───────────────⋆˖☽ ​𝑨 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒐’𝒔 𝑹𝒆𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 ☾˖⋆───────────────

Sleep was not a reprieve; it was a drowning. I found myself submerged in a suffocating miasma, a black, airless void that pressed in from all sides. The phantom scent of decay—cloying and sweet like old flowers—crept into the back of my throat.

Wake up, I begged the silent darkness. Please, wake up.

My pleas dissolved into the nothingness. A tide of feeling that was not my own began to seep into my consciousness: a terror so profound it felt ancient, a grief that hollowed me from the inside out, and a pain that vibrated in my very bones. My throat ached with the pressure of a scream I couldn’t release.

The dream fractured. Figures in unfamiliar, jagged armor surrounded a man whose form shimmered like a heat haze. “Please,” he pleaded, his voice thin as a thread, snatched away by an unseen wind. “Don’t do this.”

The scene dissolved into smoke. A new shadow bled into the background, a silhouette that drank the darkness around it, vast and malevolent as a warhorse bred for slaughter. I knew its name before its shape fully formed: a Crescent Moon Walker. It coiled, a mass of predatory muscle, and with a leap that defied all physics, it launched itself forward and simply… vanished.

A brilliant, searing light flared behind my eyes. A voice, not mine, not the pleading man’s, commanded with absolute authority: Wake up.

I’m trying! I screamed back into the confines of my own skull.

It was then that other screams—real, raw, and full of terror—tore through the fabric of the dream. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the coming horror. With a final, desperate jolt, my eyes flew open.

The screams didn’t stop. They were outside my tent.

Erratic shadows danced a frantic ballet against the canvas walls, cast by a flickering light that pulsed with menace. Adrenaline, cold and sharp, flooded my veins. Muscle memory took over where conscious thought failed. I was on my feet, the familiar weight of my bow in hand, the soft thud of two quivers settling into place—one cinched to my waist, the second slung over my shoulder in a single, fluid motion as I burst from the tent.

The acrid stench of burning pine and thatch stung my nostrils. Against the deep velvet of the night sky, an orange glow throbbed like a festering wound. A fire. And it was growing.

Not the town. Please, not the town.

I reached the front gate to find it not just broken, but obliterated. The massive wooden doors had been smashed inward, reduced to a pile of kindling. Deep, savage gouges scarred the high wooden walls where the creature had clawed its way through. Bow held ready, I slipped through the wreckage and into a vision of agony. Two homes were fully engulfed, their hungry flames etching stark terror onto every face below. The night air, already thick with smoke, now carried the shrieks of the dying and the damned.

Nearby, two town guards stood with swords drawn, their blades trembling so violently they seemed alive. That’s when I saw the reason for their terror.

The Crescent Moon Walker.

Its eyes were twin pits of emerald malevolence. Dangling from its immense jaws was a guard, whom it shook with the casual violence of a dog with a rat before flinging the broken body aside.

Why is it here? my mind screamed. It isn’t a cursed moon! Even as the thought formed, I felt my own hands begin to shake. I had to draw it away, lead it out of the town before it slaughtered them all. I took a steadying breath, drew the bowstring taut, and aimed for the beast’s flank.

Just as I loosed, one of the guards let out a gurgling cry—a sound of pure terror—and charged. The monster spun on the man with impossible speed. My arrow, meant for a vital organ, glanced off its thick hide with a sharp skittering sound.

The Crescent Moon Walker threw its head back and unleashed a howl that tore the sky, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage. Without hesitation, I nocked another arrow.

“Over here!” I roared, the words raw in my throat.

Slowly, deliberately, it turned. Those glowing green eyes locked onto mine. The terrified guards scrambled back, melting into the shadows and leaving me utterly alone in its sight.

Its body coiled, a symphony of twitching muscle, and then it charged. The ground shuddered with each thunderous footfall. I spun and sprinted back towards the ruined gate. I can’t outrun it, the thought flashed, sharp and certain. So don’t.

Pivoting on my heel, I ran straight back at the charging beast. There was no plan, only instinct. As it leaped, a mountain of shadow preparing to crush me, I dropped into a slide. Cool mud and grit sprayed across my face as I shot underneath its airborne body, landing with a hard thud just out of its reach. I rolled onto my back, bow already raised. The creature landed, its claws churning the earth, and spun to face me, its eyes blazing with fury.

