The Night of the Black Moon

The wind had changed.

Ophelia felt it the moment she stepped outside the observatory. It was wrong.

The usual crisp mountain air that curled around the tower had vanished, replaced by something dense and unmoving, a strange stillness that pressed against her skin. The world felt… hollow.

Above, the sky was shifting.

The moon, which had risen pale and full only an hour ago, was gone.

A vast, empty darkness spread across the heavens, swallowing the silver light until not even a faint glow remained. The stars, her stars, shimmered faintly at the edges, as if they too were being devoured.

A black moon.

Impossible.

Ophelia inhaled sharply, the chill of unease settling deep in her bones. There had been no celestial predictions for an eclipse tonight. No forewarning, no signs. This was unnatural.

Something was coming.

She turned on her heel, hurrying down the winding stone path that led from the observatory back toward the palace grounds. Every instinct screamed at her to move faster, but the silence of the night pressed in, making the air feel thick, heavy—like she was walking through something unseen.

She barely made it halfway down the path when she heard it.

A sound, extremely low and distant, like a breath carried on the wind.

It was not the wind.

It was whispering.

Ophelia froze.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak as she turned her head ever so slightly, trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from. The trees that bordered the path stood deathly still, their leaves unmoving despite the strange air that clung to the night.

Then, just beyond the tree line, something shifted.

A shadow.

Long. Twisting. Watching.

A heartbeat of silence stretched between them.

Then, it moved.

A dark figure emerged from the trees, stepping slowly onto the path ahead of her. The faint torchlight from the palace barely reached this far, leaving the figure's edges blurred, its form half-consumed by the night.

Ophelia's breath hitched.

It was tall. Too tall.

Its limbs were elongated, its stance unnaturally still, like a statue poised at the edge of motion. For a moment, it simply stood there, the weight of its presence pressing into her chest like unseen fingers curling around her ribs.

Then it spoke.

Not in words.

Not in a voice.

But in a whisper that coiled through her mind.

"Ophelia."

The same voice from the stars. The same voice from her dreams.

Her pulse thundered.

She took a step back, but the shadow figure moved with her, tilting its head in an unnatural, fluid motion.

"You see too much," the whisper rasped.

A chill surged up her spine.

This was not a person.

It was something else.

Something that should not exist.

Ophelia swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay upright. She had faced kings and their secrets, ancient books that rewrote themselves, visions of burning cities, but this... this was wrong in ways she couldn't explain.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The shadow figure didn't move. But the whisper came again, curling through her skull like smoke.

"Forget the name."

Her breath stilled.

"Forget Zoriel."

The moment it spoke his name, the sky shuddered.

A sudden, sharp ringing filled the air, as if the stars themselves had cracked. The ground beneath her feet trembled ever so slightly, a vibration barely noticeable, but it was there.

The stars… they were reacting.

And they were angry.

Ophelia ran.

She turned sharply, her feet slamming against the stone path as she sprinted toward the palace, her breath coming in quick, ragged gasps.

Behind her, the whisper followed.

Not footsteps. Not the sound of something chasing her.

Just a voice, breathing in her ear, weaving through the air like an invisible thread.

"Forget the name."

"Forget the name."

"Forget the name."

Ophelia burst through the outer gates, the golden torches of the palace grounds flooding her vision with light. She didn't stop running until she reached the grand entrance, where two guards stood in their polished armor, watching her with wide, startled eyes.

"My lady!?" one of them started.

"Let me in," she gasped. "Now."

They hesitated, but something in her voice, or maybe in her eyes, made them obey. One of them pushed open the heavy wooden doors, and she staggered inside.

The moment the doors slammed shut behind her, the whispering stopped.

Silence.

Ophelia's hands shook as she braced herself against the marble pillar, her heartbeat a violent rhythm against her ribs.

She turned, glancing through the small window in the door.

The shadow figure was gone.

The trees beyond the courtyard were still. The stars, though faint, had stopped flickering.

The black moon remained.

A slow, steady breath escaped her lips.

She was safe.

For now.

But she knew, whatever had just happened, it was only the beginning.