Prophecy of the Crimson Moon
"Born of blood and born of moon,
Marked by fire, death, and ruin.
Daughter of fang and claw shall rise,
With stars in her veins and storms in her eyes.
She shall break what cannot bend,
And mend what none can heal.
From her touch, kingdoms fall
Or rise beneath her will."
The wind howled like a beast in mourning, tearing through the forest with icy claws. Snow fell in thick, relentless waves, blanketing the world in silence—except for the scream that pierced the night.
It was a scream of both pain and power. One that echoed through the trees, reaching even the farthest edges of the pack's sacred ground. The moon, high above, turned a sickening shade of crimson, bleeding into the night sky like a wound torn open by fate itself.
At the heart of the clearing, beneath the ancient Moon Tree — a tree as old as the first wolf bloodline — Lyria writhed in the snow. Her skin was pale, drenched in sweat despite the freezing storm. Her eyes, golden like every pure-blooded wolf, were wide with fear and fire.
This birth was not ordinary.
This child was not ordinary.
The pack had gathered in tense silence, forming a wide circle around her, watching from the shadows. None dared come close — not even the midwives. None of them wanted to be cursed for touching the child of betrayal.
Lyria — once a fierce warrior, once promised to the Beta heir — had broken the law of the pack. She had loved a vampire. A sworn enemy. A monster. And now, she bore his child.
The snow around her turned dark with blood, but she did not scream again. Her breath came in broken gasps as she pushed one final time. And then — silence.
A baby's cry pierced the stillness, sharp and wild like the howl of a wolf.
In her trembling arms, a girl. Perfect and silent now, with raven-black hair and eyes that opened far too soon — gleaming red like the embers of war. But it wasn't her eyes that silenced the pack.
It was the mark.
Glowing on the child's chest was a crescent moon — deep crimson, as if carved from blood and fire — with three small dots trailing beneath it like falling stars… or dripping blood.
Gasps spread through the crowd like wind through dry grass.
"No…" an elder whispered, staggering back. "It can't be..."
The Alpha stepped forward, his silver eyes locked on the mark. He had seen it before — long, long ago. Only once.
He growled lowly. "The Prophecy has returned."
Lyria coughed, weak but smiling as she looked down at her daughter. "Her name… is Seraphina."
And then, as the last breath left her lips, the clouds above parted — revealing the full blood moon, glowing unnaturally red. The earth trembled beneath them. Somewhere deep in the mountains, a wolf howled. Then another. Then another.
It had begun.
🩸
He saw it all.
Hidden among the trees, cloaked by darkness and magic, he stood frozen — unable to move, unable to breathe. His heart, long thought dead, thundered in his chest as he watched the woman he loved give her life to bring their child into a world that would never accept her.
Kael.
The last-born son of the Crimson Court. A vampire prince who had turned his back on the throne… for her.
He hadn't dared step into the pack's territory, but he had to see her one last time. He had to see her — the child.
His child.
Tears burned his eyes, but he didn't blink. He couldn't afford to. His presence here was treason — to both his kind and hers. If either side caught him, it would mean death.
But then he saw it — the mark. Glowing. Pulsing. Alive.
His breath caught in his throat.
"It's true," he whispered. "She bears the mark."
His people had called it a myth. A cursed union that would give birth to a being of both blood and moon. A girl destined to end the war between wolves and vampires… or burn both races to ash.
And now… she was here.
Seraphina.
His daughter.
He wanted to run to her. Hold her. Take her away before they could destroy her. But he couldn't move.
Because in that moment, something else stirred ,an ancient energy rising from the earth. A force even he couldn't name.
The Prophecy wasn't just real.
It had already begun