The Blood Moon Rises
The artifact pulsed faintly in the corner of the twins’ quarters, its jagged crystal casting shadows across the room. Lyra and Eryon sat in silence, the weight of Seraphine’s plan hanging heavily between them. The academy’s cold, oppressive walls seemed to press in closer with every passing hour, each beat of the artifact’s glow deepening their unease.
Seraphine’s words echoed in Lyra’s mind: “This relic will change everything. It holds the key to destroying the King’s grip on this realm. But its power comes at a cost—a cost only you can bear.”
Lyra traced the edge of the artifact with trembling fingers, its cool surface sending a faint hum of energy through her. “What if she’s lying?” she whispered, her silver eyes flicking to Eryon. “What if this thing doesn’t destroy the King? What if it destroys us instead?”
Eryon leaned against the far wall, his amber eyes shadowed with doubt. “I don’t trust her,” he admitted. “But I trust her more than I trust the King. We can’t keep hiding, Lyra. If we don’t act now, we’ll never be free of him.”
Lyra tightened her grip on the artifact, her wolf pacing restlessly in the depths of her mind. The whispers had started as faint murmurs, cryptic messages that seemed to grow louder with each passing day. Now, they swirled in her mind like a storm, pulling at her thoughts and feeding her doubts.
Across the academy, Adrian paced the length of his quarters, his frustration mounting. Every instinct in his body told him that Lyra and Eryon were connected to something bigger than themselves, something that was growing stronger by the day. But every attempt to confront Lyra ended with more questions than answers.
He clenched his fists, his crimson eyes burning as he thought back to their latest sparring match. The way she moved, the strength behind her strikes—it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t vampire.
“They’re hiding something,” Adrian muttered to himself, his voice sharp in the quiet room. “And I’m going to find out what.”
In the academy’s shadowed gardens, Misery stood beneath the twisted branches of an ancient tree, her crimson eyes fixed on the horizon. The pull of the artifact’s energy had not escaped her notice, nor had Eryon’s increasing tension. He had told her just enough to pique her curiosity, but not enough to satisfy it.
“Secrets, secrets,” she murmured to herself, her lips curling into a sly smile. “You can’t keep them forever, Eryon.”
Back in their quarters, the artifact’s whispers grew louder, forming fragmented sentences that seemed to bleed into Lyra’s thoughts. She closed her eyes, willing the voices to silence, but they only grew more insistent.
Eryon moved closer, his voice low but steady. “Whatever this thing is, it’s tied to us. If Seraphine’s right, it could change everything.”
Lyra opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. “Or it could destroy everything,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Eryon hesitated, his wolf growling faintly in the back of his mind. “We don’t have a choice,” he said finally. “If we don’t use it, we’re dead anyway.”
The artifact pulsed again, its glow brighter than before, casting an eerie red light across their faces. Lyra felt her resolve harden as she gripped the crystal tightly, its hum resonating with something deep inside her.
“The time is coming,” the whispers said, their voices overlapping in a haunting chorus.
Lyra exchanged a glance with Eryon, her silver eyes blazing with determination. “Then we’ll be ready,” she said.
