Crimson Moon Oath

In the kingdom of Vyrandis, where legends of blood-bound pacts whispered across the land, the Crimson Moon Festival was the most sacred night of the year. The moon, stained red as if by the hands of ancient gods, rose high in the sky, casting its crimson glow over the vast forests and towering mountains. It was said that under this moon, fates were sealed, and destinies rewritten.

Arden Velaros, a warrior of the King’s Guard, stood on the edge of the festival grounds, his steel-gray eyes scanning the crowd. He had fought countless battles and faced death more times than he could remember, yet tonight unease gripped him. His life had been one of duty and honor, but there was something about the Crimson Moon that unsettled his soul.

The festival was alive with celebration. Musicians played flutes and drums, dancers twirled beneath lanterns, and merchants sold charms said to bring good fortune. Yet Arden felt apart from it all, as if he were a ghost watching from the shadows.

"Arden?"

The soft voice drew him from his thoughts. He turned to see Lyra approaching, her dark hair falling in loose waves over her shoulders. Her emerald eyes, always so vibrant, were filled with worry. Lyra had been Arden’s closest friend since childhood—his anchor in a world that often felt too harsh.

"You’ve been standing here for an hour," she said gently. "What’s troubling you?"

Arden hesitated. "It’s nothing. Just… the moon. It feels different tonight."

Lyra glanced at the sky, the crimson light reflecting in her eyes. "The elders say it’s a sign of change. But change isn’t always bad, Arden."

"Sometimes it is," he muttered.

Lyra sighed but didn’t press further. "Come with me. The elders are about to tell the story of the Blood Oath. You always loved that tale when we were children."

Reluctantly, Arden allowed Lyra to lead him to the central bonfire, where a crowd had gathered. An elder, dressed in ceremonial robes, raised his hands for silence.

"On this night, many centuries ago," the elder began, "the warrior queen Seravyn stood where we now stand. She had sworn to protect Vyrandis from all who threatened it. Yet her enemies were many, and the kingdom faced certain destruction."

The elder’s voice grew deeper, more resonant. "In her desperation, Seravyn made a pact with the moon itself. She offered her blood in exchange for power—a power that would bind her fate to another’s for all eternity. Together, bound by the Crimson Moon, they defeated the darkness."

The crowd listened in hushed reverence. But Arden’s mind was elsewhere. He felt a pull—an invisible thread tugging at his very being. The sensation was both terrifying and intoxicating.

"Arden."

He heard Lyra’s voice again, but it sounded distant, as if spoken from across a great chasm. He looked at her, only to see her eyes widen in fear.

"The moon," she whispered.

Arden followed her gaze. The crimson light had intensified, swirling like a living thing. And then, from the darkness beyond the bonfire, shadows began to take shape.

They were figures cloaked in black, their eyes glowing with an eerie red light. Spectral warriors—the spirits of those who had once sworn blood oaths under the Crimson Moon.

The crowd erupted into chaos. People screamed and fled, but the spirits paid them no mind. They moved with singular purpose, their gaze fixed on Arden.

"Stay behind me!" Arden shouted to Lyra, drawing his sword.

But before he could strike, the largest of the spirits stepped forward. Its form was that of a towering knight, clad in ancient armor. It raised a gauntleted hand.

"Arden Velaros," the spirit intoned. "You are chosen."

Arden’s grip tightened on his sword. "I don’t want your curse."

The knight’s eyes burned brighter. "It is not a curse. It is destiny. You are bound to the moon, just as Seravyn was."

"Why me?" Arden demanded.

"Because your soul carries the mark," the knight said. "And because she has already accepted the bond."

The spirit gestured toward Lyra.

Arden’s heart stopped. He turned to Lyra, who looked just as shocked as he felt. "Lyra?"

"I didn’t—" she began, but her voice faltered. Her hand went to her chest, where a faint crimson glow had begun to emanate from her heart.

The knight’s voice was solemn. "The bond is sealed. Together, you will face the darkness that rises."

Before Arden could protest, the spirits began to dissolve, fading into the night like mist. The bonfire’s flames roared back to life, and the festival grounds were eerily quiet.

Arden sheathed his sword, his mind racing. "Lyra… what just happened?"

"I don’t know," she said, her voice trembling. "But I feel… different. As if something ancient has awakened inside me."

"Whatever this bond is, we’ll face it together," Arden said firmly. "I won’t let you face this alone."

Lyra met his gaze, her fear slowly giving way to determination. "Then we’ll stand together, Arden. No matter what comes."

And under the crimson moon, they made a vow—a bond forged in destiny, sealed by the power of an ancient oath.