Born under the Red Moon

The village of Moonlight clung to the earth like a stubborn weed in a field of stone. It was small, forgotten by maps, and not worth the ink of kings. It existed because the people here had nowhere else to go, and it survived because stubbornness could sometimes outlast empires. In the summer, it smelled of wet soil and pine; in the winter, it smelled of smoke and boiled cabbage. Today, though, it carried a different scent—one that slid under the skin and refused to leave. The air was heavy with the copper tang of oncoming rain… and something older. Metallic, almost bloody.

The sky had been grey since morning, the kind of grey that seemed carved into the bones of the day. Somewhere far beyond the hills, thunder grumbled like a waking giant. The streets were thin and uneven, cobbles jutting up like old teeth, slick from last night’s rain. Chickens pecked in the mud between the houses. A stray dog dozed under a wagon, one ear twitching at the distant sound of boots on wood.

Emily stepped out of the crumbling schoolhouse, the faded paint peeling away like old parchment. She dragged her boots along the worn wooden bridge that connected the school to the main road, the boards creaking under her weight. Her purple hoodie clung to her in the damp air, the hood down so her long black hair hung freely, heavy with moisture. She stopped when she saw them—three boys leaning against the railing, waiting like crows that had spotted something shiny.

Jake stood in the middle, the ringleader as always, with his neat blond hair that no rain could ruin and a smirk that never seemed to leave his face. His clothes were too clean, his boots polished, his shirt freshly pressed. He smelled faintly of soap and arrogance.

“Emily,” he drawled, stepping forward just enough to block her path. “Where you off to?”

On his left, Adam snorted, the sound sharp and mocking. “Probably to see her freak of a brother.”

Emily’s lips tightened. She was ten years old, tall for her age, pale like chalk. Her eyes, dark and unreadable, gave nothing away. Her black skirt swayed in the damp breeze, already flecked with droplets from the earlier drizzle. “None of your business, Jake. Take your stopped-up soldiers and go play noble somewhere else.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Adam and the other boy. “And you two can rot. Don’t call him a freak again.”

Jake grinned wider. “You’ve got a mouth on you, girl.”

The third boy, Gorge, leaned on the railing, tall and awkward, his shoulders hunched under a coat too thick for the season. His hands were hidden in his pockets, twitching now and then like he was holding something he didn’t want anyone to see.

Jake took a step closer, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Face it, Emily. Your brother can’t even spark a candle. Magicless. Powerless. Gorge could take him down blindfolded.”

Her fists clenched, but before she could speak, there came the sound of footsteps—quiet, measured, leather on stone.

From across the bridge, a figure approached.

“Is there a problem, Emy?” The voice was calm. Too calm.

Emily turned. “No, Cidolfus. Just… nothing worth your time.”

The figure drew closer, hood pulled low. He moved with an easy stride, though his presence pressed into the air like a blade sliding free of its sheath. He was tall for twelve, already taller than most grown men in Moonlight, and lean in a way that suggested both hunger and strength. His black hoodie was zipped up to the throat, black pants tucked into scuffed boots. The only hint of color lay in his eyes—cold, sharp, a pale brown that seemed to take in everything without giving anything back.

Jake smirked again. “Speak of the devil. Look who crawled out of the crypt.”

Cidolfus stopped in front of him. “You’re Jake,” he said, his tone flat, almost curious.

Jake blinked. “And what if I am?”

“I’ve heard your voice travels faster than your courage,” Cid said softly. “Maybe you'd like to test that.”

Before Jake could form a reply, Cidolfus was simply there—close enough that Jake could see the faint scar along his jaw. No steps, no rush, just a sudden narrowing of distance that made the hair on the back of Jake’s neck stand up.

Jake stumbled back, boots slipping against the wet wood. “H-how—? You don’t even have magic!”

Cidolfus crouched slightly, their eyes level. “No. But I can still break your nose.”

Jake’s smirk cracked. He stepped back, then turned sharply, walking away faster than pride allowed. Adam followed, muttering curses under his breath. Gorge trailed after them, his eyes darting everywhere but at Cid.

When they were gone, Cidolfus straightened, adjusting his hood. “Cowards.”

