Blood Moon Rising

The sky burned red.

Not with flame, but with an eerie, unnatural glow that bled across the heavens like a wound left open too long. The blood moon hung heavy above the sanctuary, casting the trees and stone walls in shades of crimson and shadow. It wasn't just light—it was a warning.

Caleb stood at the edge of the perimeter, his fingers twitching against the hilt of his blade, senses straining into the darkness. The Song pulsed faintly through the earth—erratic, chaotic, as though it, too, could sense the unraveling of something ancient.

"They're here," he muttered.

Ash stood beside him, eyes wide and unblinking. "How many?"

"I don't know. But I can smell the Fold on the wind."

Behind them, the pack's warriors—barely fifty strong—gathered. Lena strode through them, armored in black leathers, her silver twin blades sheathed at her back. She nodded to Caleb, then to Ash. "Perimeter's set. Warders have circled the southern path with salt and ash lines. But if the Foldborn breach that…" She left the rest unsaid.

"They will," Caleb said grimly.

A long, slow howl echoed from the eastern forest.

But it wasn't a wolf.

It was lower. Hollow.

Rotting.

The sound that followed was the crack of bones, the thunder of clawed feet tearing through soil, and a high-pitched keening that sent a tremor down Ash's spine. He clenched his fists, the familiar heat rising under his skin—magic, but tainted. He was changing. Again.

Lena drew both blades. "Everyone, brace."

They came from the trees.

The Foldborn burst through the darkness like shadows caught in flame. Monstrous beasts, humanoid and not, with skin that shimmered like oiled ash and mouths full of too many teeth. Some crawled on all fours, others leapt across the tree line in jagged, unnatural arcs. At their front was a creature half the height of a man, but pulsing with red light beneath its skin. Its mouth stretched open—not to scream—but to sing.

A fragment of the Song. Perverted.

Ash doubled over.

The ground shuddered.

Caleb didn't wait.

He charged.

With a roar that shook the trees, Caleb launched himself at the first creature, blade flashing. It shrieked and struck with a hooked arm, but he dodged, spun low, and drove his sword upward into its ribs. Black ichor sprayed as the creature spasmed and collapsed.

Lena was right behind him, blades slicing in fluid arcs. She moved like smoke, weaving between attacks, every motion precise and lethal.

Ash rose to his feet, eyes glowing silver.

The Song inside him surged, wild and urgent. He could hear it clearer now—something calling from within the Fold, a voice that sounded like his and not his.

"Bridge…" it whispered.

"No," he snarled.

He raised his hands, and the earth cracked beneath the approaching beasts.

Power burst from his palms—silver and violet energy spiraling into a shockwave. Several Foldborn were thrown back, bones snapping as they hit the sanctuary walls. But more came. Dozens more.

From the southern path, another group of warriors fell under siege. Screams echoed.

Caleb was bleeding now, a gash across his ribs, but he didn't stop. He leapt over a downed warrior and drove his blade through another creature's throat.

Lena shouted, "Ash, to the gate! They're breaching it!"

Ash turned, heart hammering.

At the sanctuary's southern gate, the salt lines had gone dark.

And from the shadows, a figure stepped through—not a beast, but a man. Cloaked in deep crimson robes, his eyes glowing gold. He carried a staff of bone, and at its tip, a shard—one of the five.

Caleb swore. "That's not possible."

The man lifted the staff. "You are unworthy," he said, voice echoing with multiple tones.

The Foldborn at his side hissed and surged forward.

Ash didn't hesitate. He threw himself into the air, his form glowing faintly as energy pulsed beneath his skin. Wings of silver mist erupted from his shoulders—wings made of pure Song. The battlefield froze for a moment.

Even the Foldborn stopped.

The crimson-robed man narrowed his eyes.

Ash landed hard, slamming both palms into the earth.

The Song erupted.

A dome of light flashed across the sanctuary, stunning everything in its radius. Warriors covered their eyes. Foldborn screamed. The ground itself seemed to reject the invaders, forcing some to crumble to ash where they stood.

But it wasn't enough.

The robed figure lifted the staff and shattered the dome with a whisper.

"Cute," he said.

Ash staggered. That magic had drained him fast. Too fast.

Caleb reached him, bloodied but alive. "That's not just a servant."

"I know," Ash panted. "He has a Shard."

"He's a Herald," Elias said, appearing behind them, runes glowing along his arms. "A speaker for the Whispering Queen."

The Herald's eyes locked on Ash. "You were meant to open the Fold, not fight against it."

Ash stood straighter. "Maybe I changed my mind."

The Herald sneered. "Then die with them."

He slammed the staff into the ground.

The Song split.

Caleb was flung back, crashing into stone. Lena screamed his name.

Ash was engulfed in darkness.

In his mind, he stood on a bridge of bone, beneath a bleeding moon. A voice, soft and terrible, whispered in his ear.

"Come home, Echo."

He clutched his head. "No!"

The bridge cracked.

But another voice called out.

"Ash!"

Lena's.

He reached toward it—and surged back into his body.

The darkness shattered.

Ash rose again, his eyes blazing. "You want to break the world? You'll have to get through me."

And then, something snapped.

A new pattern unfolded across his skin—ancient sigils, glowing like firebrands. The Echo-Song wasn't just reacting. It was evolving.

Ash pointed a hand at the Herald.

"Let's see how you like your own song turned against you."

He began to sing.

Not a chant. Not a spell.

But a verse from the true Song.

The Herald screamed.

The Shard at the top of his staff cracked.

Ash's voice rose. Power filled the air like a storm. The Foldborn began to dissolve, their corrupted bodies unable to withstand the purifying resonance.

The Herald staggered back, clutching his head. "This isn't your gift to wield!"

"It is now."

With one final burst of sound, Ash unleashed the full force of his power.

The staff shattered.

The Herald vanished in a flash of red and smoke.

The Foldborn fell.

And silence reigned.

Ash collapsed.

Lena rushed to him, cradling him in her arms. "You idiot," she whispered. "You nearly burned yourself alive."

Caleb staggered over, holding his side. "But he saved us."

Ash's breath was shallow. "They'll come again."

"Yes," Caleb said. "But next time… we'll be ready."

The blood moon still hung above.

But it was beginning to fade.