Chapter 5 Whispers of the Moonblood

The wind in the Hollow shifted, carrying with it the scent of pine, damp moss, and something older-smoke, maybe, or memories. Aria sat cross-legged before the Council's fire, its orange light flickering across her face. The cloak they had given her felt heavy on her shoulders, not just in weight but in meaning. Around her, the trees murmured in a language just beyond understanding.

Eira sat beside her, sharpening a bone-handled knife with a whetstone. The rhythmic scrape was oddly comforting.

"You said there were others," Aria murmured.

"There were. There still are. But the Moonblood line is rare. The gift is recessive, buried deep. It only awakens when it must."

"When must it be?"

Eira stopped sharpening. Her gaze turned toward the fire, distant. "Because something darker always rises."

Another figure approached the fire, cloaked not in black but in gray. He was tall, stooped with age, his long hair braided with bones and feathers. His eyes, however, were clear-pale as ice, piercing.

"Aria," Eira said softly. "This is Elder Myr. Keeper of the Lore."

The man inclined his head. "I've waited a long time to see the mark again."

Aria shifted. "You knew my ancestors?"

Myr nodded, settling beside the fire. "I knew your grandmother. And her mother before her. All of them marked. All of them hunted. You carry more than blood, Aria Hale. You carry the legacy."

The flames crackled louder as if listening.

Myr reached into his robes and pulled out a tattered scroll bound with twine. He unrolled it across a flat stone, revealing a hand-painted mural: a great white wolf beneath a blood moon, surrounded by fire and shadow.

"Long before the Hollow Pact, before even the Burned Ones, there were the Firstborn. Wolves who walked as men. Guardians of the Veil. They were not cursed-they were chosen. Moon-touched. The Moonblood."

Aria leaned forward, heart thudding.

"Your line," Myr continued, "was sacred. The Hale family was one of the Five Founders, those who forged the pact that hides us still. But one by one, the lines faded. Hunted. Betrayed. You are the last known Moonblood."

She looked down at her palm. The skin where she'd been cut during the Pact had healed to a silvery scar.

"Why me? Why now?"

Myr's eyes gleamed. "Because the stars have shifted. The Burned Ones are moving. And the prophecy is unfolding."

"What prophecy?"

He pointed to the mural.

"When the blood moon rises thrice in one turning, and the Hollow howls empty, the market shall return. A daughter born of night and fire will awaken the forgotten."

The fire surged suddenly, flames rising high in a burst of golden sparks.

Aria flinched. "I-I'm not some savior."

Myr smiled gently. "No savior ever believes they are."

---

Later, he led her to the archives.

Beneath a curtain of ivy and stone, the ground opened to a stairwell carved deep into the earth. The walls pulsed faintly with glowing runes as they descended.

The chamber below was vast. Carvings lined every inch-histories of their kind, etched in spirals, glyphs, and symbols. Scrolls and relics sat in niches, untouched by time.

Myr lit a lantern. Its light shimmered, revealing an old tapestry stretched across the far wall.

It showed a girl with Aria's eyes. Her hair was wild, her arms raised, a silver crescent on her shoulder. Around her, wolves knelt. Behind her, shadows burned.

"Is that... me?"

"It's what's to come. Or what once was. The lines blur when magic's involved."

She stepped closer. The threads seemed to move, as if alive.

"What do I do with all this?" she whispered.

"Learn. And listen. Your blood remembers more than you know."

---

That night, her dreams returned.

She stood on a battlefield under a blood moon, fire licking the trees. Beside her, a white wolf snarled. She looked down and saw her hands glowing with power.

From the darkness, voices rose-screaming, chanting.

Moonblood! Moonblood!

She awoke with a gasp. The mark on her shoulder flared white.

And in the silence of the Hollow, a howl echoed-not of fear.

But of destiny awakening.

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