## CHAPTER 72: _"The Blood Moon Pact"_
**I. When the Sky Turned Red**
The sky above Elira bled crimson.
A rare celestial phenomenon—the Blood Moon—rose higher than ever before. It was an omen feared by commoners and kings alike. Some said it marked a god's death. Others whispered it opened doors never meant to be touched.
Lysia knew the truth.
> "The last time the moon bled, my ancestors made a pact that cursed our bloodline."
> "Then tonight," Arien said, "we end it."
---
**II. The Pactkeepers' Hollow**
Deep in the forest known as the Crooked Root, where trees twisted like screaming souls, lay the Pactkeepers' Hollow. A burial ground of broken vows. A place where magic bound by blood was forged and forgotten.
The air there was thick with whispers. The wind spoke in ancient tongues. The trees breathed sorrow.
Arien carried a blade forged from the ashes of the Revival Flame. Lysia held a vial of her own blood, sealed since birth.
To undo a curse born in blood, one must offer it freely—without resistance, without fear.
---
**III. The Ritual of Undoing**
The Pactkeeper appeared.
A creature neither alive nor dead, wrapped in shadow and bone. It had no eyes, but saw everything. Its limbs were smoke, its voice the sound of chains dragging across marble.
> "You seek to undo what love once condemned," it rasped.
> "No," Lysia said. "We seek to rewrite what fear once named love."
The Pactkeeper opened its chest. Inside was a scroll made of skin and sorrow. Names written in fire. One name burned brighter than the rest—Lysia's.
> "The price is steep," the creature warned.
> "So was living without her," Arien replied.
---
**IV. The Blade and the Vow**
The ritual began beneath a sky screaming with stars.
Lysia cut her palm and let her blood fall into the Pactkeeper's altar—a basin made of skulls and tears. Arien sliced his hand too, their blood mingling like twin rivers of flame.
They spoke the vow:
> "We offer the past, not to forget it, but to forgive it.
> We offer our love, not to be free of pain, but to prove it survives pain.
> Let no curse define us.
> Let no blood bind us."
The altar roared to life.
Winds rose. Shadows screamed. The forest shifted. The earth beneath their feet pulsed.
---
**V. The Breaking**
Light shattered the forest.
The trees wept. The winds howled. The earth cracked open beneath their feet. And from it rose specters of those who had loved and lost under the curse—generations of forgotten lovers, warriors, queens, and monsters.
They did not scream.
They sang.
> "Love… is the curse we choose."
Lysia collapsed, her vision swimming in red and gold. Arien knelt beside her, whispering her name.
The blood curse broke.
But so did the altar.
The Pactkeeper shrieked—its final breath a scream against time—and scattered into dust.
And in its place, a single firelily bloomed.
---
**VI. After the Moon**
The Blood Moon began to fade.
Lysia stirred in Arien's arms, her skin warm—truly warm—for the first time.
> "Did we do it?" she whispered.
> "We didn't end the curse," he replied. "We became stronger than it."
He pressed his forehead to hers. Her heartbeat answered.
They stood beneath the sky, hands still bleeding, hearts still whole.
And from the forest, the voices of the dead whispered in joy.
> "Let them remember us not as cursed, but as the ones who dared."
Above them, stars blinked into view.
And the sky, for once, was clean.