WHISPERS OF BLOOD AND MOON
1113 Words
Jared barely slept.
The moonlight from the academy courtyard cut across his bed, sharp as glass, tracing silver lines over his hands. His mind wouldn’t quiet—not after that vision, not after the voice that had called to him through the veil of night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the same flicker of silver fur, the same echoing words that refused to fade:
Find us before they erase you.
He turned over for what felt like the hundredth time, pressing his palms against his temples. The air in the dorm was heavy with the scent of wolves—sweat, breath, life—and it made his skin prickle. He didn’t belong here. Not yet. Not until he understood what that voice meant.
When dawn finally broke, the sunlight felt wrong. Too bright, too loud. It painted the academy walls in gold and fire, mocking the calm he couldn’t find. Jared sat up, swung his legs off the bed, and whispered to himself,
“I’m done waiting.”
He’d seen something real last night—a memory, a warning, maybe both. Either way, it had to mean something. If Kael wouldn’t tell him the truth, he’d find it himself.
The courtyard was already alive when he stepped outside.
Dozens of students crowded around a raised stone ring at the center of the training grounds. The air crackled with wild energy, howls and shouts blending into one pulse of excitement. Jared should’ve ignored it—should’ve gone straight to class—but something about the tension in the air drew him in.
He pushed through the crowd just in time to see two wolves circling each other.
Both female.
One radiated dominance—a sleek black Alpha, her aura shimmering faintly in the morning haze. The other was smaller, leaner, silver fur streaked with faint diamond glints that caught the light like shards of frost. Her eyes burned with defiance.
An Alpha and an Omega.
Jared frowned. He’d always assumed these fights were the pride of males—brute strength, hierarchy, blood. But watching the Omega move was… different. There was grace in her aggression, rhythm in her defiance. When she leapt, the air itself seemed to bend with her.
The Alpha lunged, a flash of muscle and growl. The Omega ducked low, then twisted upward with a strike that sent a shimmer of silver through the ring. Gasps rippled through the onlookers. For a heartbeat, Jared swore the silver light took shape—like faint wings unfurling from her shoulders.
Then it was over.
Instructors stormed in, voices sharp. The Alpha staggered back, snarling, while the Omega stood panting, defiant until the last moment.
Jared couldn’t look away.
Something about that silver glow—it was familiar. The same as in his vision. The same strange pulse beneath his skin.
When the crowd began to disperse, he realized his hands were trembling.
History class was worse.
Not because of the lesson—because of the teacher.
Professor Ryven stood tall at the front of the lecture hall, his silver-gray hair tied loosely behind him. His voice was calm, precise, every word measured as he spoke of the War of the First Wolves—when the children of the Moon turned on each other, when gold fought silver beneath a bleeding sky.
“The Alpha lines,” Ryven said, pacing slowly, “claimed divine right through dominance. But the Silverborn… they claimed the Moon’s favor through sacrifice. Some say their blood still lingers, hidden in those who refuse to bow.”
Jared’s breath hitched. The room seemed to tilt slightly.
Ryven moved past him, and in that moment, Jared caught it—the faintest trace of scent in the air. Warm, familiar, impossible.
Kael.
Not just similar. The same.
Same undertone of storm and pine, same stillness beneath it.
His pulse hammered.
Why would Kael’s scent be on his teacher?
He looked up. Ryven was watching him.
For a second—just a flicker—the professor’s eyes glowed faint silver. Then it was gone. He turned back to the board, continuing as if nothing had happened.
Jared didn’t hear the rest of the lecture. His thoughts spiraled—Kael, the wolves, the vision, the war. Every thread seemed to lead back to her, but she’d never mentioned the Silverborn. Never mentioned the war between gold and silver bloodlines.
By the time the bell rang, he was shaking.
He ate alone that afternoon, picking at food he couldn’t taste. Around him, whispers floated through the cafeteria. Some students said they’d seen his eyes flash in the moonlight the night before. Others said his scent was… off. Unstable.
He ignored them all, staring into the reflection of his drink until the liquid caught the faint shimmer of silver.
It was happening again.
Whatever he was becoming—it wasn’t something he could hide.
That night, when the halls grew quiet and the moon returned to its throne, Jared slipped into the library.
It was the only place that felt safe. The scent of old parchment, the faint hum of moonlight filtering through tall windows—it calmed him.
He wandered to the section labeled Pre-Division History.
Rows of scrolls lined the walls, some sealed, others cracked open like wounds. He traced his fingers along the bindings until one tugged at his attention—a fragment marked with the emblem of a crescent moon.
He unrolled it carefully.
Most of the writing was faded, but one line burned clear beneath the dust:
“And when the silver heirs rise again, their guardians shall return to claim them.”
He froze.
The words hummed with power, like they remembered being spoken aloud.
A chill swept through the library, though the windows were shut. Papers fluttered. The candle flame trembled. Then, from somewhere deep in the quiet, a whisper—soft, distant, and hauntingly familiar.
“You are not alone.”
Jared turned sharply.
No one. The aisles were empty.
But then he saw it—faint pawprints glowing across the marble floor, leading toward the window. Silver. Luminous.
Just like the wolves in his vision.
He stepped forward, heart pounding. The prints faded before he could touch them.
He stood there for a long time, the silence of the library pressing close.
For the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was chasing the truth—
—or if it was chasing him.
Moon’s Verse — Fragment VIII
The Moon remembers the blood that shimmered in silver and gold.
One chose to rule, the o
ther to vanish.
Yet her light touches both—
and soon, the lost heir will awaken the forgotten howl.
- Writer
