Crimson Moon

The oldest stories are never written in books. They are whispered beneath moonlight. Passed from one generation to the next. Changed by time. Twisted by grief. Until no one remembers where the truth ends… and the lies begin. Before humans built towering cities of steel and glass… Before they believed monsters existed only in myths… The world belonged to three immortal races. The Werewolves. The Vampires. The Witches. Each was created by the Moon Goddess for a purpose. The werewolves were given strength. They protected the sacred forests, mountains, and ancient relics where the world’s magic flowed strongest. The vampires were given wisdom. They guarded forbidden knowledge, powerful artifacts, and the secrets of immortality. The witches were given magic. Not to rule. Not to conquer. But to preserve balance whenever darkness threatened the world. For centuries… The three races lived together under an agreement known as The Blood Moon Pact. It was more than a treaty. It was a promise. No race would seek dominion over another. No innocent blood would be spilled. No king would wage war without the judgment of the witches. Peace lasted for nearly five hundred years. Children of every race grew up hearing laughter instead of battle cries. Many believed the peace would last forever. They were wrong. It began with love. The one thing no law could control. Prince Cassian Blackthorn, heir to the werewolf throne, was everything a future Alpha should be. Brave. Honorable. Unshakably loyal. Princess Lyssandra Vale, daughter of the Vampire Emperor, possessed a mind sharper than any blade and a heart kinder than anyone expected of a vampire. They met by chance during a gathering held to renew the Blood Moon Pact. She expected an arrogant beast. He expected a cruel monster. Instead… They found someone who laughed at the same jokes. Dreamed of the same peaceful future. Questioned the hatred that older generations still carried. Every year they met again beneath the Silver Tree, where the borders of their kingdoms touched. Friendship became trust. Trust became love. Years passed. Eventually… They chose to stop hiding. Standing before both kingdoms, Cassian knelt before Lyssandra beneath the crimson glow of the Blood Moon. “I do not ask for peace because I fear war,” he said. “I ask for peace because I have seen what love can build.” The valley fell silent. Then Lyssandra smiled. “I choose him.” For a moment… The impossible seemed real. Werewolves cheered. Young vampires applauded. Even some elders smiled. Perhaps the old hatred truly had come to an end. Only a few faces remained expressionless. Watching. Waiting. Planning. Three nights later… The wedding began. Thousands gathered inside the sacred Moon Valley. The werewolves stood on one side. The vampires stood on the other. The witches formed a circle around the altar, preparing the ancient blessing that would unite both bloodlines forever. The High Witch raised her staff. “The Blood Moon bears witness.” A crimson light spread across the valley. The wind became still. Then… A scream shattered the silence. Everyone turned. Prince Cassian collapsed onto the white stone altar. Blood poured from two deep wounds on his neck. A vampire’s bite. Panic erupted. Before anyone could reach him… Another scream echoed through the valley. Princess Lyssandra lay among the silver flowers. Her chest had been ripped open by claws. Werewolf claws. Time itself seemed to stop. The Werewolf King fell beside his dying son. The Vampire Emperor cradled his daughter’s lifeless body. Neither spoke. Neither listened. They saw only what grief wanted them to see. “My son was murdered!” the Werewolf King roared. The Vampire Emperor’s eyes burned crimson. “You butchered my daughter!” The first sword left its sheath. The first fang pierced flesh. The first claw drew blood. The Blood Moon Pact died that night. The battle lasted until sunrise. The valley that had been prepared for a wedding became a graveyard. Thousands of werewolves fell. Thousands of vampires followed. The rivers turned red. The Silver Tree burned. The High Witches desperately tried to stop the slaughter. “Enough!” they cried. “You have no proof!” “This is not the truth!” But grief had already become hatred. Hatred had become war. And war never listens to reason. When the fighting finally ended… The witches gathered beneath the ruins of the Silver Tree. Their leader, High Witch Morgana Evermist, looked upon the dead with tears in her eyes. “You have chosen vengeance over truth.” “Then we choose neither side.” With a single spell… The witches disappeared from the battlefield. They retreated to the hidden sanctuary of Elderglen, sealing it behind ancient magic that neither vampire nor werewolf could break. From that day onward, the witches swore an oath. “We will never fight your wars.” They would remain neutral. No army would command them. No king would rule them. Yet whenever curses spread… Whenever ancient relics awakened… Whenever a darkness neither race could face alone emerged… The werewolves and vampires came to the witches in secret. Because even enemies needed magic. The centuries passed. The truth was buried beneath countless battles. Children grew up learning stories instead of history. Every werewolf pup was taught that vampires murdered Prince Cassian. Every vampire child was taught that werewolves slaughtered Princess Lyssandra. Questioning those stories became an act of treason. Mercy became weakness. Hatred became law. And one truth was carved into the hearts of both races. Never love your enemy. Because love had destroyed the world once before. It would never be allowed to do so again. Neither race knew that somewhere, hidden in the shadows, someone still smiled whenever blood was spilled. The true architect of the Blood Moon Betrayal had never been found. And after a thousand years… They were ready to make history repeat itself. Far away, beneath the glittering lights of the modern city of Nocthaven, a black SUV raced through the rain. Inside, a young werewolf fought against silver chains as blood trickled down his face. His name was Ronan Blackthorn. He had no idea that his capture would ignite a war greater than any that had come before. Nor did he know that, before the next moonrise, he would come face to face with the daughter of his greatest enemy.