.”
Calla closed her eyes. “Then don’t make me choose. Not yet.”
---
In the dungeons, the ancient prisoner smiled in his chains.
“They're cracking,” he whispered. “The girl bends. The Alpha breaks.”
And the runes on the wall dimmed.
A shadow slithered across the floor toward the cell. It stopped just at the threshold, watching.
The prisoner’s voice coiled around it. “The seal weakens. All we need is the second sign.”
The shadow shifted, nodding once. Then it vanished.
---
Across the mountains, in a cave soaked in starlight, Sol stood before a pool of black fire.
He didn’t flinch as it surged up and touched his skin.
The Old Ones whispered:
Your love is your undoing. But also your crown.
He did not scream as the fire branded his chest.
And when he opened his eyes, they were no longer silver.
They were moonless.
But he still remembered her face.
Still remembered the way she had looked at him—not as a weapon. Not as a monster.
As Sol.
He let the fire die.
Then he turned from the cave and began walking north.
Toward Thornveil.
Toward Calla.
---
At Thornveil, Calla opened her eyes in the middle of the night, heart pounding.
A single word echoed in her mind:
Ascend.
But what did that mean?
To rise?
Or to fall?
She rose from her bed, walked to the mirror, and saw it then—etched faintly beneath her collarbone, where no one else could see:
A rune.
Not hers. Not Sol’s.
But something older.
It pulsed once—and vanished.
- Writer
