🌕 Moonblood: The Curse of Arodan
Chapter Three: 3
Morning came with no warmth.
Grey clouds hung low over Arodan. The city moved slowly, heavy with fog and silence. The cobbled streets were slick with dew, and the chimneys coughed out trails of white smoke into the pale sky.
Draven sat by the bakery window, staring at the rising steam from a cup of tea he hadn't touched. The warmth from the oven filled the room, but his fingers felt cold.
The words from the parchment still echoed in his mind:
"Seek the place where the stars sleep…"
He didn't know what it meant. But he knew it was meant for him.
Callen worked behind the counter, whistling softly as he shaped a loaf of bread. "Still thinking about the message?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Draven nodded.
"I'd tell you to forget it," Callen said, "but you won't."
"I can't," Draven replied. "It felt… alive. Like the paper wanted to be found."
Callen dusted his hands and sat across from him. "So what do we do? Just wait?"
Draven looked at the mark on his wrist. It had stopped glowing, but he felt something had only just begun.
"We look for someone who knows the old language," he said. "That writing—it wasn't just words. It had power."
Callen tilted his head. "You mean like the old runes? From before the towers?"
Draven nodded. "And I think I know where to start."
They made their way to the Old Quarter, a part of the city most people avoided.
The streets there were narrow and twisted, with crooked houses that leaned over the road as if whispering secrets to each other. The air smelled of wet wood, old stone, and forgotten things. Vines crept along broken walls, and faded carvings peered out from archways no one used.
At the heart of it all stood the Dustspire Library.
It was a tall, leaning building made of dark wood and green stone, with gargoyles perched along the roof. Few people ever visited it. Some said it was haunted. Others said it was cursed.
Draven pushed the heavy wooden door open. It groaned like something in pain.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and magic. Books lined every wall, stacked from floor to ceiling. A tall clock ticked slowly in the corner. Strange bottles glowed on distant shelves. A cat with one eye blinked lazily at them from the top of a ladder.
"Back again, cursed one?" came a dry, scratchy voice.
An old man stepped from behind a pile of scrolls. His robes were patched with stars, moons, and ink stains. His name was Master Elric, the city's last magical scholar.
"I need your help," Draven said.
Elric raised a bushy eyebrow. "They usually come for love potions and curses. You bring something older, don't you?"
Draven took a deep breath. "I found a message. Written in runes I don't know."
He explained everything—the parchment, the symbol, the strange message. Elric's face slowly turned serious.
"Let me show you something," the old man said.
He led them through rows of books to a dusty cabinet. Inside was a map of Arodan—older than anything Draven had ever seen. It showed the city not as it was, but as it had once been: surrounded by forest, not walls.
"There," Elric said, pointing to a spot outside the southern wall. "The Garden of the Sleeping Stars."
Draven frowned. "I've never heard of that."
"You wouldn't. It was destroyed over a hundred years ago, during the purge of the Moonblood kings. They say the garden held a mirror that could show the past… and the truth."
Callen leaned over the map. "You think it's still out there?"
Elric shrugged. "If the magic survived the fire. But I warn you—anything tied to the Moonbloods is watched."
Draven looked up. "By who?"
The old man paused, then said a name with deep weight:
"Queen Valessa."
A silence filled the room.
Callen blinked. "The queen watches old ruins?"
Elric shook his head. "She watches everything. Her spies are many. Her fear of the Moonblood name runs deep."
Draven stared at the map.
He had lived his life as a shadow in the city—hated, feared, ignored.
Now, he was something else: a threat.
As they stepped outside the library, clouds gathered again.
Callen pulled his hood up. "So, what now?"
"We find the Garden," Draven said.
They turned into the alley, but Draven suddenly stopped. The air felt… wrong. Heavy.
He turned around.
At the end of the street, standing very still, was a tall figure in a dark cloak. No face could be seen. No sound came from its steps. Only a faint shimmer of magic, like heat on stone.
Draven felt the mark on his wrist flicker.
The figure slowly stepped back into the mist and vanished.
Callen's voice trembled. "What was that?"
Draven didn't answer.
Because deep down, he already knew.
The curse had been noticed.
And something had begun to follow.