Emily sighed. “That wasn’t necessary.”

“It never is,” he replied, already turning toward the path that led home.

They walked in silence for a while, the damp air curling around them like smoke. Emily glanced at him sideways. “You’re hiding again.”

“I know.”

“You know what I mean,” she pressed.

“I said—I know.”

“Then stop it.”

“I can’t.”

They passed a group of children Emily’s age. She gave them a small wave. None waved back. Their eyes slid past her as if she were invisible—or worse, as if she weren’t worth noticing.

Cid’s gaze followed them. “Friends?”

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“Kind of,” she muttered.

“You don’t have to be around me if it makes life harder.”

“Cid—”

“I know what I am,” he said quietly. “No magic. No aura. No presence. I’m a black hole in a world of light.” He paused, his voice almost a whisper. “The cursed child. Born the night the Red Moon came to life.”

Emily stopped in her tracks. “You’re not cursed.”

“I am,” he said simply. “You know the legends. Two cursed nights—the Black Moon and the Red. I brought the red.”

Twelve Years Ago

Ellie screamed.

It was not the scream of a woman surprised by pain—it was the deep, raw cry of someone fighting to tear life from the jaws of death. The air inside the small room was heavy, thick with the scent of herbs and incense that could not mask the copper tang of blood. Candles burned low, their wax dripping down in slow, mournful trails.

Outside the door, Charlie paced. His boots thudded against the worn floorboards, the rhythm fast and uneven. His right hand hovered close to the hilt of his sword, Clain, as though the act of waiting were a battle in itself.

“I can’t feel him,” he muttered, though there was no one in the hall to hear it. “No heartbeat. No aura. Nothing.”

Inside, Ellie’s voice cut through the air. “He’s alive,” she gasped between contractions. “I know it.”

Then came silence. A terrible, endless silence.

The midwife shifted, her hands trembling slightly as she lifted the newborn. No cry came from the child’s lips. His chest rose, barely. His eyes were closed, his skin pale. But there was… something. Life. Fragile and stubborn.

Charlie couldn’t wait any longer. He pushed the door open. “Ellie—?”

She sat on the bed, sweat-damp hair plastered to her face, cradling the infant as though he might dissolve if she loosened her grip. “He’s fine,” she said, her voice soft but unyielding.

Charlie stepped forward, but something outside the window caught his attention.

The sky was wrong.

A deep, sickly red spread across the heavens, as if the moon itself had been wounded and was bleeding into the clouds. It was too bright, too unnatural. And from the dark line of forest beyond the fields came the howls—low at first, then rising into a chorus that clawed at the bones.

Monsters. Not the kind from cautionary tales, but the real ones—the ones hunters whispered about over cups of bitter ale. The kind that only came out under cursed moons.

Charlie’s jaw tightened. “Like the night of the Black Moon,” he breathed. “No… worse.”

He turned from the window and grabbed Clain, its black steel glinting faintly in the red light. The wolf etched into the hilt seemed to snarl as his fingers closed around it. Without another word, he strode out into the night.

Outside, the village was already screaming. Shadows moved between the houses—shapes too large and wrong to be human. Flames licked at the thatch roofs. The smell of burning straw and blood mingled in the wind.

Inside, Ellie stared down at the child in her arms. “Charlie… your eyes.”

He burst back into the room, breathless, the sword in his hand dripping dark. “What?”

“Your eyes,” she repeated. “They’re red.”

Charlie blinked, and for a moment the reflection in the window showed it true—the bright, unnatural crimson burning in his gaze.

Ellie’s eyes filled with tears. “Lunar cursed him. Cursed us.”

Charlie didn’t answer. He only moved to kneel beside her, his gaze falling on the silent child. No magic shimmered around him. No soul-flame glowed. No spark of aura. He was like a void—alive, but without the presence every living thing carried.

They named him Cidolfus, after an old tale of a hero who had been marked by the gods and doomed to die by their will.

That year, and every year after, the Red Moon returned on his birthday. And with it came blood.

Now

The wind off the hills had a bite to it, carrying with it the faint, dry rattle of leaves clinging to dying branches. Emily’s jaw was set as they walked. “Do you think I care what they say?” she snapped suddenly. “They call you a freak? Fine. Let them. I still want to be near you. You’re my brother.”

