whispers in the Dark

The Iron Citadel loomed over Kinkland's capital, a towering fortress of black stone and bloodstained banners. Within its halls, where shadows stretched long and cold torches burned with eerie green flames, the most powerful men and women of Kinkland gathered in secrecy.

The High Council of Lords had been summoned under the gravest of circumstances. Rumors had spread like wildfire—whispers of a prophecy long thought buried, of a blood moon child destined to tear down their empire. And now, House Drakmoor, masters of the forbidden arts, had been called upon to unveil the truth.

At the head of the table sat Overlord Malagar, his dark crimson armor gleaming under the torchlight. His face was hidden behind a mask of polished obsidian, an ancient tradition to conceal the ruler's identity, ensuring that fear alone commanded respect. His deep voice carried across the chamber like a death knell.

"House Drakmoor," he intoned, "you were summoned to uncover the truth behind this growing myth. What have you seen?"

At the far end of the chamber, cloaked figures stepped forward. Lord Varzon Drakmoor, the eldest of his bloodline, held out his skeletal hand. His skin, pale and almost translucent, stretched tight over his frame. The arcane sigils tattooed across his face pulsed faintly as he lifted a small, smoking orb.

"We peered into the void," Varzon rasped, his voice a whisper that slithered through the air. "We searched the threads of fate… and we saw it."

A murmur rippled through the chamber. Some nobles leaned forward, their jeweled fingers tightening around goblets of spiced wine. Others exchanged uneasy glances.

"The fall of Kinkland," Varzon continued, his eyes gleaming with unnatural light. "A crimson sky, the citadel in ruins, and a lion rising from the ashes. A son of Delia, born under the blood moon, leading the charge."

The words sent a chill through the chamber. House Valgareth's warlord, Lord Kael Valgareth, slammed his gauntleted fist onto the table. "Superstition and madness!" he growled. "Kinkland has ruled for three centuries. We crushed Delia's kings, shattered their faith, and bound their people in chains. No half-starved rebel will bring us down!"

"And yet," Varzon said smoothly, "the blood moon rises once more. The prophecy has resurfaced after three hundred years. It does not matter whether you believe it, Lord Valgareth. The people do."

A hush fell over the chamber.

Then, Lady Sylva Veyrenn, matriarch of the wealthiest house in Kinkland, sighed and swirled the wine in her goblet. "If the people believe it," she said in a bored tone, "then that belief is dangerous. Hope is a poison. We cannot allow it to fester."

"The Pit has done little to silence them," came a voice from the shadows. Lord Sevros Nyxthorn, Kinkland's spymaster, leaned forward, his hooded gaze cold and calculating. "The more we feed them terror, the more they cling to prophecy. Kill one priest, and a hundred take up his whispers."

The Overlord remained silent, his fingers steepled beneath his mask. The silence stretched.

"What, then, do you suggest?" he finally asked.

A dozen voices erupted at once.

"Burn their villages!" Lord Kael roared.

"Crush their faith completely!" said Lady Sylva.

"Find the blood moon child and end this prophecy before it begins," murmured Lord Sevros.

Varzon Drakmoor let out a dry chuckle. "Ah, but there lies the problem. The child is no longer an infant. He walks among them, a man grown. His name is not yet clear, but the vision was unmistakable—he is already here."

Silence.

The Overlord slowly rose to his feet. The shadows seemed to darken around him.

"Then let this be our decree," his voice echoed through the chamber. "Every Delian born on the night of the blood moon shall be hunted. Every whisper of the prophecy shall be met with fire. If this lion of Delia dares to rise, we will rip out his throat before he can roar."

The nobles bowed their heads, sealing the decree that would change the fate of Delia forever.

But somewhere, beyond the walls of the Iron Citadel, a young man sat in the dark, staring at the moonlit sky, unaware that the hunt for him had just begun.

Lord nyxthorn gathered his elite assassin and warrior, according to Lord drakmoor the blood moon child is a young man, now arrest and execute any young man born on the day or night of the blood moon he ordered.

Many boys were born on the the day of the blood moon but only Leo was born during the night.