Shadows in the temple

🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan

Chapter Thirty-three: 33

The ground trembled beneath Draven's feet as the howls grew louder. The ancient Temple of Echoes, long silent and forgotten, now stirred with life—dark, violent life. The air within its crumbling stone walls grew heavy with magic and fear, a choking mixture that made it hard to breathe.

Callen spun toward the echoing hallway, sword in hand. His jaw was tight, eyes scanning the shifting shadows. "We hold them off here," he said, voice firm and steady. "We can't let them near the crown."

"But this place is sacred," Elira whispered, her hands glowing faintly with magic. She looked around at the cracked stone pillars, the broken stained glass windows that once told stories of gods and warriors. "If we fight here, what if we bring it down?"

Vaela was already at the far end of the chamber, kneeling before a runestone. Her hands moved in quick, practiced motions as she muttered ancient words. The air around her shimmered, as if reality itself was rippling. "I can hold a barrier for a short time," she said without looking back. "But once it falls…"

"They'll flood in," Callen finished grimly.

Draven stared at the glowing Ember Crown in his hands. It pulsed with warmth—not just heat, but a steady, rhythmic energy. It felt alive. As he held it, his vision blurred. Flashes of another world, another time, passed before his eyes: a battlefield drenched in moonlight, a burning city, a woman with golden eyes reaching for him—and then nothing.

He blinked hard and looked at his friends. "We'll fight if we must."

"No," Vaela said sharply. "You can't. The Ember Crown must not be damaged. If it breaks, the last seal of Kael's protection dies with it."

Draven's grip tightened. "Then I'll protect it. No matter what."

A roar split the chamber as a massive figure stepped from the shadows. It wore dark armor etched with blood sigils, and in place of a face was a smooth, pale mask with no eyes—only a jagged mouth painted red.

"The Hollow Knight," Vaela breathed. Her voice trembled for the first time. "The Queen's personal hunter."

Elira raised her hands, sparks dancing across her fingertips. "We've got one chance."

Callen stepped between Draven and the monster. "Keep him safe."

The Hollow Knight moved like a shadow, silent and fast. Callen's blade met its first strike with a clash that echoed like thunder. Sparks flew, and the floor beneath them cracked. They moved in a deadly dance, blade against blade, strength against strength.

Vaela flung a warding spell across the entrance, momentarily slowing the other hunters now creeping into the temple from the darkness. "I can't hold them long!" she shouted.

Draven turned in all directions. No way out—except one. A narrow side tunnel, hidden behind a fallen statue. "There!" he pointed.

Vaela nodded. "An old servant's path. It leads outside—but it's unstable."

"We don't have a choice," Elira said, grabbing Draven's arm.

Callen shouted something behind them, but his words were drowned out by the sound of crashing stone and another deafening roar.

The tunnel was tight and steep, the walls pressing in around them. Dust fell from above as the sounds of battle echoed behind them. The crown glowed brighter, lighting their way. As they climbed, the whispers came again—louder this time.

Moonblood. Flameborn. Breaker. Rise…

"What are those voices?" Elira asked, her breath labored.

Draven didn't answer. He was listening. And this time, he understood. The whispers weren't threats—they were memories. Pieces of his bloodline, calling him forward.

They emerged through a narrow stone door into the open night. The air was cold, sharp, clean. Stars filled the sky, and the red moon hung low and full above the valley.

Elira dropped to her knees, gasping. "We made it…"

Vaela stumbled out behind them, blood on her sleeve. Her face was pale. "But Callen didn't."

Draven turned to look back at the darkened tunnel. The silence said everything.

He felt a hole tear open in his chest. Callen had stood beside him through so much. A fighter. A brother. Gone.

"We have to keep moving," Vaela said. "There's no turning back now."

Draven looked up at the red moon. It pulsed faintly, like the crown. "I'll make sure it wasn't for nothing."

The wind picked up, cold and sharp, whispering through the cliffs. Below them lay a forest of black trees. Somewhere beyond it, the Queen waited. And the curse still hung over them all.

He would carry the fire. He would bear the curse. He would finish what was started centuries ago.

He looked at the crown in his hands, then back to the sky.

"Let them come," he said.