Cidolfus let out the smallest chuckle, barely more than a breath. “Didn’t expect you to yell.”

“You deserved it,” she shot back.

They reached the small wooden house at the edge of the village. Smoke curled from the crooked chimney, carrying with it the smell of stew.

Ellie was by the table, sorting herbs, her hands moving with practiced speed. “Welcome back,” she called.

Charlie sat by the fireplace, sharpening Clain. He glanced up, his gaze lingering on Cidolfus a moment too long. “Trouble again?”

Cid dropped his hood. “He had it coming.”

Charlie’s mouth tightened. “You picked a fight with the son of Frid. That family’s got influence. You’re dragging us all into a noose, boy.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt Emily,” Cid replied simply.

“Good,” Charlie said after a pause, the steel in his voice softening. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Ellie set down her herbs. “Dinner’s ready.”

“What is it?” Cid asked.

“Meat stew,” she said. “Special occasion.”

Emily tilted her head. “Special?”

Her mother smiled. “Emily’s been accepted to Moonlight Academy.”

Emily froze, the words catching her off guard. “But I… failed.”

“Barely passed,” Charlie corrected, his mouth quirking in the faintest grin. “But your strength? Your magic? They saw what you are—a mix of me and your mother. Warrior. Witch. You’ll do well.”

Ellie’s eyes shone. “And tomorrow, we leave. You need a proper weapon before you start.”

Cid frowned. “I shouldn’t go. Better if I’m forgotten.”

Charlie stood, the firelight casting sharp lines over his face. “Say that again, and I’ll knock your teeth out. You carry my blood. You walk with pride.”

Ellie smacked his arm without looking. “Threaten our son again, and I’ll gut you.”

Emily giggled. Even Cid smiled.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll come.”

Dawn

The sun crawled over the horizon, painting the White Desert in pale gold. Its dunes stretched out in all directions, endless waves of sand broken only by jagged outcroppings of rock. The air was dry enough to scrape the inside of the throat.

Charlie laid down the rules as they walked. “One: stay close. Two: speak up if you need help.”

“Yes, sir,” the two children echoed.

Charlie slowed his stride until he was beside Cid. “There’s a third rule. If we fall—take Clain. Take your sister. Run east. Find a man named Bil. He owes me, and he’ll help.”

Cid met his father’s gaze. “I promise.”

The horizon shimmered, and out of the heat haze came the shape of men. Armor gleamed like water, and the banner of the Northern Realms rippled in the breeze.

Charlie stepped forward, his voice casual. “Morning, friends. What brings the army to this backwater?”

The lead soldier grinned, eyes sliding to Ellie. “The woman. Pretty thing.”

Charlie’s grip tightened on Clain. “She’s my wife.”

Another reached out, fingers brushing Ellie’s arm. That was a mistake. She slapped him hard enough to send him staggering, his nose erupting in blood.

The captain’s smile faded. “Apologies. But we’re not here to flirt. We’re here to erase Moonlight.”

The air seemed to thicken.

Steel sang.

The clash was brutal and fast. Charlie fought like a man possessed, Clain cutting through armor as though it were cloth. Ellie moved beside him, her magic a storm of fire and force. But there were too many.

A sword slid past Charlie’s guard. Blood sprayed.

He staggered. Clain slipped from his grip, falling into the sand with a dull thud.

“Run!” he roared. “Run now!”

Cid grabbed the sword. His fingers wrapped tight around the hilt, the wolf’s head biting cold into his palm. He pulled Emily close and turned toward the endless desert.

Behind them, the only world they’d ever known burned.

That Night

The wind howled across the dunes, carrying with it the taste of ash.

Emily pressed her face into Cid’s chest, her small hands clutching his shirt. “They’re dead… aren’t they?”

“Yes,” Cid whispered. The word seemed to scrape out of his throat. “They’re gone.”

His voice trembled, but his arms stayed strong around her.

“And so is Moonlight,” she said, her voice small.

Cid looked down at Clain, its black blade catching the faint red of the moon overhead. The metal was stained with his father’s blood.

He held it close.

And promised himself—

This is not the end.