🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan
Chapter One: 1
The wind moved like whispers over the hills, brushing the tall grass that crowned the cliffs. Far below, the ocean roared in the dark like a sleeping beast. And above, in the cold night sky, the moon hung full and silver, casting its light across the land.
That land was Arodan—a kingdom built from stone and fire, magic and fear.
Its capital city rose in the distance, surrounded by high walls of dark stone. Tall towers stretched toward the stars. Light glowed from thousands of windows, and smoke curled upward from chimneys like fingers reaching into the sky.
From afar, Arodan looked beautiful.
But for Draven, it was a prison.
He stood at the edge of a high cliff just outside the city walls, staring at the moon. His black cloak flapped in the wind. His boots were planted in the frost-hardened grass, unmoving. And on his wrist, just beneath the edge of his sleeve, a strange silver mark glowed faintly.
It looked like a crescent moon, with tiny claw-like lines reaching outward. The mark wasn't inked. It wasn't burned. It had been there since birth.
And it meant he was cursed.
Draven was a citizen of Arodan, but never truly part of it. People in the city feared him. They called him names—"Moonboy," "Silver Devil," "Curseblood." Some even crossed the street to avoid him. Mothers pulled their children away when he passed.
They saw his mark, and they remembered the old stories.
They remembered the Moonbloods.
Long ago, before the current kings, the Moonbloods ruled Arodan. They were powerful. Magical. Feared. And in the end, they were betrayed and destroyed. All of them—except one.
Draven was that last child. He just didn't know it yet.
Behind him, dry leaves cracked under footsteps.
He didn't turn around. He already knew who it was.
"You're out here again," said a voice—young, cheerful, and slightly out of breath.
It was Callen, Draven's only friend. A few years younger, with messy brown hair and a lopsided smile, Callen had grown up in the south quarter of Arodan, where bakers, tailors, and tinkerers lived. His family ran a bakery that always smelled like warm bread and burnt sugar.
Callen walked up beside him, shivering. "You must like freezing to death. The moon's cold tonight."
Draven gave a small smile. "I needed air."
"You mean the mark hurts again."
Draven nodded. He pulled back his sleeve and showed it.
The mark pulsed with soft silver light. It looked almost beautiful—but it burned like fire.
Callen frowned. "It's getting brighter. That's not normal."
"It never is," Draven said. He looked back at the moon. "I think something's coming."
Callen glanced toward the city behind them. "People talk more now. They say the curse is waking again. That magic is stirring in the old places."
"Let them talk," Draven said. But inside, he felt uneasy.
Suddenly, a sharp voice broke the quiet.
"Well, look what we have here. The stray dog and his rat."
They turned.
Stepping out of the shadows was a tall boy in a black and silver guard's uniform. His long coat swept the ground, and a sword hung at his side. His face was pale, his eyes cold and full of hatred.
Captain Vael.
The son of the High Marshal of Arodan, Vael had power, training, and a deep desire to see Draven gone—or dead.
"Should've known you'd be out here, Moonblood," Vael said. "Planning a dark ritual, are you?"
"Go away," Callen said, stepping forward.
Vael raised an eyebrow. "Still protecting him, baker-boy? Brave, for someone so… soft."
Draven moved in front of Callen. "We're not bothering anyone."
Vael's hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "You bother the whole kingdom by breathing. Arodan doesn't need cursed blood."
At that moment, the air changed.
The wind grew still.
The moon—so bright just seconds ago—flashed red for a single heartbeat.
Vael blinked and looked up. "What in the—?"
Draven clutched his wrist. The mark was burning now, bright and angry. He gritted his teeth to hold back a cry.
Suddenly, a new voice spoke.
"Enough."
It was Old Mera, stepping out from the trees. She was the city's healer, known by many and respected by most. She had taken care of Draven since he was a baby. Some called her a witch. Others called her wise.
Vael sneered. "Keep your cursed pets on a leash, old woman."
Mera stepped between them. Her eyes, sharp despite her age, locked with Vael's.
"Go back to your walls, soldier. The forest does not like your kind."
Vael stared at her, then at Draven. The red glow of the moon faded back to silver.
"You'll slip up one day," he said to Draven. "And when you do, I'll be waiting."
He turned and vanished into the trees.
Callen let out a long breath. "I really, really hate him."
Draven didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on the sky.
Mera walked closer and took his arm. She looked at the glowing mark.
"It's beginning," she said softly.
"What is?" Callen asked.
Mera didn't answer right away. She seemed far away, thinking of something older than time.
Then she whispered, "The curse of the Moonbloods is waking. The kingdom built on lies will soon remember the truth."
Draven looked out over Arodan—the city of towers, guards, and secrets.
And the mark on his wrist pulsed once more.