The watcher's spire

🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan

Chapter Thirty-five: 35

The Watcher's Spire stood like a scar on the landscape, half-swallowed by the broken cliffs around it. Its jagged stones were blackened by age and fire, and the red banner that flew at the top barely fluttered in the dead wind. No birds circled. No guards stood watch. The spire watched them.

Draven, Vaela, and Elira stood at its base, the heavy silence pressing against their skin like cold iron.

"This place feels wrong," Elira said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vaela's eyes glowed softly as she traced a rune in the air. "It was built by the first Bloodmages—before Arodan became a city. They used it to observe the sky, the moon, and the tides of magic."

"And the bloodlines," Draven added, feeling the weight of the crown in his pack.

Vaela nodded. "Especially the Moonblood line."

A stone door, sealed with an ancient rune, blocked their path. Draven stepped forward and placed his hand against it. The rune sparked to life and then shattered like glass, letting out a whisper that was neither wind nor voice.

The door creaked open.

Inside, darkness swallowed the light. The walls pulsed with old magic. The air was thick with dust and the scent of burnt herbs. Strange symbols lined the stone floor—circles, stars, and spirals carved into the rock by hands long dead.

"Stay close," Vaela warned.

They moved through the first chamber, their footsteps echoing. In the center stood a broken throne carved from bone and obsidian. Around it, old tapestries hung in tatters, telling forgotten stories—images of a red moon, wolves made of shadow, and men kneeling in chains.

"What is this place really?" Draven asked.

"A memory," Vaela said. "And a warning."

From the shadows above, a figure dropped to the floor without a sound. Elira gasped and drew her blade. The figure wore faded armor, its sigil too worn to recognize. Its eyes were empty, hollow, but its body moved like a man still alive.

"It's a Warden," Vaela breathed. "An echo of a warrior bound to protect this place."

The Warden spoke in a voice like wind passing through dry leaves. "Only the cursed may pass. Only the Moonblood may rise."

Draven stepped forward. "I am of the Moonblood. My name is Draven."

The Warden tilted its head. "You carry the pain… but not the knowledge. You must drink."

"Drink?" Elira asked, frowning.

The Warden pointed toward a stone basin filled with silver water. Draven approached slowly, peering into the surface. Reflections twisted and shifted—his face, then his mother's, then others he did not recognize.

Vaela laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's a memory pool. It will show you your blood… your past."

Draven took a breath and drank.

The world spun.

He fell through time.

Visions burst in his mind—images of a dark-haired woman standing before a blood-red moon, her hands raised in defiance. A city on fire. A child stolen in the night. A sword forged from moonstone. He saw faces—some kind, others cruel—all bound by blood.

And then he saw her.

The Queen.

Not as she was now, but before—young, frightened, and human. Her eyes full of sorrow. Her hands full of power she did not yet understand.

Draven stumbled back from the basin, gasping.

"She was one of us," he whispered.

Vaela's eyes darkened. "You mean…"

"She was Moonblood," Draven said. "She turned against us. She started the curse."

Elira stepped back, her mouth slightly open. "Then she's not just trying to destroy the Moonblood line… she's trying to erase it from history."

A slow rumble echoed through the chamber. The Warden lowered his head.

"You know now," he said. "The path opens."

A section of the wall behind the throne crumbled, revealing a spiral stair leading downward into shadow.

Draven clenched his fists. "She fears us because she came from us. And that means we can stop her."

Vaela looked into the darkness. "What lies below?"

"Truth," the Warden replied. "And a choice."

As they descended, the red light of the moon above faded, replaced by a glow from below—a soft silver light that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Whatever awaited them beneath the Watcher's Spire… it was alive.