I was about to release when a second arrow whistled past, missing the monster entirely and thudding into the dirt beside me. My head snapped back. A guard. He was trying to help. He almost killed me.

That single, fatal moment of distraction was all it took. I turned back to see the Walker’s massive paws descending. One slammed into my chest, driving the air from my lungs and sending my bow skittering away into the mud. Its claws dug deep into my shoulder. Pain erupted as a shocking warmth bloomed across my chest, soaking through my shirt.

This was not the plan. Its hot, putrid breath washed over me as its maw opened, revealing rows of dagger-like teeth. A string of viscous drool dripped onto my cheek. My fingers, slick with mud and my own blood, fumbled for the quiver at my waist, closing around the fletching of an arrow. With a desperate grunt, I plunged the arrowhead deep into its side.

The beast shrieked, a high-pitched sound of agony, and reared back. It was the opening I needed. I rolled free and scrambled to my feet, snatching my bow from the mire. Behind me, I heard a defiant scream. The other guard, the one who hadn’t tried to kill me, made a futile, heroic charge. The Walker swatted him aside like an insect, his body hitting a nearby wall with a sickening, final crunch.

But his sacrifice bought me a single, precious second. The string was drawn. The arrow aimed. The world narrowed to that single, lethal point between its eyes. I loosed.

The shaft flew true. The creature staggered, swaying once to the right, then to the left, before crashing heavily into the mud. The green light in its eyes sputtered and died like dying embers.

For a long moment, I just stood there, my breath sawing in and out of my lungs, my entire body screaming in protest. I slid my bow back over my aching, bleeding shoulder. The fires still blazed, but a tentative order was returning. Villagers formed a bucket brigade from the well, their desperate efforts hissing against the flames. Others peeked from their doorways, their faces pale and spectral in the flickering light.

Then, a woman stepped out from the crowd, her finger leveled at me like a weapon. “This is her fault!” she shrieked.

Heads turned. Fear, once aimed at the beast, now sought a new vessel. It found me. Fearful whispers curdled into angry shouts.

“You’re a curse!” another spat from the crowd.

“Look what she brought here!” a child wailed, clinging to his mother’s leg.

Each word was a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs more effectively than the monster’s paw. I stood there, stunned. Eleven years. I hadn’t set foot in Caelfall for eleven years, yet their hatred was as fresh as if I’d left yesterday. My mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“Leave, curse!” a voice cut through the noise, pulling me from my daze. Chief Dorian was making his way towards me, his limp more pronounced than I remembered, his cane tapping a grim rhythm on the muddy ground.

He stopped a few feet away, his gaze fixed on a point just over my shoulder, refusing to meet my eyes. “Tell her to leave!” someone yelled. Dorian raised a weary hand, and the crowd fell silent, leaving only the crackle and hiss of the dying fires.

“I am sorry, dear,” he said, his voice low and heavy with a resignation that felt ancient. “You should leave.”

Over his shoulder, I saw Corina. She stood with her arms crossed, a serpent’s smile of pure, venomous triumph playing on her lips. She had won.

My heart hammered as I looked from one hateful face to the next. There was no gratitude here. No relief. Just blame. When I finally spoke, my own voice sounded hollow and distant.

“Fine,” I said flatly. “I will leave.”

Without another word, I turned my back on them and walked away. Behind me, the villagers erupted into cheers.

A hot sting pricked my eyes, the first threat of tears in years, but I refused to let them fall. Each step away from them was a severing. The chain of obligation, rusted through with years of sacrifice, finally shattered. With every footstep that carried me from Caelfall, a strange, terrifying lightness bloomed in my chest. I no longer owed them anything. The pain I had endured for their sake… it was all for nothing. And in that nothingness, I was finally free.

I was about to round the bend, to leave the hateful village behind for good, when I heard it—the frantic, sucking sound of boots pulling free from deep mud, sprinting to catch up.

Before I could react, a body slammed into me, sending me stumbling. My hand flew to my bow as I spun to face the threat.

But it wasn’t an enemy. And when I saw who stood there, panting and desperate in the darkness, the world tilted on its axis. 

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