When the Moon Drinks Blood

The village of Dzivaguru had always seemed quiet, almost peaceful. Dusty red paths wound between rondavels, women carried water from the river, and children chased goats in the afternoon sun. Elders watched from under msasa trees, their murmured prayers blending with the rustle of leaves. It was ordinary, safe or so it seemed. Ruvimbo Moyo, seventeen and sharp-minded, had grown up believing her life would always follow this pattern: school, chores, dreams of a future beyond the hills. She was smart, stubborn, and unwilling to be controlled by superstition. Ghosts, spirits, and curses were stories to frighten children, nothing more. Until the day Kain Dzakata arrived. No one saw him come. No welcoming family, no explanation. Just an announcement from the headmaster: a transfer student would be joining their class. When Kain stepped into the room, silence fell. Not from fear, but from the impossible presence he carried. He was pale, almost too perfect, with dark hair that caught the sunlight like polished onyx. And his eyes ,deep, crimson-lit like fire through smoke rested on Ruvimbo for the briefest moment. A shiver ran down her spine. Not from fear. Recognition. Something ancient in her stirred, a pulse that beat to the rhythm of his gaze. Nyasha noticed too. “Who is that?” she whispered during lunch, eyes narrowing. “I don’t like him.” Ruvimbo shrugged, trying to ignore the tension curling in her chest. “He’s just new. Don’t start with your grandmother’s superstitions.” But the air seemed different when he was near. Dogs growled. Shadows twisted unnaturally. The jacaranda tree under which they sat seemed darker, almost sentient. Ruvimbo tried to dismiss it. She had always ignored the signs of the world around her.