Whispers beneath the stone

🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan

Chapter Forty-seven: 47

The doors beyond the Mirror groaned open, revealing a narrow passage lined with ancient bones. The air turned colder with every step, thick with the scent of dust and something darker—something that had been buried for far too long. Draven led the way, his mark glowing faintly, casting pale light on the walls.

Kael followed, sword drawn. "This place doesn't want us here," he muttered. "It's watching."

"Everything in Arodan watches," Morgha replied, her hand brushing a cracked skull embedded in the wall. "Even the dead."

The path descended sharply. At the end lay a circular chamber, low-ceilinged and heavy with silence. In the center stood a stone altar, carved with the same moon-shaped sigils they'd seen before. Around it, five statues sat in a circle, worn and cracked by time.

Each statue had a name.

Each name was familiar.

"Draven," Morgha whispered, stepping closer, "these are the ancestors of the Moonblood."

He nodded slowly. "I know. I saw them in the mirror."

As they approached, the air shifted. A whisper slithered from the shadows. Not a voice, but many—layered and low, speaking an ancient tongue. The chamber pulsed, and the statues began to glow—faintly at first, then with growing strength. Dust shook loose from the ceiling. The altar came alive with symbols, flaring silver and red.

One of the statues, the tallest and most worn, cracked open.

A figure stepped out.

Not living.

Not dead.

Her hair flowed like smoke, her eyes like silver flames. She wore the crest of the First Moonblood on her chest.

"I am Elyra," she said. "Daughter of the First. Keeper of the Curse."

Draven stood tall. "I carry the mark."

She studied him with eyes that saw everything. "You do more than carry it. You awaken it."

Behind Draven, Kael took a step back. "She's a ghost."

"No," Morgha said. "She's memory made flesh."

Elyra's gaze turned sharp. "This place is sacred. Only the blood may speak here. You come seeking answers… and answers you shall have."

With a wave of her hand, the chamber darkened.

Visions burst around them—scenes painted in moonlight and ash.

Arodan as it once was, again.

The rise of the First Circle.

The forging of the Moonblood oath.

The shattering of that oath.

"Your bloodline was born from betrayal," Elyra said. "A pact with the moon's darker side. The curse is not just punishment—it is a warning."

"Then why does it grow stronger in me?" Draven asked.

"Because you are the fulcrum," Elyra answered. "The point where the old breaks, and the new begins. But be warned—power without purpose is poison. You must choose your path… or it will choose you."

The chamber trembled.

One of the other statues cracked—this one jagged, its face carved in anger.

A second figure emerged. Male. Tall. His eyes were filled with fire.

"Not all Moonblood walk the same road," he growled. "Some of us burned for freedom. Others died for peace. Which are you, boy?"

"I don't know yet," Draven said honestly.

"Then decide soon," the man said. "Or you'll become nothing."

The visions faded. The figures returned to stone.

The chamber went still again.

Draven turned to Morgha and Kael. "We're not just fighting a curse. We're walking into a war that began long before we were born."

Kael shrugged. "I'm already in it."

Morgha nodded. "We stand with you."

Draven looked at the altar. Upon it, a new object had appeared—a dagger made of moonstone and bone. Ancient. Sharp.

He took it, and felt its power surge through his blood.

A gift.

A warning.

A key.

He turned to the next tunnel that stretched out from the chamber, dark and waiting.

"Let's keep going," he said.

And together, they walked deeper into the forgotten veins of Arodan.